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Her thickly-penciled brow cocks.
“I don’t trust the police,” I continue. “I’m Rhett Cohen. The man convicted of killing this woman’s mother. Except I didn’t.”
Her expression doesn’t change. She recognized me.
“When Sylvia went missing,” I continue, “Stroud told me, point blank, that I am the main suspect, so, please forgive me for not calling your team for help when I found a clue that might lead me to Sylvia, and therefore, would remove me from your suspect list.”
“I get it, but it was an idiotic move.”
“I get it.”
“So, go back to the story,” she says. “You open the letter with the coordinates. Is there a return address on the envelope?”
“No—we didn’t get that lucky. So, the coordinates brought me here, I found Sylvia and called you. That’s it. That’s the story.” Minus my visit to Jesse, who I’d made a promise to keep his hideout a secret.
“How did you know about the letters in the first place?” Young asks. “The first ones that were sent?”
“I saw it on the news.”
“The necklace wasn't on the news.”
Officer Young knows much more than she initially led on.
“You’re right. I visited Sylvia after I learned about the letters.”
“You went to her house?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because I wanted to know who sent them to her.”
“Why?”
“Because I believe this can help me find the man who framed me for her mother’s murder twenty years ago.”
Young tilts her head to the side. “Vigilante justice. Is that what you had in mind.”
“Honestly?”
“Yes.”
“I’m not so sure about anything anymore.”
“Do you have an idea of who might’ve framed you—assuming you are innocent of course?”
I hesitate, knowing I need to tread lightly. “I think both Dr. Harris Taylor and Detective Stroud need to be looked into. They both have their prints all over this thing. It was the doctor’s missing son, Jesse Taylor, who was paid by a mystery person to deliver the envelopes to Sylvia. And Detective Stroud is the only person who has been involved in this thing from the beginning, twenty years ago. I suggest speaking with Dr. Harris first. Ask what he knows.”
“Well, I’m afraid we no longer have that option.”
I frown. “What do you mean?”
“Harris Taylor had an unfortunate accident recently.”
“What kind of accident?”
“He took a tumble down his staircase, at his house, two days ago. His wife found him at the bottom of the stairs, neck broken, but alive. He’s been airlifted to a trauma center in Burlington. He’s on life support.”
