with nausea.
Trowbridge noticed. "Are you ill?"
"Who wouldn't be sick thinking of that poor kid's death?" She held his gaze, refusing to let him fluster her further.
He didn't respond, but made a show of jotting down a note.
"You say he'd been with a friend. Is it possible that he'd been drinking?" she asked, cringing a little at the naked hope in her voice.
"We haven't gotten all of the test results yet." He looked at her like she was trying to blame the dead. "Do you have any recollection at all of someone else, a third party, at the scene?"
The question took her by surprise. "No. I didn't even know about Kyle until you--found him."
Deputy Trowbridge went on before she uttered another word. "There must have been someone. Kyle Robard
could not
have made that 911 call."
"But you found his phone with the 911 line still open."
"The medical examiner determined that Kyle was killed instantly. So there was either someone else on scene, or you made that call yourself."
For a moment Abby sat in stunned silence.
She looked into the cold hearth and thought back through the events of that night. She remembered waking in the van--dry except for her feet, leaving the vehicle, thrashing out of the swamp. Then the deputy arrived almost immediately. There hadn't been any time for her to find Kyle Robard and use his cell to call for help, even if she'd known he was there.
She looked back at Trowbridge. The smug look on his face clenched it. She wasn't going to give him anything. She'd go to straight to the sheriff with her confession. "I didn't."
"You said you couldn't remember most of that night. Perhaps you found him, called for help, and don't recall."
"No. I awakened in the van, went to the road, then you arrived. I'm not missing any bits of memory in that area."
At least I don't think I am.
Her memory seemed to be getting foggier, not clearer.
"You think on it for a while." His tone was one a person would use on a naughty six-year-old. "You were in shock. There could very well be things missing from your memory
after
you awakened in the vehicle."
She could only imagine his reaction if she admitted she suspected she'd been sleep-driving.
She said, "Maybe someone stopped, found Kyle, called for help, and left. That makes more sense to me."
"It's possible, but not likely. We're checking his phone for fingerprints. Perhaps that will solve the mystery." He raised a brow, as if waiting for her to confess.
"Perhaps," she said stiffly.
"You say you got out of the van and went to the road. Did you return to the van after you exited the vehicle?"
"No... well, yes. I got out, realized I left my purse and cell phone, climbed back in."
"Through the door?"
"Of course."
"It was still open from your initial exiting?"
"Yes."
"Do you know how the driver's side window got broken?"
"No. When I awakened there was glass all over me, so I assume it broke as I drove off the road."
He made a note, and then closed his notebook. "You said you lost your purse and cell in the marsh."
"I did--after I got them out of the van."
He stood. "All right. That's all for now."
"Do you have any idea yet what happened?" She stood and followed him to the door, reaching around him to open it.
"We're still working on it." He put on his hat, then he looked her in the eye. "You'll be sure and let us know if you have any clearing of your memory, won't you?"
"Of course." She closed the door behind him, turned the deadbolt, and sagged with her back against it. Her tired mind was scrambling her thoughts until she was beginning to doubt herself. Was she forgetting something?
Who made that 911 call?
Even if sleepwalking explained her lack of memory, it didn't answer that question. Could someone have stopped and then just left Kyle's dead body in the woods? Who could have been so callous?
Abby looked out the front window, resting her throbbing forehead against the cool glass.
As Trowbridge's brake lights brightened at the end of her lane, she suddenly
Trowbridge noticed. "Are you ill?"
"Who wouldn't be sick thinking of that poor kid's death?" She held his gaze, refusing to let him fluster her further.
He didn't respond, but made a show of jotting down a note.
"You say he'd been with a friend. Is it possible that he'd been drinking?" she asked, cringing a little at the naked hope in her voice.
"We haven't gotten all of the test results yet." He looked at her like she was trying to blame the dead. "Do you have any recollection at all of someone else, a third party, at the scene?"
The question took her by surprise. "No. I didn't even know about Kyle until you--found him."
Deputy Trowbridge went on before she uttered another word. "There must have been someone. Kyle Robard
could not
have made that 911 call."
"But you found his phone with the 911 line still open."
"The medical examiner determined that Kyle was killed instantly. So there was either someone else on scene, or you made that call yourself."
For a moment Abby sat in stunned silence.
She looked into the cold hearth and thought back through the events of that night. She remembered waking in the van--dry except for her feet, leaving the vehicle, thrashing out of the swamp. Then the deputy arrived almost immediately. There hadn't been any time for her to find Kyle Robard and use his cell to call for help, even if she'd known he was there.
She looked back at Trowbridge. The smug look on his face clenched it. She wasn't going to give him anything. She'd go to straight to the sheriff with her confession. "I didn't."
"You said you couldn't remember most of that night. Perhaps you found him, called for help, and don't recall."
"No. I awakened in the van, went to the road, then you arrived. I'm not missing any bits of memory in that area."
At least I don't think I am.
Her memory seemed to be getting foggier, not clearer.
"You think on it for a while." His tone was one a person would use on a naughty six-year-old. "You were in shock. There could very well be things missing from your memory
after
you awakened in the vehicle."
She could only imagine his reaction if she admitted she suspected she'd been sleep-driving.
She said, "Maybe someone stopped, found Kyle, called for help, and left. That makes more sense to me."
"It's possible, but not likely. We're checking his phone for fingerprints. Perhaps that will solve the mystery." He raised a brow, as if waiting for her to confess.
"Perhaps," she said stiffly.
"You say you got out of the van and went to the road. Did you return to the van after you exited the vehicle?"
"No... well, yes. I got out, realized I left my purse and cell phone, climbed back in."
"Through the door?"
"Of course."
"It was still open from your initial exiting?"
"Yes."
"Do you know how the driver's side window got broken?"
"No. When I awakened there was glass all over me, so I assume it broke as I drove off the road."
He made a note, and then closed his notebook. "You said you lost your purse and cell in the marsh."
"I did--after I got them out of the van."
He stood. "All right. That's all for now."
"Do you have any idea yet what happened?" She stood and followed him to the door, reaching around him to open it.
"We're still working on it." He put on his hat, then he looked her in the eye. "You'll be sure and let us know if you have any clearing of your memory, won't you?"
"Of course." She closed the door behind him, turned the deadbolt, and sagged with her back against it. Her tired mind was scrambling her thoughts until she was beginning to doubt herself. Was she forgetting something?
Who made that 911 call?
Even if sleepwalking explained her lack of memory, it didn't answer that question. Could someone have stopped and then just left Kyle's dead body in the woods? Who could have been so callous?
Abby looked out the front window, resting her throbbing forehead against the cool glass.
As Trowbridge's brake lights brightened at the end of her lane, she suddenly
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