Page 73 of The Sleeping Girls
“I want the truth,” Heath barked.
Ellie gave him a warning look. “We’ve already been through this.”
A vein pulsed in his neck. “Then what do you want me to do?”
Ellie pursed her lips. “Do you know where Digger is?”
“I told you I didn’t.” Anger sharpened his tone. “You’re assuming Digger’s guilty just like the cops did years ago.”
“I don’t assume anything,” she said. “But you know we have to question him.”
He remained silent. As a deputy, he understood. But she sensed he did have some semblance of loyalty to his brother.
The fire chief, Remy Broussard, a handsome, muscular guy in his late thirties with a thick head of jet-black hair, removed his mask to speak, his Cajun accent thick. “Definitely smelled an accelerant. Gasoline. Arson investigator will be here to determine point of origin in the morning when this cools down.”
“Our victim hosts a true crime podcast—Guilty or Not Guilty,” Ellie explained.
“Must have made enemies,” Broussard said.
Ellie nodded. Just how many, though, and which one attacked her was the question. Obviously, Landrum didn’t want to admit it could be his half brother, their only suspect at the moment. But he’d better not do something stupid like try to take the case on himself.
Ellie sent Derrick a text.
Contact the Innocence Project. See if they have copies of Ms. O’Connor’s investigation into Darnell.
Maybe the podcaster had found something to lead them to the killer.
EIGHTY
SOMEWHERE ON THE RIVER
Digger had parked a half-mile away from Caitlin’s studio, not wanting his car to be seen. Aware the police would be combing the woods, he’d dived into the river that backed onto the property. His arms ached as he swam across the choppy waves. The heavy rains had raised the water level to near flood conditions and the current was so strong, he felt it sweeping him downstream and dragging him under.
Knowing he couldn’t fight its force, he gave into it and paddled his arms with the current, letting it put much-needed distance between him and Caitlin O’Connor.
Caitlin… A string of curse obscenities rolled through his mind. She was hurt. Because she’d helped him.
The police would assume he’d done it.
But they were wrong. Killing Caitlin would be like cutting off the hands that fed him. She’d given him hope when he hadn’t had hope in years.
Pain seared his lungs as rain pummeled him and the current dragged him under the surface. He swallowed water, the darkness filled with fish and debris, loose tree limbs torn down in the wind. For a moment, he closed his eyes and considered succumbing to the pull below.
Ending it all.
He couldn’t go back to prison, not for something he didn’t do.
He sank deeper and deeper, his body growing tired, his arms weak, legs numb. His lungs felt like they were on fire.
But Caitlin’s voice echoed in his head.
I think you were railroaded. We’re going to fight this and prove to the world you deserve to be free.
Only he didn’t feel free. His guilt held him prisoner.
And now he was a suspect in another murder and a kidnapping. He was virtually on the run, the cops nipping at his heels like a pack of rabid dogs.
And Heath… Did his brother believe him?