Low Pressure

“He was convicted with only circumstantial evidence.”

“A preponderance of it.”

“But no physical evidence.”

“They matched his DNA,” she argued.

“A couple strands of his hair. Susan’s clothing also had traces of Mr. So-and-So’s dandruff and Mr. What’s-His-Name’s skin cells. She’d danced with a lot of men. She was crawling with DNA from a dozen or more people.”

“But Strickland’s saliva—”

“He admitted to kissing her open-mouthed and that his mouth had also been on her breasts.”

“What you’re saying is that you think Allen Strickland killed her.”

“No. I’m only saying that he was Moody’s best guess. But if Allen Strickland was the guilty party and sent to Huntsville to contemplate his sin for twenty long years, justice was served, right? Why, then, is somebody terrifying the hell out of you for bringing the world’s attention to it? And speaking of…” He placed his arm over her shoulder and brought her close to his side as he turned around and started walking away from the swing set. “I wonder who the guy in the pickup is.”

“What guy? Where?”

“Don’t look.” He hugged her tighter to keep her facing forward. “Just keep walking.”

“Someone is watching us?”

“Can’t be sure. But the same truck has driven by twice in the last few minutes. I wouldn’t have thought much about it except that he’s now coming by for a third pass. This is a pretty park, but I don’t think he’s admiring the duck pond or the gazebo. He doesn’t look the type.”

“What type does he look like?”

“I can’t make out his facial features, but his truck screams bad-ass bubba. Lots of bumper stickers, skull and crossbones on the mud flaps, get-the-blank-out-of-my-way tires. I’d bet money there’s a gun rack in the cab.”

“You noticed all that?”

“I’m used to searching the horizon for aircraft I must avoid, which usually look like a moving speck. One pickup roughly the size of my apartment is easy to spot. Do you know anyone who drives a truck like that?”

She shot him a look.

“I didn’t think so.” He stopped and bent down as though to pick a dandelion, and in the process glanced down the street in time to see the pickup round a corner a few blocks away. “Gone.”

Bellamy looked in that direction, but was too late to catch a glimpse of the pickup. “It could have been anybody.”

“It could have been, but I’ve come down with a bad case of paranoia.”

“I think we’re both being paranoid.”

“Don’t try to bullshit a bullshitter, A.k.a. You had a meltdown a few minutes ago. You’re scared, with reason. You said yourself that our guy doesn’t want you to remember what really went down.”

“I said that, yes, because I know about my memory loss. He doesn’t.”

“Which makes him even more desperate to learn what you’re up to, why you’ve stayed silent till now.”

“If I’d known something crucial to the case, I would have come forward with it during the investigation. I would have told everything I saw.”

“Not if what you saw scared you senseless.” He looked deeply into her eyes and said what she probably knew but hadn’t had the courage to acknowledge, even to herself. “Like witnessing your sister’s murder.”

She recoiled. “But I didn’t.”

“Someone thinks you might have. I think you might have.”

“Well, you’re wrong. I would remember that.”