I hear nothing after I send off the report to the police department. I try to forget the toxicology report, the rumors that still circle online, the man’s name. That man is going to trial for murder, I tell myself. It does not matter that I will never know if he had a hand in her death.
A year goes by. I dream of grad school, of leaving my partner, who has taken to sleeping in the other room, of doing something more than sitting in endless grief. I receive a phone call one April afternoon about a week before Raymond Douglas goes on trial for the murder of Leland Miller. It is a Detective Bud Hayes, calling to tell me that he has reason to believe my sister may have been killed.
“I know,” I say. “I sent the police department this information a year ago.”
“What?” He clears his throat loudly. “What did you send?”
I explain the Facebook post, my amateur investigation, the letter and report I sent. He asks me to re-send it all to him via email.
“I’m calling because someone came forward and provided us with information in regard to Sarah’s death.”
“Who?” I ask, even though I am sure it is Dale Brady.
“I’m not at liberty to say,” he responds. “But I want you to know we are looking into the matter.” I let out something between a sob and a breath. “We will do everything we can, but I don’t want you to get your hopes up.”
“Of course,” I say.
“One more thing …” He hesitates. “I want you to know that Sarah’s name might come up in Raymond’s trial.”
“The one that’s about to start?”
“Yes, his lawyer seems to be working it into his defense case.” Detective Bud Hayes sighs. “But I want you to know that no matter what, Raymond Douglas will be in prison for the rest of his life. There is no way he is walking away from this trial.”
By summer 2015, the trial will be over. In a surprise turn, the primary witness for the prosecution, Dale Brady, will recant his testimony, and Raymond Douglas will be acquitted of all charges related to the murder of Leland Miller. He will be sentenced to seven years in prison for a handful of other charges unrelated to the Miller case.
Over the next three months, Detective Bud Hayes slowly tapers off his phone calls and emails. In one of our final conversations, he tells me that while he has suspicions that Ray was involved in Sarah’s death, it will be almost impossible to prove. He won’t tell me specifically what he has found during his inquiry because he needs to keep things “close to the chest.”
My mother tells me that Raymond has become a ghost to her, that he will remain that way unless he is standing in front of her. She says, “He doesn’t live in me.” Sharon tells me she has to let go of her anger, of her hatred. She doesn’t forgive him, she explains, but she can’t live with him filling up her days anymore. I nod along, knowing that they are both the better for letting go.
And yet, and yet, and yet.