Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 74749 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 374(@200wpm)___ 299(@250wpm)___ 249(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74749 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 374(@200wpm)___ 299(@250wpm)___ 249(@300wpm)
Chapter 19
Lennox
Colton didn’t have to give me the name of the victim. The second he told me the address, I knew.
I was in this same neighborhood mere hours ago.
I take it in, needing to feel the full sting of my mistakes.
Curtains move, nosy neighbors trying to figure out what the hell is going on before the sun has the chance to fully rise. Red-and-blue lights spin, turning the quaint neighborhood into an obvious crime scene.
I don’t waste time getting out of my car. Anything I could see right now has already been observed by the many others that arrived before me.
Patrol officers move around, some talking to neighbors brave enough to step out of their homes. One is running crime scene tape from one edge of the yard to the next.
I hold my head high as I approach the small front porch, knowing I won’t be able to do it for much longer.
I’m sick to my stomach, feeling disgusting and manipulated.
Colton meets me on the porch, his eyes confirming what I already know before he speaks.
“Victim is twenty-eight-year-old Rochelle Leach. The neighbor called about a fire in the backyard. The fire department showed up first, and I can tell you any evidence we might’ve gotten has been compromised.”
I follow Colton around to the back of the house rather than going through the house.
The scent of gasoline hits me when I get near the rusty gate.
“Accelerant,” Colton says, pointing at a discarded gas can. “I don’t think he brought it with him.”
I look to the left, noticing a lawn mower so old and rusty it doesn’t look like it even works.
“If he didn’t come prepared—”
“It means there’s a likelihood he made mistakes,” I say.
Weeds are tall in the backyard, furthering my presumption the lawn mower doesn’t work. It’s either that or she didn’t have many opportunities to get out here and take care of her yard.
“Why pull her out of the house?” I ask more to myself than Colton. “Why open himself up to being seen?”
Colton points to the back door, and I notice the screen barely holding onto one hinge. “I think she ran out here to escape. Look at the disturbance in the grass.”
“Strangled face down?”
“Good chance,” Colton says. “The fire did a lot more damage this time around.”
I try swallowing down the lump in my throat. I had only a couple of conversations with this woman, but last I saw her, she had that glint in her eye telling me she was executing a plan when she climbed out of her car a handful of hours ago and Sawyer followed her inside.
I was jealous of her, had a flash of motivation to bang on her door and drag her out by her hair. Seeing her this way makes me sick to my stomach. It makes me wonder why I felt I could trust him. Insidious thoughts seep inside, and I can picture him getting off so quickly, knowing he was getting away with a second murder, all while making me his alibi.
I shake my head.
“It’s a difficult scene,” Colton says, snapping his hand back when I jerk at his concerned touch to my shoulder. “Take a minute.”
I shake my head, but I don’t know what I’m saying no to. I pull my hand up by my head, indicating I’m going to do what he’s requesting, but I need to do it in my own way.
Take me back, he’d said.
I squeeze my eyes closed, trying to recall everything I can.
I didn’t smell gas on him. He came from the front door, not the side of the house. His clothes weren’t dirty or covered in grass stains. He wasn’t sweaty or out of breath. He was inside less than five minutes. He didn’t have time to attack her, strip her naked, sexually assault her all before chasing her outside, strangling her, and setting her body on fire.
“Have you been inside?” I ask, my voice raw, coming out barely over a whisper.
“Based on the evidence, it looks like the assault took place inside. The neighbors didn’t report hearing her scream for help. She didn’t get very far off the porch before he caught up with her.”
I swallow and nod, watching the point of Colton’s finger as he speaks, indicating the evidence.
The sun is coming up, the shadows disappearing making the scene that much more awful.
I feel the need to open my mouth and tell Colton what I know. It’s pertinent to the investigation for him to know that Sawyer Maddox escorted her home, that he went inside her house before getting into the car with me, but I can’t seem to open my mouth and make that confession. I know how it would look. Judgment may not come from Colton because he’s just not the type, but there will be no end to the disapproval from anyone else that will get wind of what I did tonight.