Page 138 of We Are All Guilty Here

“Mom,” he said, “I’m still with Jude. Are you okay?”

She made her voice low. “Put me on speaker so she can hear this.”

There was a click, then Jude said, “I’m here. What’s wrong?”

“I need you to look at all the regional airports within a 345-mile driving range of Clifton County.” Emmy pressed the phone to her chest so she could listen for sounds in the house. Then she put it back to her ear and whispered, “I think Walton drove the Audi to a small airport. He used Adam’s driver’s license to purchase a round-trip ticket with cash. He flew to Bridgeport, West Virginia. He took a selfie in front of the American Legion building to prove that he’d been there. Then he caught the return flight back. Then he drove the Audi to North Falls. Then he abducted Cheyenne and Madison.”

There was dead silence on the line.

Emmy said, “That’s why Walton’s name didn’t come up when I had Homeland Security check all the flight manifests—he was flying under the name Adam Johnathan Huntsinger. Walton’s the one who put those miles on the Audi. He’s the man Cheyenne was joking about when she said she wished his penis was as big as his wallet. Walton sneaked back into Clifton so he could meet her on the backroads. Then he went after Madison. That’s why Dale was cleaning the Audi with bleach. Walton was his accomplice. Everything we thought we knew about Adam is true about his father.”

Jude still didn’t respond. Emmy braced herself for another series of hedges, a reminder that they didn’t really know anything for certain, that this was a marathon, not a sprint.

“Cole.” Jude’s tone was sharp. “Regional airports have a limited number of carriers. It’s easier to look at which regional airlines fly out of Bridgeport, West Virginia, and backtrack it to a smaller airport that’s within our driving range.”

Emmy’s ears were straining so hard that she could hear Cole typing on the laptop. She looked at her watch. Counted the seconds as they ticked past. The kettle started to boil. Emmy reached over and took it off the stove. She turned off the gas.Went back to her position so she could see straight through to the foyer. Her hands were dripping with sweat. She could barely keep enough air in her lungs.

“Shit-shit-shit.” There was an edge of excitement in Jude’s voice. “The SouthJet Airlines website says they’ve been flying between the North Central West Virginia Airport in Bridgeport, and the Northwest Alabama Airport since 1997. They have a Bombardier CRJ that makes two round-trip flights every day.”

Cole said, “Muscle Shoals is almost exactly 345 miles from Clifton County. That’s around a five-hour drive each way.”

“The flight times can’t have changed that much in the last decade,” Jude said. “If Walton left on the first flight out of Muscle Shoals at eight thirty in the morning, that would give him roughly an hour to take the selfie at the American Legion in Bridgeport before flying back to Muscle Shoals. The return flight lands at noon. He would’ve been back in North Falls by five. He didn’t have to meet Cheyenne on the backroads until six thirty.”

“It’s him.” Emmy couldn’t believe the words that were coming out of her own mouth. “It was him all the time.”

“Mom,” Cole said, “I looked up the distance between the Bridgeport American Legion Hall and the airport. It’s literally point-four miles away. All Walton had to do was walk down the street and take the selfie, then walk back and get on a plane.”

“There’s more,” Jude said. “I had Cole look up the tires on the Audi A4. They use the same brand Michelin all-weather tires as the Jetta.”

“That’s why the treads wereconsistent with, but notmatched exactly,” Emmy said. “We thought the Bad Guy was driving the Jetta, but he was in Dale’s Audi.”

The kitchen side door opened. Brett was back with a handful of evidence collection kits. Emmy motioned for him to be quiet as he shut the door.

She told Jude, “Twelve years ago, when Dad and I came here looking for Adam, the front door was locked, but the side door leading down to the basement was unlocked. I walked down the stairs and saw Cheyenne’s necklace on the grass. Walton must have put it there when he got home from Millie’s pond.”

Brett dropped one of the evidence kits.

Emmy continued, “Walton told us he didn’t hear Dad knocking on the door because he was in the shower, but that was a lie to explain why his hair was wet. He’d just come from chaining up the bodies in the water. And his keys to the Jetta were on the kitchen counter. He told me they were usually upstairs. He was already pushing us toward Adam. That’s why he stole Adam’s license. The plan if he ever got caught was to pin it on his son.”

“It worked,” Jude said.

“Jesus,” Emmy whispered. The enormity of the crimes kept hitting her. Not only the horrors visited on Cheyenne and Madison, but the sadism of letting your own child rot away on death row.

“Focus up,” Jude said. “What’s your gut telling you?”

Emmy’s gut was loud and clear. “That Walton started sweating bullets when the podcast came out. Then Adam was freed, and he knew that Dad and I would reopen the investigation into Cheyenne and Madison. He’s trying to frame Adam again so we don’t dig too deep. He took Paisley yesterday morning. He planted the hammer in Adam’s truck today. It has to be the same one that he used to hurt Madison. It’s right here on the kitchen table. There’s blood all over it. Some old, some fresh. I’d bet Walton used it on Paisley so that it ties Adam to her, too.”

“How old is Walton?”

“Not so old that he couldn’t hit a teenager’s bike and point a gun at her head. And you said it yourself, Paisley is used to following orders.”

Jude said, “Cole and I will come to you.”

“No, I’ve got Brett. The cavalry riding in might spook him. I think I’ve persuaded Walton and Alma to talk to me about Adam. Let’s see how it plays out. If I can break Walton, we could still find Paisley alive.”

Jude’s careful silence made a brief return, but she said, “Okay.”

Emmy ended the call. She told Brett, “Put the kettle back on.”

---