was a mirror to Gabe. The boyish, unapologetic smile that softened every action. The confidence that seeped from him. The gaggle of surrounding girls who called every hour, texted during dinner, and commented on every social media post.
“But . . .” Randall scratched the back of his head. “Even though I knew who the kid was, I never . . . Well, I don’t think I ever interacted with him. I don’t know. Maybe I yelled at him to get to class, or not to run in the halls—something like that. Maybe.”
Maybe? Juries hated maybes. For now, Robert let it slide.
“The cops asked about your alibi on the night each victim was taken and when their bodies were dumped. You said, and this is a quote from your questioning, ‘I don’t know. I was most likely at home.’” Robert looked up at him. “We’re going to have to do better than that.”
Randall shifted in the hard plastic seat, and his ankle chains clanked together. “I live alone. I read at night and grade tests. I’m not sure what to tell you. Unless you can get my dog to vouch for me, they’re just gonna have to believe me.”
“It’s hard to do that, considering the box they found.” On the tablet, Robert pulled up the photo, the one that made his anger rise in almost uncontrollable ways. It was a close-up of a small wooden box filled with a brutal assortment of souvenirs. A driver’s license for victim number one. The lobe of one ear. A slice of skin with a tattoo, carved out of a bicep. A watch, the inside engraved with a graduation date. A Polaroid photo of a boy, his face bruised, lip split, eyes swollen shut. Gabe.
“Yeah.” Randall barely glanced at the photo. “They said they found that in my house.”
“Underneath your bed. How’d it get there?”
The teacher raised his hands. “Who knows? I don’t make a habit of looking under my bed, not unless my glasses fall under there. Do you? Anybody could have stuck it there.”
“How would they get in the house?”
He shook his head in frustration. “Whose side are you on?”
“I’m playing devil’s advocate. You’re going to be asked all these questions during the trial.”
“Look, I DIDN’T TAKE OR HURT ANYONE,” Randall thundered, and if he did it just like that, there was a good chance someone on the jury would believe him. All they needed was one.
“Again, how would someone get in?”
“Someone could open the door and walk in,” he said defiantly. “It’s not like I own anything of value. No one’s robbing me. I lock the doors some of the time, but a lot of times I don’t. If the weather is nice, I open a window. So sue me.”
He didn’t need to be sued. Civil litigation was a moot concern when someone was behind bars for six murders. Six murders and seven kidnappings with aggravated and premeditated assault.
His life, whether he knew it or not, whether Robert got him off or not, was over.
CHAPTER 16
Nita Harden stood at Scott’s door and put her ear to the wood, straining to hear what her son was saying.
She couldn’t catch it. It was too low. Quiet. Almost a whisper. Scott never whispered. He blared loud music, crowed out his sentences, whooped and hollered when he leveled up or won some game, but he never whispered.
She knocked quietly on the door, and he fell silent. “Scott?” she called out.
There was the shuffle of items, steps on the wood floor, then he was opening the door and peering at her through the thin crack. “Yeah?”
“Are you okay? I thought I heard someone talking.”
“It’s just videos I’m watching on my phone.” He gave her a shy smile. “It’s late, Mom. Go to bed.”
He was right. It was almost two. A couple of weeks ago, she’d have taken a sleeping pill and be drooling on her pillow, her body tucked against George’s. But in this new reality, with her son back, she couldn’t sleep until his light was off, the sounds of quiet snores coming from underneath his door, and that didn’t seem to happen until three or four in the morning.
“Okay,” she said reluctantly, wishing he would open the door and let her in. Since when did he crack the door like this? What was he hiding in there? Normally she would have suspected it was a girl, but ever since he got home, none of the girls had been around. Neither, come to think about it,