To Catch a Killer Page 9

  “I thought so, too,” he says. “But you’re ignoring that I’ve been doing my own investigations for five years now trying to clear my dad. I don’t do forensics…” He sweeps his hand toward me. “Or computer stuff…” He gestures toward Spam. He looks Lysa straight in the eye for a long moment.

  “What?” she asks.

  “Truthfully, lawyers creep me out.” Journey looks around the table at us. “I don’t care how good you are, there’s only so much we can do.”

  After a long silence, Spam looks from me to Journey and back to me again. Her eyes are cold, dark embers.

  “Erin, you’re my best friend,” she says. “I’d give you a kidney if you needed it. I’d give you both kidneys. But I think he’s right, you should leave this one for the police.”

  “Tried. Giant fail! I practically handed this evidence over to Sydney and she shut me down.”

  “You didn’t practically hand it to her,” Journey says, correcting me. “You hypothetically asked, if you had evidence, would she want to see it.”

  “Right. And she said no.”

  “I’m dying to know. What is this earthshaking evidence?” Spam crosses her arms over her chest.

  I glance over my shoulders, right then left. “I don’t want to get into the details here. But trust me, it changes everything.”

  “Is it from the box?” Lysa asks.

  I don’t need to answer. My pinched expression says it all.

  “I just want to slap you and call you Pandora.” She squeezes the sides of her face and moans. “We never should have helped you steal that thing.”

  “You say that, but the things in the box give us an advantage.” I glance at Journey. “Do you think the police would have ever matched up what you found with what I have?”

  To his credit, Journey doesn’t even blink. “Of course not. All they want to do is pin the crime on the first person they can. Which, if that detective has her way, will be one or both of us. She even said so.”

  Lysa and Spam share concerned looks.

  “Yeah, someone’s trying to make it look like Erin and I murdered Miss P … together.”

  “It gets worse.” I reach my hands across the table to Lysa and Spam. “What we found links Miss Peters’s murder to my mom’s.”

  Spam sits forward. “Define linked?”

  “As in the same person,” Journey says.

  Spam shakes her head. “That’s impossible. It’s been…”

  “Fourteen years.” And every single one of them feels like a scar on my heart. “The killer—man or woman, we don’t know—who left my mother lying in a pool of blood did the exact same thing to Miss Peters.”

  Lysa gnaws at a cuticle. Even Spam and Journey take a minute to stare at the scratches and chipped paint on the table.

  I get it, we’re all hurting for Miss P and she’s the only person who would be willing to help us unravel this. But I also forget how uncomfortable it is for normal people to talk about these things. I’ve been dealing with words like blood, murder, and dead for so long I have a callus on that part of my soul.

  “Alright. What do you need?” Spam asks, her voice thick with emotion.

  “More information, for starters,” I say.

  “Fine,” Spam agrees.

  “I’m there,” Lysa says.

  Lunch bell rings. Perfect timing.

  “Let’s meet here after school to plan this out,” I say.

  Everyone mumbles their agreement as we get up from the table. Lysa and Spam head off in one direction. Journey and I stand there for a minute, then he hands me a torn-off slip of notebook paper. “Here’s my cell phone number and e-mail address.” He shrugs. “I just thought, you know. In case you need to get in touch with me.”

  “Great. Perfect.” I fumble with my bag. “I should give you my contact info, too.”

  He shoves his hands into his pockets and turns, calling back over his shoulder, “Just text me … or e-mail,” he says. “Then I’ll have it.”

  I watch him move off and blend into the crowd heading for their classes.

  I tingle at the sight of the scrap of paper in my hand. Journey Michaels just gave me his phone number.

  It takes an extreme amount of restraint not to Snoopy dance on the spot, because that would be a complete dork move. Instead, I toss my hair back off of my face, turn, and head to class.

  It doesn’t help that I momentarily forgot which class I’m supposed to be heading to and so I’m walking in the opposite direction. I keep walking until I’m sure that Journey is out of sight before turning back and hustling to beat the tardy bell.

  16

  Chain of custody is critical to insure that the evidence of a crime is true and hasn’t been tampered with.

  —VICTOR FLEMMING

  The last bell rings and I race to the student store to pick up some drinks and snacks before heading to our meeting place. I sent Journey a text, as he instructed. It was just a brief “see ya later.” As I pass the basketball courts I catch sight of him hanging out with a couple of his teammates. A cheerleader is listening intently to what he’s saying and rubbing his shoulder in a consoling way.

  So I guess I didn’t turn him into a pariah, after all. And for that I’m a mix of happy and some other emotion I’d rather not inspect too closely.

  Spam and Lysa are waiting at the table. But instead of their usual nonstop chatting, they look like strangers waiting for a bus. The only signs of life are Lysa’s eyeballs, nervously sliding between Spam and the basketball courts, and Spam’s thumbs, scrolling and clicking through her phone.

  I slide onto the bench opposite them and deposit the snacks and drinks in the middle of the table.

  My phone pings. I pull it out of my pocket. A shiver races through me at the sight of Journey’s name. “He’s on his way.”

  There Spam and Lysa go again.

  Lately, they share a secret look over everything I say.

  I get it. Me getting a text from Journey Michaels is a pretty big deal. At another time this would have been cause for much squealing and flailing arms. They don’t seem particularly happy, though.

  Lysa looks at Journey. “He’s trying to tear himself away from some cheerleaders.”

  I glance over. The one cheerleader has multiplied into three. It’s practically a pageant. They’re each giving him a parting hug. I turn back to smile at Spam and Lysa. We used to laugh about this stuff all the time. Now it looks like I’m facing a firing squad.

  Journey arrives, taking the seat next to me. “Did you get my text?”

  The way he asks is so casual it flusters me. My face burns with embarrassment, so I skip over his question and dive right in. “Let’s go over the night Miss Peters was murdered just to get everybody straight on what happened.”

  “We’ll go first.” Spam glowers at me across the table. “Oh right. Lysa and I weren’t there. Is that straight enough?”

  “I’d give anything to not have been there,” Journey snaps. “No one wants that.” His arm accidentally brushes mine and we quickly jerk away from each other.

  “It’s interesting that you’re willing to tell us everything now that you need our help,” Spam says, still sulking. “How do we know you won’t go rogue again?” She tears open a bag of chips and drags one of the drinks over to her.

  “I won’t. I promise.” I look to Journey for confirmation. “We’ll work together. Like a team.” He agrees, also taking a drink for himself.

  “Awesome. Kumbaya all around,” Lysa says with a sarcastic edge. “Can we get on with this? I have a ton of homework.”

  I tip my hand toward Journey. “You start.”

  He clears his throat and leans forward, resting his elbows on the table. “Miss Peters knew I was coming that night, too. I was dropping off a toothbrush that belonged to my father to see if she could get his DNA off of it.”

  “So you can try to get him a new trial,” Lysa says.

  This surprises all of us, but no one is more surprised than Jour
ney.

  “How’d you know?” he asks.

  Lysa smiles. “My father was your father’s attorney. It was his first murder trial.”

  Journey’s lips tighten. “That means he’s my attorney, too. I mean, I’m hoping I won’t actually need one. But at the moment.”

  I thought I was the only one keeping secrets but wow, Lysa knew Journey’s father was in prison and never told us. Now Spam and I exchange side-eyes.

  Lysa scowls. “You know, there’s a rule of law called attorney-client privilege. Just because I accidentally hear something around my house doesn’t mean I can go blabbing it all over. You guys understand that, right?”

  Spam and I nod. Journey pauses, taking it all in.

  “Anyway.” He shakes his head and continues. “Miss P’s house is on a corner. I pulled up and parked along the side, not the front. Erin can tell you, my van is stupid hard to start and I didn’t want to get stranded. The neighborhood was completely deserted, so I left it running while I ran up to her porch.”

  At the mention of Miss Peters’s porch, I fade out a little. The images are still too fresh.

  “All I had on me was the toothbrush, no bag or anything. I didn’t want to just—you know—leave it on the porch.” Journey glances at me. “It didn’t occur to me to put it in the mailbox. My brilliant idea was to use the drawstring from my hoodie and tie the toothbrush to her doorknob. But instead of taking my sweatshirt off, I tried to pull the string out while I was still wearing it. The hood got all closed and wrapped around my head. While I was dealing with that, I heard someone jump into my van and start to drive it away.”

  I can tell by the way Spam and Lysa are paying attention that Journey’s goofy charm is having a good effect on them.

  He acts out the next part. “I’m trying to rip off my hoodie and run after my van.”

  I stifle a laugh at his depiction. He snaps a serious look in my direction.

  “Hey. It wasn’t funny. I seriously had to chase my own van.”

  “I know. I’m sorry,” I say.

  “Anyway, I ran five blocks before I found it! Sitting in the middle of Pine Lookout. The driver’s door was open and the keys were on the hood.”

  Spam frowns. “How weird is it for a car thief to leave both the van and the keys?”

  “At the time I figured it was just someone punking the idiot who left his car running,” Journey says. “But after I found out about Miss P, the motive definitely seemed more sinister.”

  “At this point he didn’t know anything was wrong with Miss P,” I say.

  “Right,” Journey agrees. “After I got my van back I drove around a little looking for the creep who stole it. Usually when someone steals a car it’s because they don’t have one. I’m coming down the block when I see Erin walking up to Miss P’s mailbox. I was going to drive up and talk to her. Maybe she saw who took my van. But one second she’s walking up to the door and the next she’s on the ground, screaming.”

  I hold up my hand. “Miss Peters was already—you know.” My eyes well up as I remember that awful sequence of events and how nothing I could have done would have changed things for her.

  Journey pauses to take a sip of his drink. “I freaked out. I didn’t know what was going down but I didn’t want any part of it.” He glances over at me with an apologetic look and reaches out to swipe the veil of hair off of my face.

  I’m so stunned at his hand coming toward me that I rear back, making me look kind of crazy. “Sorry,” I say, tucking my hair behind my ear.

  Journey shifts back to telling the story. “Anyway, I started to feel terrible for driving away. I mean, there was something obviously wrong with this poor girl. I had to go back and check on her.”

  Holy cow. I didn’t even know this part. Journey’s charming description of coming back to rescue me is really sweet. A glance at the smiles on Spam and Lysa suggests they think so, too.

  “Awww,” I say.

  Journey looks a little guilty. “Well, I also realized that I had dropped my hoodie and the toothbrush somewhere in the yard. So, this time, I pulled around back and parked in the alley. I wanted a clear view of the street and yard. As I walked around the side toward the front, my hoodie and toothbrush were still in the grass where I had dropped them. When I bent over to pick them up, I triggered the motion light. The light popped on and I saw everything: Erin and Miss Peters covered in blood. I just ran. I didn’t notice the strip of fabric on the floor of my van until I got home.”

  I raise my finger to interject again. “A strip of fabric that came from the shirt my mother was wearing when she was killed.”

  “That’s impossible,” Spam says.

  “I know,” I say. “But it’s true. I have that shirt, in the box at my house.”

  “Why would the person who murdered your mom want to hurt Miss P?” Lysa asks, her voice thick with sadness.

  They all look to me as if I have the answer. I wish.

  “That’s what we have to figure out,” Journey says.

  “What’s weird is how the tie binds you together,” Lysa says. “Without it you two wouldn’t have any connection at all.”

  My stomach flip-flops. The situation sucks rocks, but having a connection to Journey is a definite plus. “We were there at the same time,” I say. “Which I’ll admit is also weird.”

  “What’s the next move?” Spam asks.

  “Right now we’re going to Journey’s house so I can thoroughly go through his van. I’ll be looking for fingerprints, hair, fibers, anything I can find.”

  Spam squints. “Didn’t the police already do that?”

  “They did,” Journey says. “But they were basically looking for evidence they could use against me. I’m counting on our little Sherlock here to find something they missed.”

  He gently nudges my shoulder, sending my nerve endings into a frenzy. Is it my imagination or is he flirting with me? The table goes silent as they all look to me. Meanwhile, I’m geeking out over a stupid shoulder nudge.

  “I … um, it looked like they only dusted the door handle and the steering wheel. I’m planning to go over it more carefully.”

  “What do you want us to do?” Lysa asks.

  “We need to pull together a view of everything Miss P was doing and everyone she talked to before she was killed. Spam, can you get her phone records?”

  She shrugs. “Most people are pretty lame about passwords. I’m guessing I can hack her account. Cell phone, right?”

  “Yes. I’ll text you her number,” I say.

  Spam gives me a mock salute. “I’m on it.”

  “What about me?” Lysa asks.

  “Your dad told me not to worry,” Journey says. “But he said that to my father, too. And I know how that turned out. If you think there’s something I should worry about, will you tell me? I don’t want to get blindsided.”

  Lysa flutters her hands nervously. “I can’t mess with my father’s files. There are all kinds of laws about that, and if I got caught it would make things a lot worse for you.”

  “You don’t need to touch his files or take anything,” Journey says. “Just listen, snoop around, and report back.”

  Lysa smiles. “I’m an awesome snoop.”

  “Anything else?” Spam asks.

  I catch a glimpse of Principal Roberts. He’s standing in his usual post by the parking lot, but instead of watching students leave, he’s staring at us.

  “Yeah. We need to keep all of this away from Mr. Roberts.… I know he cares and he’s trying to look out for me, but he’s a direct narc line to Rachel. So this has to stay between us.”

  “Got it,” Spam says.

  “I’ll send everyone an e-mail tonight to let you know what we find in the van.”

  “Okay.”

  Spam and Lysa gather their stuff while I clean up the trash from the table. Journey is waiting for me to finish. “Text me your address and I’ll meet you at your place,” I say.

  He hedges, shifting from one foot
to the other. “It’ll be better if I drive you.”

  We pretend not to notice the look Spam and Lysa share.

  17

  This won’t sound very scientific, but you should never overlook the importance of being yourself in high school.

  —MISS P

  “I don’t mind riding with you,” I say while nervously torturing the strap on my bag. “But I have my scooter.” I’m also freaked out about being alone in a car with you because my hands will sweat like a kitchen sponge and my throat will close like a clogged drain—but of course I’m not going to tell you that.

  “I can fit your scooter in the back of the van,” Journey says. “I’ll pick you up in front at the Green Area.” He lopes off toward the parking lot.

  “Okay.” I hope he doesn’t live too far away. And it’s not like this is a date or anything, but I fail at keeping one-on-one conversations going with boys, and my best friends know this. Spam and Lysa walk me to the Green Area.

  “So, you and Journey, huh…” Lysa says slyly.

  “I know. Crazy, right? I mean, we’re just trying to figure all of this out.” A tingling sweeps up the back of my neck and spreads across my cheeks. I flip my hair from behind my ear. I can’t say any more but Spam and Lysa know. The look they exchange this time is a little warmer.

  “Just be careful,” Lysa says.

  “Keep your head on straight, chica,” Spam adds.

  I nod. Their advice is good. I feel comfortable with Journey but I get it, there’s still a lot we don’t know.

  At the Green Area we hug, then Spam and Lysa continue on toward the parking lot. I barely have my bag stashed in the seat compartment of my scooter before I spot Mr. Roberts ambling my way.

  “Erin, do you have a minute?” He parks his reading glasses on his giant, bald forehead and mimes a batting warm-up move.

  I try to look busy, but he doesn’t take the hint. “How is your schoolwork?” he asks. “Are you managing to keep up? I can speak to your teachers if you need extra time for any of your assignments.”

  “Thanks, Mr. Roberts. But everything’s fine.” My panic meter starts to rise; Journey will be pulling up in his van any second. Mr. Roberts will immediately alert Rachel if he sees me leaving with him. Out of the corner of my eye I see Lysa and Spam hurrying back from the parking lot.