“If it was just about me, then I wouldn’t care. But I can’t allow this to come out,” he responded, his eyes narrowed in concentration. He shifted the weapon to the center of Rachel’s chest and then back to Hannah, as if trying to decide which one of them to shoot first. “I can’t allow Kelly to find out. It would kill her to know that her father was once a monster.”

“You’re still a monster,” said Rachel. “Look at you. You’re willing to kill Hannah and me to cover up for your crimes. You should know that I’ve recorded everything you said and it’s automatically uploaded onto my cloud. Even if I die, the audio will be found by my producer. Killing us will only make things worse for you.”

Dan ordered Rachel to hand over her phone. She tossed it to him. He caught it with his free hand and fumbled with it as he tried to see if she was telling the truth. Eventually, unable to figure it out, he threw the phone into the water.

“Stand on the jetty ledge,” he ordered.

Rachel climbed over the jetty rails and Hannah followed suit. Both women had their backs to the rails as they faced the chasm of the ocean. The waves hit their feet and splashed against their clothes. Rachel’s arms ached from reaching behind her back to clutch the rail so she wouldn’t fall into the water, the jetty shifting each time it was hit by a strong wave.

She had lied when she’d said the recording of their conversation was on her cloud. It didn’t automatically upload. And even if it had, the noise from the wind and thrashing waves was so loud that she doubted anything recorded would be audible.

Rachel and Hannah stood next to each other against the jetty rails, facing the ocean, their arms cramping and their body trembling from cold as minutes passed. It was only when Rachel turned her head and saw car headlights moving in the darkness toward the road that she realized he’d left them there and made a getaway.

“He’s gone,” Rachel whispered to Hannah. Hannah didn’t respond. Rachel turned and saw that Hannah wasn’t there anymore. She’d dropped into the sea and was being enveloped by waves.

Rachel jumped into the water, scrambling around until she was clutching Hannah by her arm, trying to keep both their heads above water. They’d drifted far enough away from the jetty that she couldn’t climb back up. They would have to swim to shore.

Rachel felt the weight of her wet clothes and Hannah’s weighing them down into the rough water. She used all her strength to get Hannah to lie flat and float, but it was impossible. Hannah’s long cardigan was dragging her underwater. Rachel ripped the sweater off Hannah’s shoulders, pulling the heavy fabric off her until it floated away. She grabbed Hannah and pulled her along to the shore.

“Stay with me, Hannah,” Rachel soothed. “You’re going to be okay. I promise.”

Rachel’s eyes stung from the salt water, and her body ached from trying to stay afloat and guide Hannah to safety in the choppy waves. When she ran out of strength, she relaxed and allowed them to drift in the surf until she felt sand under her feet. Slowly, she crawled out of the water, pulling Hannah with her until they were lying on the beach.

Rachel breathed heavily, her pulse racing. Hannah’s eyes were open, but she was trembling violently from the cold.

In the distance, Rachel heard sirens. They rose to a crescendo and then stopped abruptly. Moments later, she saw dark figures running and then beams of flashlights swept across the beach. “We’re here,” Rachel called out, waving her hand limply.

* * *

Rachel sat slumped in an armchair next to the hospital bed where Hannah was fast asleep. She herself had slept little that night, waking intermittently as doctors and nurses came in and out of the room through the night to check on Hannah.

Detective Cooper had met the ambulance at the hospital. Hannah was rushed into the ER and immediately treated for hypothermia and ingesting water. Rachel had insisted that she didn’t need medical attention. All she wanted was a hot shower and a fresh change of clothes. Detective Cooper had driven her back to the hotel so she could get just that. She’d told him on the drive over what had happened and how she’d texted Pete surreptitiously when Dan Moore pulled out the gun. He told her grimly that it was lucky that Pete had been awake and called emergency services.

When Rachel was showered and dressed, she insisted on returning to check on Hannah. Detective Cooper had dropped Rachel back at the hospital and she’d spent what remained of the night sleeping under a blanket in the armchair next to Hannah’s bed.

Rachel opened her eyes to see Detective Cooper standing over her, holding out a large takeout coffee and a white paper bag. “I brought you some breakfast,” he said as Rachel pushed away the blanket and sat up. She rubbed her eyes and stifled a yawn as she took the coffee cup.

“Has Dan Moore been arrested yet?” Rachel asked.

Hannah shifted slightly in her sleep but didn’t wake. The sedative the doctors had given her hadn’t worn off yet.

“His car was found abandoned. We went to the family house, but there was nobody there. A neighbor told us that Kelly and her mother left town the day that she was supposed to have testified again,” Detective Cooper said. “They’ve relocated to the West Coast. As for Dan, he’s on the run.”

His bloodshot eyes attested to the fact that he hadn’t slept at all since he’d been woken by a call from Rachel at the back of the ambulance, asking him to meet her at the hospital.

He pulled the blinds back slightly so he could see out into the bright sunshine of the morning. He turned around to look at Hannah, still fast asleep. Her skin was almost as white as the hospital sheets and her face looked innocent, and childlike, as she slept.

“You never forget your first death notification,” he said. “Jenny Stills was mine. I never imagined that I was being sent out to her mother’s house to deliver that terrible news because the police chief wanted me out of the way so he could get my partner to cover up Jenny’s rape and murder.”

“Didn’t you ask questions afterward, given how closely you were involved in the case, helping Hannah and giving the death notification to her mother?” Rachel asked.

He shook his head. “I was sent straight from Jenny’s house to work a roadblock near the car-accident scene. After that, I went home and slept. When I returned to work, my partner told me he had good news, that someone had dropped out of a police-training course that I’d applied for in Charlotte. There was a spot for me, but I had to leave right away. When I finished the course, I was immediately offered a junior detective job in Rhode Island,” he said.

“Was Russ Moore’s hand in that, too?” Rachel asked.

“Probably. The chief in Rhode Island was an old friend of Russ Moore. I’m sure he called in a favor,” he said, looking back out the window. “Mitch asked me to get hold of the autopsy report for Jenny Stills. I spoke to a friend. They found the file, but there was nothing in it. Russ did a thorough job of destroying any evidence she was murdered.”

Rachel poured a packet of brown sugar into her coffee and stirred it in the silence that followed. Russ Moore had owned the town when he was police chief. He’d had so much power that he was able to do whatever he wanted. He’d terrorized his wife and son, driving his wife to suicide. He’d framed Bobby Green as the perpetrator of the fatal car crash that had shocked Neapolis, even though his own son had been behind the wheel. And, perhaps most horrifyingly, he’d made sure his most loyal police officers covered up the rape and murder of Jenny Stills. Detective Cooper’s phone beeped. He took it out of his pocket and read the message.

“It’s from Mitch,” he said. “The jury has reached a verdict.”

53

Guilty or Not Guilty

Season 3, Episode 12: The Verdict

Today Scott Blair woke up in his bed. Maybe for the last time in a long time. He dressed in navy pants and a blue sweater. He brushed his teeth. He shaved. He probably had breakfast, despite what I’m sure were nervous butterflies in his stomach.

Before he left for court, maybe he stuck his head into his bedroom for a final look. I’m betting he wondered whether he’d sleep in his bed that night or he’d be in a cell in a prison-issue jumpsuit, serving the first night of a long prison sentence.

When Scott Blair arrived in court, surrounded by his lawyers, his parents nervously shuffling in behind him, he looked like a deer caught in headlights. He’d lost control of his life to twelve ordinary people from various walks of life who sat in judgment of him. Twelve strangers who would decide his fate.

He knew the power they had over him as he watched the jury file in with fixed expressions and gritted teeth. You could almost see him asking himself the question: “How did I screw up my life so badly that I ended up here?”