Page 74 of Trapper Road

Mike’s words about Connor echo through my head, my heart pounding loud enough I hear it in my ears. I glance around the interrogation room, my eyes landing on the video camera positioned in the corner. There’s no light blinking to indicate it’s recording, but that doesn’t mean anything. There could be other cameras and microphones that I can’t see. Whatever Mike has to tell me, I’m not sure I want it recorded.

“Hold on,” I tell him. “Let me get somewhere I can talk.”

I push from the table hard enough that it sends the chair scraping backward. The young cop hears and is already at the door when I pull it open. “Everything okay, Ms. Proctor?”

I start past him. “I have to go.”

He scrambles after me. “Chief Parks shouldn’t be too much longer if you’ll just—”

I spin to face him. “Are you detaining me?” It’s the only way they can force me to stay. He pulls up short, mouth opening and closing as he tries to figure out how best to respond.

I don’t wait for an answer. I continue toward reception and out into the night. The minute I’m in my car with the door closed I force myself to take a deep breath. Then I say, “Tell me.”

“They seized the shooter’s computer to analyze his online activity. It turns out he was spending a lot of time on the dark web posting on a message board dedicated to Melvin Royal. He was a frequent contributor to the board. In fact, he was one of the most prolific and popular posters.”

My mind reels. This doesn’t make sense. I don’t understand why Kevin would be posting about my ex-husband. Unless maybe he was one of those awful acolytes — one of those people who worshipped Melvin and wanted to follow in his footsteps. Maybe that’s why he’d befriended Connor — because of his connection to Melvin. And maybe that’s why he’d taken a gun to school.

“He posted under the name Melvin’s Little Helper,” Mike adds.

This stops me cold. It’s a familiar name — the nickname I’d been giving during my trial, the one in which I was acquitted of all charges. It’s also the handle associated with the posts Leo and the Lost Angels were threatening to release. The posts they attributed to me.

“I know those posts,” I tell him. “Someone sent me screenshots of a few the other day. Except they were accusingmeof being the one who wrote them. They thought I was Melvin’s Little Helper. They even claimed they had proof — that the IP address on those posts pointed to our house. But I know how easily that IP address stuff can be faked. It’s happened to us before —some kids at Connor’s school tried to attribute some awful threats posted on a school bulletin board to Connor, but we were able to prove the IP address had been spoofed.”

“The address wasn’t spoofed, Gwen.”

“What do you mean?”

“Sam already had me looking into the IP addresses for Melvin’s Little Helper. All of their posts have one of two IP addresses: either Kevin’s house or your house.”

“Which makes sense, Kevin’s been to our house several times. He could have easily used Connor’s computer to make those posts. I usually have their laptops restricted on what websites they can access, but I’m pretty sure my kids know how to work around that.”

“There’s more, Gwen.” There’s something about the tone in his voice that causes the hair on my arms to stand on end. Something awful is coming, I can feel it.

“Kevin’s awake, and he’s been talking. He implicated Connor in the shooting—”

A familiar rage bubbles in my chest and I cut him off. “It’s bullshit, Mike. You and I both know that. He’ll say anything to avoid taking the full blame.”

It doesn’t surprise me at all that Kevin is lying to save his ass. I’m furious that he would throw my son under the bus, but I’m even more upset that he’s betrayed Connor’s trust. Connor believed in Kevin. He thought Kevin would wake up and tell the truth and exonerate him. He thought they were friends.

My chest aches at what this will do to Connor when he finds out.

“Even so—” Mark starts.

“No,” I cut him off again. “Connor couldn’t do that. He wouldn’t do that.”

“Even so,” he continues, “the FBI obtained a subpoena for Connor’s online cloud accounts.”

The announcement drops like a bomb, exploding my life. “What the fuck, Mike! You got a fucking subpoena on myson? On Sam’s son! What are you thinking?”

“I was thinking that he was implicated in a school shooting and should be investigated accordingly.”

“Seriously?” My voice rises in pitch. “Seriously!”

He shouts over me: “Gwen! You have to let me talk.”

I force my mouth shut, clenching my jaw so tight I’m afraid I may crack my teeth. My entire body vibrates with rage and terror and confusion. I keep telling myself that it doesn’t matter, they wouldn’t have found anything. I know my son; he wasn’t involved in this shooting. He could never do something to hurt someone else like that.

Not after what he’s been through. Not given what he’s seen in his life.

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