Page 73 of Darkwater Lane

That may sound like overkill but given that she stole recordings from when she worked with the Lost Angels, I’m not inclined to trust her on this.

Once we’ve run through the sound checks and Madison has the levels where she wants them, she looks at me a little shyly. “Sorry, this just feels a little surreal,” she says. “Even back when you were on trial and I was covering it for the school paper, my dream was to interview you. Of course, I couldn’t back then. But that didn’t stop me from imagining what I would ask.

“So, yeah, I know it sounds super dorky, but I’m still a bit shocked to actually be sitting across from you right now.”

Her earnestness is endearing, but I feel compelled to make sure she understands the terms of our deal. “I’m still not guaranteeing we’ll publish any of this.”

She waves a hand. “Oh, I know. But to finally be able to ask you questions I’ve been wondering about for years? It will be enough.”

She fiddles with her notebook, the one she used to write down questions and notes during our earlier session. “You said that one of the reasons you agreed to do this podcast was because you felt like your partner, Sam, was being unfairly accused of Leo Varrus’s murder and you want to clear his name.”

I nod. She gestures to the mic, reminding me that my answers need to be audible.

“Yes. Whoever is doing this has already tried to set Sam up once before. They sprayed Leo’s blood in our house at Stillhouse Lake, making it appear as though he’d been murdered and his body disposed of. They went to great lengths to fake speed camera footage of Sam’s truck driving down here the night of the supposed murder. Fortunately, forensics eventually found a preservative in the blood samples and determined that it wasn’t fresh but had beenstored for some time. The prevailing theory is that Varrus spent months collecting blood in order to pull it off.”

“That sounds like a lot of work. Why do you think someone would go to such lengths?”

“At the time, we assumed Varrus was behind the hoax. It made sense—Leo and Sam had been friends once upon a time. They’d both lost loved ones to Melvin Royal and were both members of the Lost Angels. Eventually, Leo became convinced that I was Melvin’s accomplice and took it personally when Sam and I started dating.”

“Personally enough to dedicate his life to ruining Sam’s?”

I shrug. “You would have had to ask him.”

“You felt from the beginning that Sam was innocent.”

“Yes, and I was right. Varrus wasn’t killed at our house in Stillhouse Lake.”

“You know this because he was eventually murdered at your house in Knoxville.”

“Yes.”

“And authorities are calling Sam a person of interest in that case now. Which, to be clear to our listeners, doesn’t make him a suspect. It just means the police are taking a closer look.”

“Yes. But again, he’s being framed. He didn’t kill Leo Varrus.”

“He was set up to look like a murderer and that failed. So now he’s being set up again?”

She makes it sound absurd. She’s right, though, it does sound absurd. But it’s also the truth. That’s what’s so frustrating about all of this.

She takes a sip of coffee and then ponders me over the rim of her mug. “Do you ever think… or like, does any part of you wonder if he could be involved? I mean, haven’t we all dated people who kept secrets? I remember this one guy I was with in college—he had an account on Feet Finder. Which really answered a lot of questions about his constant insistence I wear high heels.”

She laughs.

I don’t. “No, I’ve never doubted Sam. He’s not a monster.”

She tilts her head to the side, genuinely curious. “Well, to be fair, you didn’t think Melvin was a monster either. What if it’s the same situation here?”

“Sam is nothing like Melvin.” The very thought that they share any similarities at all is horrifying.

“But he’s done some sus things in the past, right? Didn’t he move all the way out to Stillhouse Lake just to spy on you and try to infiltrate your life for his own hidden agenda? What if he’s still following that playbook?”

“He’s not. People change. Everything Sam did back then was borne of grief and rage.”

“So, he’s not still angry and upset that Melvin Royal killed his sister?”

I narrow my eyes at her. It feels a bit like she’s twisting my words, which I don’t appreciate. “Of course he is. But he knows I had nothing to do with it. That’s the difference. He spent time with me. Got to know me and my kids. He figured out the truth.”

She smiles softly. “You really love him, don’t you?”