Page 85 of She Didn't See It Coming
“I—I’m in this Facebook group,” Lizzie begins, flushing, her voice wobbling. “I’ve been in it for a while. I know you won’t approve—it’s a true crime group.” She takes a deep breath and continues. “I’ve been posting about Bryden since she went missing.” She glances up at them. “Because I wanted to find out what happened to her, that’s all! It’s harmless, and I thought it could actually be helpful!” Her voicerises and she speaks more quickly. “But, I don’t know, Detective Salter has been reading it all, and now she’s got some screwed-up idea that maybeIkilled Bryden!”
“Why would she think that?” Jim asks, now in a controlled voice. Donna still can’t seem to breathe.
“I don’t know.”
“You’d better show us this Facebook group.”
“I don’t want to.”
So that’s what she’s been doing in her room, Donna thinks, feeling dizzy and sick. She’s been online in this group, talking about her sister’s murder. How vile. She finally finds her voice. “Lizzie, why would Detective Salter think you did it?”
Lizzie looks back at her, her eyes wide. “Sam told them that I hated Bryden. But you know that’s not true! Why would he say that? And now Detective Salter thinks I hated her and that I killed her so that I could talk about it online!”
Donna finds herself looking back at her daughter in horror.
Jim stands up slowly, with determination, although all the color has left his face. “You’re going to show us this Facebook page. Now.”
57
Derek slips back into the house quietly. It’s already dark, and there aren’t any lights on. He wonders where his wife is.
He’s about to walk down the hall to the kitchen when he hears her voice behind him.
“Hello.”
He whips around. “You startled me,” he says. He sees her now, curled up on the sofa. Her laptop is closed on the coffee table in front of her. “What are you doing, sitting here in the dark?” He reaches over and turns on a table lamp. He’s a little unnerved. She’s so calm, watching him with her big green eyes. He sits down in an armchair near her. “Are you ever going to tell me?”
“Tell you what?”
“What you’re so worried about.” He sighs wearily. “Alice, I’m a cybersecurity expert. I started out as a hacker. I can usually find things. I’ve just spent the entire afternoon looking into you.”
“And what did you find?”
She sounds more apprehensive than angry, he thinks. “Nothing.” He waits.
Finally, she says, “I killed a man.” She’s looking away from him, into the dark. “That’s what I’ve been keeping from you.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I don’t know.” She takes a deep breath and begins. “I was sixteen years old. I was walking home from school, and a man grabbed me and covered my mouth and dragged me into a nearby ravine. He was disgusting. Panting and slobbery and horrible. He expected me to be afraid.”
She looks at him then. “I wasn’t afraid. I didn’t become paralyzed with fear. I certainly wasn’t what he was expecting. He was trying to pull off my clothes, and I grabbed a rock and hit him over the head with it. That stopped him. Then I realized he was dead.”
“Okay,” he says calmly, waiting for her to continue.
“I was just going to pretend it hadn’t happened, but someone saw me coming out of the ravine, someone I knew, who recognized me. So I made a big scene—call the police, hysterical tears, the whole nine yards.”
“Then what happened?”
“I was arrested. My parents were horrified, thinking I’d be charged with murder. But the police realized that it was so clearly self-defense that they decided not to charge me.”
“Where was this?” he asks.
“Connecticut. I was a minor, so my name was kept out of the press.”
Derek isn’t sure he’s following. “So what are you worried about?”
“There’s no statute of limitations on murder,” his wife points out.
