Girl, Forgotten (Andrea Oliver 2)

“What’s that?” Ricky’s voice still sounded off.

“They tell you at the academy to never make assumptions. I think someone made a really bad assumption about Emily’s case.”

Ricky kept her back to Andrea. “Yeah?”

“I don’t think the person who raped her at the party is the same person who killed her.”

Ricky looked into the window over the sink. She found Andrea’s reflection in the glass, using it like a mirror.

“Emily had something she called her Columbo Investigation. She kept notes on everybody who might know what had happened to her at the party. I assumed it was a notebook, but it wasn’t, was it? It was her address book.” Andrea waited for a reaction, but there was none. “She had it with her when she was attacked, only the police never found it. She was naked. Her purse was missing. Do you know what happened to it?”

Ricky said nothing, but she had to know what was in the console drawer.

“There were black threads on the shipping pallet in the alley.” Andrea paused. “Did you wear a black tux that night, Ricky? You already told me that you were at the prom.”

Ricky’s head dropped. She stared down at the sink. She was still gripping the counter. The rubber bracelets and silver bangles had settled around her hands. The light picked out the faded scars where she had tried to slit her wrists.

Bible’s words came back to Andrea—if they’re homicidal, they’re suicidal.

“You should—” Ricky coughed. “You should go, okay? I need to get some rest.”

“It’s been forty years,” Andrea said. “Aren’t you tired of living with the guilt?”

“I—I don’t—” Ricky coughed again. “I want you to leave. Please leave.”

“I’m not leaving, Ricky. You need to tell me what happened. This isn’t for the judge or Judith. You need to tell me for yourself.”

“I—I don’t know what you’re—I can’t, okay? I can’t.”

“You can,” Andrea insisted. “You’ve suffered enough. How many times have you tried to kill yourself because you can’t live with what you did?”

Ricky was bowed over by the weight of her guilt. She pressed her forehead to the edge of the sink. “Please, don’t make me.”

“It’s tearing you up inside,” Andrea said. “Say the words, Ricky. Just say the words.”

The kitchen went silent. A clock ticked somewhere. Ricky finally took a deep breath.

“Yes.” She spoke in a raspy whisper. “I killed her, okay? I killed Emily.”

Andrea opened her mouth, but only for air.

“I told her to stay away from Nardo.” Ricky leaned her elbows on the sink. She put her face in her hands. “I saw her talking to him outside the gym. Flirting with him. Pushing his buttons. She couldn’t—she couldn’t stay away from him. Why didn’t she just stay away from him?”

Andrea said nothing.

“I didn’t mean to—” Ricky coughed into her hands. “I only wanted to warn her, but I—I lost control. She wasn’t supposed to be there. I told her not to come and I—I couldn’t stop myself. Everything happened so fast. I don’t even remember going into the alley. Picking up the board. I was so angry. So fucking angry.”

Andrea knew that Ricky was capable of that kind of rage. What she did not know was what had happened next. Emily Vaughn had weighed 152 pounds at the time of her attack. There was no way that Ricky had moved Emily on her own.

She asked, “Did your brother help you move her body from the alley?”

Ricky shook her head, but said, “That’s why he left. He was terrified that someone had seen him or … that he would be arrested, and he knew he couldn’t … that he would have to tell the truth about …”

Andrea listened to her voice trail off into more sobs. “Why did you take off her dress?”

“Blake said there could be evidence or … I don’t know. I did what he said. We burned it all behind the house.” Ricky sniffed. “He was good at that kind of thing, figuring out the angles, finding details that other people had overlooked.”

Andrea couldn’t disagree. He had managed to cover Ricky’s tracks for forty years.