“Please,” Jessica gestured, stepping aside. “I would appreciate the company.”
Lilia nodded, following her into the house. The air inside is heavy with the scent of fust and stale coffee. Boxes were stacked along the walls, half-filled with clothes, books, and mementos that seemed out of place. Lilia’s eyes traced the family photos hanging crookedly on the walls—images of a life that, not too long ago, seemed ordinary.
“I apologize for the mess,” Jessica said, closing the door behind them. “I’ve been packing up some of his things.”
“It’s fine,” Lilia murmured, waving her off as she glanced around, her eyes lingering on the wedding photo in a silverframe. Thomas McCall looked happier, younger, his arm draped around Jessica’s shoulders.
“Would you like some tea?” Jessica asked.
“Water is fine, thank you.” Lilia lowered herself onto the couch, the cushions sagging under her weight.
Jessica handed her a glass of water, then sat down across from her. For a moment, neither spoke. The quiet was almost suffocating, broken only by the faint ticking of a clock in the next room. Lilia sipped her water, gathering the courage to ask for what she came for.
“Did he ever talk to you about the case?” Lilia finally asked. “Willow’s case, I mean.”
Jessica’s face tightened, her fingers fidgeting with the hem of her shirt. “Tommy didn’t like to bring work home,” she said. “He’d seen too much on the job—things he wanted to forget about when he walked through the door.”
“Yeah,” she murmured, nodding. “I figure anyone would.”
Jessica looked away, her gaze distant. “But he thought he was getting close to something.” Her voice was quieter now, like she was afraid to speak to the words aloud.
Lilia leaned forward, her pulse quickening. “You mean like figuring out who killed Willow?”
Jessica nodded slowly, her hands trembling. “It was a few days before everything happened. He’d been staying up at odd hours, pacing around the house, locked in his study for hours on end. He said he was close—that he had found something.”
Lilia’s grip tightened around her glass. “Found what?”
Jessica shook her head. “He wouldn’t tell me. Just that whatever it was, it would help with the case a lot.”
“Do you have any of his things? Case files, notes, anything?” she asked, a flicker of hope rising in her chest.
Jessica hesitated for a moment before standing and crossing the room. She crouches beside one of the boxes stacked near thedoor, rummaging through its content. After a few moments, she pulls out a worn leather binder and handed it to Lilia.
“It should all be in there,” Jessica said softly.
Lilia took the binder, her fingers brushing against the soft leather. “Thank you so much.”
Jessica sat back down, her hands folded tightly in her lap. “My husband wasn’t a killer,” she said, her voice breaking. “Tommy wouldn’t have hurt a fly. He barely ever used his gun—he wouldn’t have killed her. The things they’re saying about him on the news . . . ” She trailed off, her voice thick with emotion. “It’s all lies. That isn’t who he was.”
Lilia reached across the table, gently touching Jessica’s hand. “I’m going to make sure everyone knows that he’s innocent,” she said, her voice steady with conviction. “I promise.”
Jessica smiled weakly, wiping a tear from her cheek. “Thank you,” she whispered, her voice fragile.
Lilia clutched the binder tightly to her chest as she stood. She doesn’t know what she’ll find inside, but she knows one thing for certain: whatever McCall was close to discovering, it was important enough to cost him his life.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Sebastian murmured to himself, sifting through one of the thick files they’d acquired from Mcall’s wife. “They really had everything on us.” He flipped another page, his eyes scanning quickly over the neatly typed reports, his finger tracing along the lines as if willing the words to reveal something new.
Lilia yawned, leaning back in her chair and stretching her arms overhead. “There’s too much stuff here. No way we’ll get through all of this tonight.”
The living room was dimly lit, and the only sound aside from their voices was the steady hum of the heater in the corner. Files and papers littered every available surface, scattered like a jigsaw puzzle of their lives. Each file was another piece of Willow’s death, the consequences of their secrets piling up like an insurmountable tower.
Delilah furrowed her brow as she carefully leafed through the pages in front of her. “Look at this one,” she said, her voice low and focused as she leaned over to show Sebastian the report she’d been reading. “Apparently, her bracelet was missing—the one that she always wore? It wasn’t there when they found her body.”
Sebastian shrugged, his face tired and drawn as he tried to suppress the rising panic that had been clinging to them for days. “Maybe she lost it.”
“I doubt it,” Augustus chimed in from across the room, his voice rough from lack of sleep. He was standing by the window, looking out into the night like he expected to see answers in the darkness. “She never took that bracelet off. Not ever.”
