I pace back and forth in Gray’s office, waiting for him to return. It’s been almost 20 minutes, and my anxiety is through the roof. After learning everything I know now, it’s mighty suspicious that Jeff’s last post was to his ex – at least, that’s what I believe. It just seems very strange that the post was published on June 22nd. I mentally calculate 56 days to when Troy was found. It was last Wednesday, August 15th, and we now know the body had been deceased for nearly two months. This man could have very well killed Troy.
I have no evidence, just speculation. The best I can do is give this info to Gray and let him investigate it.
About 15 minutes later, I see Gray stroll into the police station, and I rush out of his office.
“Gray, you’re finally here.”
“Hey, Trice. Hold on.” He talks to one of the police officers and then pats him on the shoulder. “Okay, I’m all yours,” he says as he walks to his office with me on his heels. He shuts the door and tells me to sit. “Okay, what’s up.”
I tell him everything I learned, feeling like I’m talking a thousand miles a minute or I’m on Speed.
“Hold on, back up, and slow down.” Yeah, he notices it, so I slow down and go through the timeline, ensuring he knows everything – well, except for the messenger.
After I’m done, he sits there with his arms behind his back, looking up at the ceiling. I flashback to when my kids were young, and I would read Junie B Jones, and Junie never could understand what people were seeing when they looked up (rolled their eyes).
“Wow, Trice, you did more than my investigators and in such a short time. It does sound very plausible, but we need concrete evidence, and the only thing we have is that necklace.” I sit back and blow out a deep breath.
“I know, but it’s a lead. The fact that he posts that on his Facebook page around the same time Troy dies has to mean something, right?”
“Maybe, but it could be anything. We don’t even know if he knew about the affair.” He’s right; we don’t.
“How is Deanna?”
“She’s scared, but Brock is doing what he can to help. We’ve searched the house, and nothing else looks out of the ordinary. The killer could have broken into the house and stolen the necklace to put on Troy’s chest to frame her like you said. Deanna did have an alibi around the same time Troy would have died, but we have no idea when he was dumped in her yard. He could have been killed 56 days ago but not dumped for days or weeks after. It’s hard to pinpoint what someone did with that range of days. Maybe you can track down what her days were like back then.”
Gray picks up the phone. “Hey, I have a visitor for Deanna Carmichael.” Oh, he wants me to go down to the jail now. “Okay, thanks,” he says, then puts the phone down.
“Okay, you have permission to visit her. Her court date is tomorrow, so anything you can get out of her will help the judge decide whether she’s granted bail.”
“Okay, I’ll do what I can.”
“Thanks, Trice. You may be the only one who can help her.” Well, that’s a lot of pressure. I say goodbye and take off to visit the Tooele County Jail. The last time I visited a jail was when my uncle was there, my dad’s brother. He was arrested for petty theft and threatening someone with a deadly weapon. He had a knife and threatened a convenience store clerk to “slash” him if he didn’t give him some smokes and alcohol. He took off and got himself drunk. On the way home, he was pulled over after drifting in and out of the lane and then arrested. He was in jail for 90 days. I was 21 at the time.
I was close to him as a teen but saw him spiraling after his wife divorced him and took their two kids. And the ironic thing is that my father was killed by a drunk driver when he was only 30 years old, and I was 7. My younger brother, Nathan, was only 4. It devastated my mother, who got remarried but not for ten years. They now live in Sunny, Florida, in a senior community. She will turn 80 in a few months. Her husband, Rob, will be 82 a month after her birthday. They are enjoying life, and it’s been nearly two years since she visited. I wanted to go but have had to watch the monsters for the last 18 months.
I pull up to the gate and announce my name. After I am cleared to go, they open the gate and let me through. The jail isn’t nearly as big as the one in Salt Lake City, and as I pull into visitor’s parking, I see a guard tower and hear noises coming from the jail yard. It must be outside time. I learned from Uncle Nathan that you were allowed outside in the yard for one hour daily to get exercise and sun.
Before I go in, I see two large off-white ceramic pots with flowers on each side of the door. The colorful red, white, and blue plants were probably planted for the Fourth of July, America’s birthday. I identify the red geraniums in the back, white diamond euphorbia in the middle, and blue lobelia hanging down in the front and to the sides, making for a vivid display.
When I go inside, I’m patted down and have to empty my pockets; then they search my purse. When I go through the metal detector and am cleared, the clerk takes me to a meeting area, where tables and chairs are spread across, allowing visitors to speak with inmates. I also learned that you can do video calls now instead of what there were in the past - phones you had to dial and everything.
I sit down at a table and wait for her to come out. I’m tapping my foot and then abruptly push down on my knee to prevent me from doing it. She needs to see me calm, not nervous.
I see her come out in an orange jumpsuit, and she looks … well, beaten down. Her hair doesn’t look like it's been washed for at least a week, her blonde highlights have faded, and her dark brown roots are coming through. Her cheeks are pasty white, and her eyes look lost. I try to maintain my composure, but I really want to hug her and cry. She comes and sits down, her wrists cuffed.
“Hey, Dee. How are you?”
“Well, I’m in jail; that’s how I am.” I can’t blame her for saying that. “I would be scared and feeling confused, as I can tell she is right now.
“I’m so sorry. I wish I could clap my hands or wiggle my nose like Samantha on Bewitched and change the scene. Are you at least being treated OK?”
“Yeah, word got around that I “offed” my husband for having an affair, and most of the women think I’m a hero, but I’m telling you, Trice, I didn’t do it. I swear.” I believe her.
“I don’t think you did either, but that necklace …”
“Someone took it from my jewelry box because I haven’t worn it since we divorced. Troy gave me a simple heart locket on our tenth wedding anniversary. That was right before his affair.” Her voice starts to tremble, and I know I don’t have much time, so I need to get straight to the point.
“Dee, look, I know you’ve been through this with the police, but if you can remember anything else from around June 15 to the 24th, that could explain your whereabouts. If we can pinpoint an alibi, it would help Gray.” I pray she remembers something, anything. She looks like she’s thinking hard, but I can tell she’s just tired.
“I just don’t know,” she says, shaking her head.
“Okay, let’s see if I can help. Did you go out of town or state during that time?”
“No, well … hold on.” I lean forward. “I did take the kids camping for the weekend, but it was just Saturday and Sunday, and I think it was sometime around then.” Her eyes widen, and she leans forward. I watch the guard eyeing her. “We did go camping the weekend of June 18 because I remember promising Tanner we would do it for this birthday, which was the week before.” The excitement in her voice shows hope.
“This is good. Maybe the killer watched the house, waited until you left, broke in, stole the necklace either Saturday or Sunday night, dumped Troy, placed the necklace on his chest, and then covered him up. They tried to replant the Asters, but what they didn’t know is that if you dig up plants before they are done blooming, they will go through transplant shock, and depending on how hot it is and how much water it gets determines if they come out of it and survive. When did you notice the asters were dying?”
“Well, I didn’t really notice until a few weeks ago. I just thought because of the heat and the last few storms that, they were damaged. They started drooping and then falling over and weren’t even flowering anymore, so I figured I would dig them up and maybe put something else in or wait until fall and replace them since they did look nice there.” This is great news; it means she may have an alibi for the time Troy was dumped in her yard.
“This is great, Dee,” but why didn’t you tell the police and better yet, Brock about this?” She placed her hand on her forehead.
“I must have just spaced it. It was a few months ago, and with all the summer activities, I just didn’t think much of it.”
“Okay, well, you need to tell Brock this, and I will tell Gray. Someone is trying to frame you, and we’re going to prove it,” I say with conviction in my voice. Of course, I don’t know that 100%, but I really don’t believe Deanna killed Troy, and if I can help prove it, I will do what I can.
“Do you really believe so?” I nod. The change in her from when she walked out to now was palpable. She has hope now. “Oh, thank you so much, Trice. I’ll never forget this.” At this time, the guard said her time was up, but I got what I came for, an alibi that could clear her once and for all.
I leave the jail with a little spring in my step. As I round the corner to my street, I get a buzz from my phone. I pick it up, and the screaming message makes me slam on my breaks.
I KNOW WHO DID IT!
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