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“They said she drowned herself,” said Alkins.
“Do you really believe that?”
“There was no reason to doubt it. Anyway, I wasn’t here when she died. I was so disgusted with myself and the way that I’d treated Jenny that I went to stay with my granddad up north before starting college,” he said. “Why are you so interested in Jenny Stills? That was a lifetime ago.”
“I think that Jenny was murdered,” said Rachel. “And I may have some evidence. I need your help. I need a copy of Jenny’s autopsy report and I’d like to speak to the cops who handled the investigation. I don’t have access to that information. You do.”
“I’ll make some calls and get you whatever information you need,” he said. “If it’s true that Jenny Stills was killed then I’ll reopen the case. I let her down once. I won’t do it again.”
On the beach below, Detective Cooper was scrambling over rocks as he walked to a short pier where a motorboat was tethered. He jumped into the boat, released the ropes, and turned on the engine. They watched in silence as he steered the boat into the sea, bouncing so high off incoming waves that it looked as if he might get airborne.
“The coast here is deceptive,” Alkins murmured as he watched the motorboat cutting through the water. “One minute, it looks placid. The next, a storm sweeps in. People die in the water around here all the time. The coastline is a graveyard of sunken ships and memorials to the dead. Us locals learn from the time we’re young to read the mood of the ocean, but even we get it wrong sometimes.”
“I keep forgetting that you grew up here,” said Rachel. “Are you enjoying being back?”
“I don’t know if ‘enjoy’ is the right word. It’s where I belong. I always intended to come back someday, but I ended up doing it sooner than I’d planned.”
“If you don’t mind me saying so, it’s certainly a strange career change,” said Rachel. “You were a highly sought-after defense attorney. You were making a fortune. Why make the switch andbecome a prosecutor and then move back to what is really a backwater town?”
“Because I sleep better at night,” answered Alkins as he watched his cousin stop the motorboat and lean over the side to check a net in the water. “Nick’s checking some lines. He’ll return in a few minutes and take you back to your hotel. I have to get on with my work for the trial next week.”
“The trial might end on Monday,” Rachel reminded him.
“I’m hoping that Kelly will come through. Otherwise”—he sighed—“you may well be right.”
“So you think that Scott might get acquitted, too,” said Rachel, reading between the lines of his comment. “If Scott Blair gets off unpunished, it would be devastating for Kelly.”
“For Kelly and for many other rape victims,” Alkins said. “There’s not a lot I can do. We need her testimony. Without it, we don’t have much of a case.”
His voice sounded exhausted, yet there was also a thread of steely determination that suggested he wouldn’t give up so easily. He turned to face her. “I asked Nick to bring you here because I have a favor to ask,” he said. “I spent most of last evening at the Moores’ home, trying to get Kelly’s parents to understand that without their daughter’s testimony, the case is lost. Except I couldn’t get through to them. They’re completely unrealistic about our chances of winning without Kelly’s testimony. They told me they’re confident the jury will convict regardless of whether Kelly testifies.”
“I don’t see how the jury will convict if Kelly’s evidence is thrown out,” said Rachel.
“Precisely,” Alkins responded. “That’s why I wanted to talk to you. It might carry more weight if they hear it from someone without any stick in all of this. An outsider,” he told Rachel. “You’reinfluential. I gather Dan Moore is a fan of your podcast. Maybe they’ll listen to you.”
Rachel looked up at Alkins. Her eyes searched his face to see whether he was serious. All she could see was her own face in the dark lenses of his aviator sunglasses. As if realizing that she needed confirmation, he took the sunglasses off and leaned against the steel railings so he could look directly at her. “If you think Scott Blair is guilty and deserves to be punished then talk to Kelly’s parents, Rachel. Convince them to let their daughter return to the stand.”
“I shouldn’t get involved.…” Rachel hesitated. “I’m supposed to be a neutral bystander.”
“All I can do is ask you,” he said. “Ultimately, the decision is up to you. If there’s one thing that I’ve learned in my life, it’s that a good person’s conscience usually leads them to do the right thing.”
“I’m not making any promises,” said Rachel carefully. “But I will think about it.”
“I’m not asking for promises,” he said. They could hear the rising roar of the speedboat engine as Cooper steered the boat back to shore over the choppy waves.
“I want to make one thing clear,” he said as his cousin pulled the boat up to the rickety jetty and tied the ropes. “Unlike Dan Moore, I’m not a fan of your podcast. I don’t understand people’s fascination with other people’s tragedies. It’s modern-day rubbernecking. Ghoulish. Podcasts like yours feed that obsession. If I’d had my way, Judge Shaw would have never allowed you to cover the trial,” he said. “I want you to know that, because even if you do get Dan and Christine Moore to listen to you, I will still be on your case. I don’t do quid pro quo.”
Rachel appreciated Mitch Alkins’s honesty. At least she knew where she stood. Down on the beach, Cooper was looking up atthem as if asking Alkins’s permission to return. Alkins inclined his head slightly and Cooper then crossed the beach and traversed the steep path back to the house.
Detective Cooper drove Rachel to town the way they’d come, along the scenic coastal road. This time, he drove at a leisurely pace, slowing to point out panoramic views and points of interest. As they reached the outskirts of town, Rachel’s phone beeped. It was a text message from Pete to let her know that Hannah had sent another email.
46
Hannah
Dear Rachel,
It’s hard to put into words what happened that night. I’ve never written it down or told a single person. All my adult life, I’ve tried to forget. The memories inevitably return. Always at the worst possible time, when something good is happening in my life. Sometimes the pain of remembering is so bad that I consider giving up. Letting myself slip away.
