raped Ellie Rose,” continued Diane. “He choked her to unconsciousness and she was badly hurt. She hit her head in a fall, I suspect, while Tyler was fighting with her. But then Tyler called his grandfather for help, and Everett Walters came, prepared with a hatchet, just in case he got the chance. And he did. When Ellie was trying to get up, he struck her down.”
“Oh,” whimpered Marsha. “Oh God.” She put a hand over her mouth and rocked forward. Her husband reached out to her.
“When he got rid of her body,” said Diane, “he struck her head against a rock to disfigure the wound—using blunt-force trauma in an attempt to hide the evidence of the sharp weapon that killed her.”
Diane stared Everett in the eyes. “You tried to make it look as if her head were injured when Dance threw her body down the embankment. And fortunately for you, Gainesville had a brand-new medical examiner with a track record of making wrong calls. But another medical examiner recently analyzed the photos of the autopsy and saw the sharp cuts in the skull that you tried to obscure.”
“You bastard,” said Wendy. “You freaking bastard—all this time . . .”
“Just your ME’s word against ours, seems like to me,” Everett said. “Don’t listen to her.”
“Tyler needs to listen. He can redeem himself,” said Diane. “It’s not too late.”
“You got nothing,” Everett said. He pulled a straight-back chair from its place near the wall beside the fireplace, sat down, crossed his legs, and looked very smug.
“You saying I didn’t kill El?” groaned Tyler.
“That’s what I’m saying,” said Diane.
“Don’t listen to her, boy. She’d say anything,” said Everett. “She’s desperate.” He grinned at Diane.
She could see her plan had little chance. Tyler was in too much pain, he was only half listening, and his grandfather had a big hold over him.
“What was the text message?” said Tyler. “What does it mean? Someone please get me some painkillers?”
“Please,” said Wendy. “Samuel, you must have something. Give him something.”
“He can take the pain for a little while,” said Everett. “Just until we figure this thing out. Everybody stays in the room so I can see them.”
“Pour him a drink,” said Kingsley. He nodded toward the bar in the corner where Wendy poured Marsha’s drinks.
Everett nodded and Wendy got her son a bottle of vodka and poured him a drink, which he downed in one gulp.
“Now, what’s this about the text message?” said Walters. “The boy seems to think it’s important.”
“The Athens police department executed a search warrant on Tyler’s residence. In the closet they found incriminating evidence.”
“Of what?” said Everett. “They found nothing.”
“A sequin that matched my dress,” said Diane. “You stepped on it when you attacked me at Marcella Payden’s house and carried it back on the bottom of your boot.”
“That’s nothing,” said Everett. “Just as I thought, you got nothing.”
“Granted, the sequin alone, it could be argued, is just a coincidence. Even the matching fibers could be considered a coincidence. They’re common. However, they also found a broken piece of pottery,” said Diane.
Everett laughed. “You got nothing.”
“On the contrary,” said Diane. “You broke a pot on the way to your vehicle.”
“A broken piece could have come from anywhere,” said Everett.
“You stole pottery that Dr. Marcella Payden made. She does archaeological research. Do you know what a histological examination is? It’s a microscopic inspection of stuff, like tissue, broken pottery kind of stuff. The point is, we can match that piece with the broken pieces of her property. We can place Tyler at Marcella’s house at the time of the second attack.” Diane stopped a moment to let it sink in.
“Tyler. Not me,” said Everett.
Good, thought Diane, be the self-centered bastard you are.
“I don’t have the results of the search of your premises yet,” said Diane.
His eyes narrowed and his gun wavered in her direction. “You won’t find anything,” he said.
“That remains to be seen. You seem to be ignorant of how trace evidence works. Which brings me to boots.”
Everett winced at her words. Diane could see he didn’t like being called ignorant.
“Boots?” whispered Tyler. He moved toward the table.
“What you doing, boy?” said Everett.
“Getting their guns,” he said, “so they don’t make a grab for them. You said they’re desperate. I see that guy, Kingsley, eyeing them.”
“Good thinking, boy. We can figure this out. You just hang in there. Feeling that vodka yet?” said Everett.
“A little,” he said. He groaned as he reached for the guns. He got hold of them, put