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I wanted to ask her more questions, but her stiffness told me she was done sharing for now. “I just don’t know. Something doesn’t feel right.”
“When does something like this ever feel right?” Avery asked softly.
Again, good point, but as I trekked through my memories of that night, I knew I was missing something—something forced out of my head by the trauma of it, and that had been pretty damn traumatizing.
Then it hit me as I lifted my gaze and met Calla’s. I started to rise as my heart pounded in my chest. “Oh my God.”
“What?” Calla stood too, even though she looked confused. She looked at Avery, who was also starting to rise. “What?” she said. “What the hell, Teresa?”
I shook my head as it sunk in. How had I forgotten this? “Pink scarf.”
“Huh.” She looked at Avery again.
“There was a pink scarf on the dorm door!” My legs gave out, and I plopped back on the couch. “Holy crap . . .”
“Are you okay?” Avery grasped my arm, her fingers cool. “Should I call Jase? Cam?”
“No! But I need to go give my statement! I need to do it now.” I felt sick. “I need to go to the police.”
“All right.” Calla grabbed her keys. “We can take you, but you have to tell us what the hell is going on.”
“The pink scarf—Debbie always hung a pink scarf on the door whenever Erik was there and they wanted privacy,” I explained in a rush, my hands shaking. “She hung that damn pink scarf when she didn’t want to be interrupted.”
“Okaaay.” Avery drew the word out.
“You don’t understand.” I took a shallow breath. “There was a pink scarf on the door when I got there. I thought she was in there with Erik and they’d gotten back together. That pink scarf means Erik was there earlier!”
Twenty-three
Avery and Calla got what I was saying to them, that Debbie hadn’t been alone at some point during the evening, but it didn’t seem to register on the importance scale for them.
But it did for me.
My brain was not willing to accept the idea that Debbie committed suicide. It wasn’t that I was naive and didn’t believe that it was possible, but Erik had been there and to me, it made more sense that the fucker lost his temper and—and really hurt her.
They took me to the police to give my statement and while I’d stressed the importance of the pink scarf and that it had meant that Debbie hadn’t been alone, they didn’t appear too overly concerned.
“We plan on talking to her ex-boyfriend later today,” the officer said, guiding me out of the office, to where Calla and Avery waited. He smiled, but it was tight and fake, and I felt like one of those nosy little old ladies who ran the neighborhood watch and always reported things incorrectly.
“So what did they say?” Avery asked once we were back in Calla’s car.
I sighed. “I told them what I saw and what I knew. That her and Erik had broken up and that he . . .” I bit down on my lip, realizing I’d never told them how Debbie’s relationship was. It felt wrong somehow, even though she had never asked me to not tell anyone, but I’d been so embarrassed—still was—and I knew she probably never wanted anyone to know. I’d told the police and they’d written down what I’d seen—the bruises and what Debbie had told me, but I could tell that they really thought Debbie had killed herself. And without anyone there to file charges against Erik, there’d be nothing they could do.
Avery peeked over the passenger seat, her brown eyes wide. “He hit her, didn’t he?”
Wondering if she could read minds, I glanced at the rearview mirror, finding Calla’s gaze darting from the road to it. “Yeah, he . . . he hit her. I asked her about it once and she denied it, but then she told me the truth after, well . . .” Cam still didn’t know about that and I wanted to keep it that way. “Well, she told me the night before she died.”
“Jesus,” Calla muttered.
My gaze met Avery’s, and she smiled sympathetically. “Anyway, I told them what I knew and how the pink scarf had to have meant that Erik had been there. They said they were planning on talking to him today.”
She nibbled on her lower lip. “Do you think he really did it to her and then . . . hung her up?”
I shuddered at the prospect. “I don’t know how anyone could do that to someone, but there are really messed-up people in this world.”
Calla nodded. “So very true.”
“And he’s lost his temper with her before. Maybe it wasn’t on purpose,” I wondered out loud. “And then he panicked and made it look like a suicide.”
