Page 88 of Trapper Road

I knew the chances of finding Juliette alive were slim, but after my previous successes, I’d still held onto hope. Perhaps more than I should have. I’m still stunned at the way things turned out. I’d only spoken to Trevor for less than a minute, but nothing about him indicated he was capable of rape and torture.

I close my eyes. Monsters are good at cloaking themselves in the veneer of respectability. That’s what makes them monsters. You can’t tell by looking at them what lurks inside.

Like Connor’s friend Kevin, I think. I’d met him several times, and I didn’t particularly like him, but I’d never imagined him capable of bringing a gun to school and using it against his friends.

A cold terror clutches at my chest. What if it had been Connor at the other end of that gun. What if Kevin had turned it on him as well. How easy it would have been to lose my son. I try to remember if I’d even said good-bye to him that morning. If I’d remembered to tell him I love him.

It’s not the first time these thoughts have invaded my mind, and I have to stop myself before I spiral too far down that dark well of thoughts. I fumble for my phone, pulling up the location app and looking for Connor. It doesn’t matter that I just saw him less than a half hour ago. That doesn’t lessen the need to check on him again. I’ve never been this obsessive about checking the app, but I can’t stop myself. It’s the only way to stem the anxiety constantly boiling inside me.

I breathe a sigh of relief when I find his icon exactly where it should be — across the parking lot at the motel along with Vee’s.

He’s safe, I tell myself. He’s okay.

I take another breath, and then another, trying to force my heart to slow and the anxiety driven adrenaline to drain away. Once I’m feeling calmer and more under control, I return to the table.

Mrs. Martindale flashes me a sympathetic look. I can’t imagine what it must have been like for her to read those pages for the first time. To see in her grandson’s handwriting his recounting of something so heinous.

“Okay,” I tell her. “Why does this make you think he’s innocent?”

In answer she takes out another sheet of paper and passes it to me. “It’s an essay he wrote for his English class earlier this year,” she explains.

I slide the paper closer and unfold it. I recognize the handwriting immediately. It’s the same as the confession. Unlike the confession, this essay is short, only a few paragraphs. It’s also nearly incomprehensible. The grammar is atrocious, several of the words spelled phonetically, and it’s filled with slang. When I reach the end, I’m not even sure what it is I’ve just read.

It’s impossible that the same person could have written such a detailed, comprehensive confession and utterly failed a simple English assignment. Even though the point is obvious to me, I still let Mrs. Martindale explain. It’s valuable to hear other people’s reasoning in their own words.

“Okay,” I tell her, refolding the essay and handing it back.

She taps her fingers against the paper. “That’s the level of my grandson’s writing, Ms. Proctor. That confession may be my grandson’s handwriting, but it’s not his words. He didn’t write it. He couldn’t have. It’s too… ” She presses her lips together for a moment, chin trembling. “It’s too well written.”

There’s something so painful about the statement.

I nod. I don’t have to say anything for her to know I agree. The problem is that this in and of itself doesn’t prove his innocence. But it’s certainly enough to raise very, very serious doubts.

False confessions are more common than most people think. It seems unthinkable that someone would confess to a crime they didn’t commit, especially one as gruesome as this, but it happens. Nearly a quarter of cases overturned by DNA evidence involved false confessions.

It’s certainly not unheard of when the defendant is young and lacks intelligence. Especially when interrogations drag on, leaving the suspect exhausted, confused, and easily manipulated.

“Was there anyone with Trevor during the interrogation? Another adult? A lawyer?”

She shakes her head. “They told me it would be better if there wasn’t anyone else there who might confuse him.”

Anger courses through me. Of course they would say that. It’s easier for them to question Trevor if he doesn’t have family present, but it’s not in Trevor’s best interest. Legally they’re allowed to interrogate a minor without an adult present, but it’s not best practice.

“What about a lawyer?” After my own experience with the law, I’ve become a very firm believer in having a lawyer present when talking with cops.

“We can’t afford anything like that.”

“You don’t have to. The state will pay for it. They didn’t tell you that?”

She shakes her head again, and I have to swallow back my frustration. Not at her, but at the system. The police were doing what was best for them without any concern for what was best for Trevor.

“Even without the confession, there’s still a case against your grandson,” I point out. “There are two witnesses who saw him with Juliette the afternoon she disappeared.”

She stares down at her coffee cup. She doesn’t have an answer for that. There likely isn’t one. Not that exonerates Trevor, anyway. Finally, she looks up and meets my eyes. “I don’t know how to fight for my grandson, Mrs. Proctor. I should have been there with him last night, and I wasn’t. I should have asked for a lawyer, and I didn’t. I don’t want to fail him again. He’s all I have left in this world.”

Her words are so painful and full of regret that they cause my heart to break. I know what it’s like to be falsely accused and how powerless and helpless it makes you feel. Especially when you’re locked up and can’t do anything to defend yourself except rely on others to care enough to fight for you.

If there’s any chance Trevor is innocent, then it’s my obligation to prove it. If I don’t try, I’m not sure who else will. And if he gets convicted, and heaven forbid sentenced to death for a crime he didn’t commit, I’ll never forgive myself. “I can’t promise you I’ll be able to find anything that helps your grandson.”

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