BRANDON AND I rode in silence back to town. Boomer sat in the back, happy to stare out the window, nodding off occasionally before snoring himself awake.
The backpack. Was it the smoking gun? Why would he keep it in his room if he’d killed her? I guess he was just a dumb kid. Did he rape her? Was it consensual? Was he smart enough not to leave any evidence?
Maybe he found her bag in the woods. A fifteen-year-old boy who thinks he’s a badass walks through the woods behind his house and finds a dead girl’s backpack. It didn’t seem that exciting. Maybe if it was the murder weapon, but a little girl’s bag full of … I don’t know … What was in the bag? Boomer had come out of the bathroom before I could look, but I needed to know.
I was in a familiar situation. I knew something, something big, something Brandon didn’t know but probably should. There was no way to prove I’d ever seen the bag, and deep down, I just didn’t want to tell him. If I told Brandon about the bag, the police would swarm the house, arrest JP, and relax the search for Gil. Their crime solving was so shortsighted, something I had criticized Brandon for from the beginning. If they had one suspect, the rest of the world became innocent by default.
I was feeling selfish and stubborn. Every step of the way, I had been the one solving this case, shedding light on a new angle, pushing harder for answers, while Brandon just reacted. I didn’t trust anyone but myself. She was my sister. I was going to find answers. When I needed Brandon for something, I would let him know. What was the harm in keeping a few things to myself? Jenny wasn’t going to get any deader.
Brandon pulled over in front of the pub. “I assume this is where you’re headed,” he said to Boomer.
The parking lot did not contain a navy Accord, and I hated that I was so concerned with looking. Irked by Brandon after his feeble interrogation of JP, I craved my other person.
“Perfect,” Boomer said, reaching for the door handle. “Thanks again.” With that he was out the door and shuffling toward the pub.
Brandon pulled the car back onto the road. “What did you think about JP?”
“I don’t know,” I said without inflection.
“Whoa, what’s wrong?”
I didn’t know exactly what was wrong. I just thought of him buying JP’s excuse so easily. I thought about him being kicked off the case. Was I finally seeing the real Brandon? An incompetent cop promoted too soon after one lucky break?
“It’s just frustrating,” I said. “It feels like we keep moving side to side and never forward. Do you think we’re any closer to figuring anything out?” I meant it as an accusation, but I hoped he’d have actual answers.
“Virginia …” He gave himself a weighted pause.
“What?”
“He knew who Gil was. The name hasn’t been released, but he knew that Gil was the ‘greasy pervert,’” he said with a smirk, and I equal parts loved and hated him again. Just like it should be. “And the knife, not the right size, but where there’s smoke, there’s fire. We have to get a search warrant for that dump.”
“Fuck,” I said, cringing.
“What?”
“I saw something at the house.” I regretted not telling him immediately.
“What?”
“Jenny’s backpack was in his closet.” I braced for impact.
“Are you shitting me?”
“No, it was there. I just …” I searched for an excuse.
Brandon slammed on the brakes and veered off the road. Pausing any follow-up discussion, he whipped the car around and we were headed back to JP.