Page 46 of All the Missing Pieces

But maybe that wasn’t enough for Ridley. She was like a dog with a bone when it came to the truth. So maybe she’d decided to find a way to get those original files, whatever it took.

But now she’d hurt someone in the process.

18

RIDLEY

“Neither the sheriff’sdepartment nor the California State Police ever gathered enough evidence to make an arrest in Emerson’s case, which begs the question: What were they missing?”

I hit the stop-recording button on my computer and slumped back in my chair. It was a good ending. The kind of cliff-hanger that got people tuning in the next week, but more than that, it got them motivated to begin putting the pieces together themselves.

The only problem was, we didn’t have enough pieces to begin with. I needed more interviews, leads. I’d burned through the easy yeses, the people who were happy to talk. It was time to start winning over the hesitant ones. I needed to get Ezra on the record for sure. Maybe some more of Emerson’s classmates and teachers.

I reached for my mug and took a sip of tea as I hit upload on the files I’d recorded. They’d go to an online folder where Sully could access them for editing. I glanced at my watch. It was after eight here, eleven in New York, but Sully was a night owl, often working until two or three in the morning.

I opened my video chat app on my computer and selected his name. It rang four times before he answered, and when his face filled the screen, his gray-streaked hair was in disarray. I winced. “I didn’t wake you, did I?”

“Naw,” Sully mumbled as he sat in his chair. “Was just watching the tail end of theReal Housewives of Salt Lake Cityreunion.”

I chuckled. “I’ve covered a lot of gruesome cases, but no one terrifies me more than those women.”

“That’s because you’re smart,” he said with a grin, his eyes moving over the computer screen. “These new recordings ready to roll?”

I nodded, taking another sip of tea to try to soothe my vocal cords. “I sent you an email earlier with the time codes for the interview clips.”

“I’ll get on those tonight,” he assured me.

“We've got a few days, so there’s no rush.”

Sully peered at me through the screen. “You okay? Baker being a dick again?”

I scoffed. “Baker’s always a dick.”

Sully grunted in agreement. “More so than usual?”

I shrugged, shifting in my chair. Baker had sent me more than a few texts telling me the episodes didn’t have the “wow” factor we needed, and pressuring me to wrap this up early and head to LA to help out withReality Rampage. I shuddered at the idea. But the truth was, his doubts were getting to me because they were only compounding my own.

“Not enough people are willing to talk to me on the record,” I admitted.

Sully leaned back in his chair. “Ah, the small-town curse.”

“Usually once I get one or two on the show, more want to open up. But that hasn’t been the case here. And I need people to talk. I need them to find a new lead.”

Sully tapped his fingers along his desk, his curtains covering the New York City skyline fluttering in a breeze. “You feeling certain that the suspects the police had are in the clear?”

I mulled that one over. I still wasn’t sure about Grady; he definitely had a darker streak. And there was something about Coach Kerr that didn’t completely sit right with me the more I thought about our chat. But neither of them pinged my radar for Emerson. “My gut says it’s not them,” I admitted.

My gut wasn’t scientific in any way. But over the past four years, it had been fine-tuned by case after case. By interviews with criminals and suspects, I’d begun to get a feel for who was capable of what.

Sully was quiet for a long moment. “Kid, if your gut says it’s not them, then it’s not. On to the next.”

“I just don’t know who the next is.”

“Maybe—” Sully’s statement was cut off by a swift knock on my van door.

I stiffened at the sound. No one should be out here this late.

“Mason County Sheriff’s Department.”

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