“I told them, told everyone. A dozen times. I was drunk. If I remembered, I would’ve had a solid alibi. I’m not an idiot.”
She hadn’t expected tears or anything, but she certainly hadn’t expected attitude. Teddy leaned forward in her chair. “Maybe I can help find that memory for you. Walk me through that night.”
“Marlena was angry with me,” Corey said. “That wasn’t new.”
“Did you two fight a lot?” Teddy took a breath, centered herself. Focused on keeping Corey talking. The better her sense of him, the more prepared she’d be when she entered his mind.
“We had our ups and downs, just like any couple.”
“I get that,” Teddy said. “Trust me.” Building rapport could help. She remembered all of Clint’s empathy lessons. Put herself in Corey’s place. “Look, Corey. I’m on your side here,” she said. “Can you try to remember where you were that night?”
This was the crux of his case: his defense could never establish a concrete time line. He hadn’t had his phone on him—he said he’d lost it at a party earlier that night—so they couldn’t track his location via cell towers. There’d been no GPS in his car. His friends hadn’t seen him after he left the dorms. Corey had shown up at Marlena’s room early in the night, been seen in his own room alone near dawn. But there was a whole lot of time in between when he wasn’t accounted for.
“I dunno. I went to see Marlena, we talked, we hung out. Drove around.”
This was something. He’d never admitted that they’d been in the car together, even though several of Marlena’s personal effects had been in his possession.
“I didn’t want to tell the cops we got in the car because I was drunk. I knew I shouldn’t have been driving.”
Teddy began to push into his consciousness, the inky darkness unfolding before her. He had no wall, so Teddy entered easily. The image before her was hazy, out of focus. She thought it looked like a Victorian, two stories, white siding, a big bay window. It flickered once or twice before disappearing back into nothingness.
The car. “Did something happen in the car, Corey? There were traces of blood—”
“I can explain that,” he said. “She cut her finger in my tackle box, when she was looking for a bottle opener. It didn’t seem like a big deal at the time. Must have gotten in the car, too.”
This was going nowhere. The door to Corey’s house, to Corey’s astral self, was still closed. From the corner of her eye, she saw Nick raise his hands. Ten minutes. Time had gone too fast. She might as well change tacks. The book. She should ask him about the book.
“I read your book,” she said.
“What book?”
“The one your parents gave me. Romeo and Juliet?”
He tried to rub his wrists underneath his handcuffs. “Oh, yeah. It’s cool.”
In her mind’s eye, she saw only darkness. This line of questioning was another dead end. If she could talk about his essay, maybe. Or how Marlena reminded him of Juliet?
“You remember the part when—” she began to say, but suddenly, she felt the breath knocked out of her. Panic surged through her. She felt the presence wrap around her mind, tightening like a vise. Her wall was down, she was defenseless. Then a voice rang through her head: Ask to see his handwriting.
When she looked up, Nick was at her side. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, just a headache,” she said, rubbing her temples. “Can I have some water?”
Who the hell are you, and what are you doing in my head? she said.
All in good time, Theodora, the voice replied.
She jerked, trying to shake herself free.
Listen. I might be able to help.
Teddy shivered. An echo of the words she’d said to Corey mere moments ago. Nick brought her a bottle of water. “You have about five minutes left.”
Teddy felt her stomach drop. Five minutes? That was all? “Okay.” She took a sip and tried to concentrate. “Corey, you said you and Marlena got in the car. Did you go down to the wetlands?”
He crossed his arms. “No, I’ve never been down there.”
Ask to see his handwriting, the voice said again.
“So, you didn’t go to the wetlands?”
“No, I said I’ve never been there.”
“Teddy, we need to wrap this up,” Nick said from behind her.
“Hold on a second.”
Ask, the voice said.
What did she have to lose? “Nick, can I borrow a pen and paper?” Almost as suddenly as it had entered her mind, the presence retreated.
“Teddy, you’re out of time. Where are you going with this?”
“Please, just another minute.”
Nick was at her side, handing her a lined yellow notepad and a pen he’d lifted from his breast pocket.
“Corey, can you write something for me, please?” She slid the paper across the desk and placed the pen in his hands. “I know it’s hard with the, um”—she tilted her head—“handcuffs.”
“What do you want me to write?” Corey asked.
“Anything. Your name. Your address. Who you want to win the World Series.” Teddy watched as the pen made short strokes. “Wait—did you buy your copy of Romeo and Juliet used?”
He shrugged. “It’s cheaper.” He finished the sentence and pushed the paper and pen back to Teddy.
“Were there notes in the book already? When you bought it, I mean.”
“Now that you mention it, yeah. It made it really hard to read.”
That was why Jeremy couldn’t get a read on Corey. The book had multiple owners. The notes hadn’t been his. Hadn’t been his comments, his thoughts. She’d based her whole profile on another person.
Jeremy’s psychometric read was right. The person who’d written the notes in the book hadn’t killed Marlena Hyden. But that person wasn’t Corey McDonald.
Because the handwriting didn’t match at all.
“Teddy, you’re really out of time,” Nick said, coming toward her chair.
She hadn’t found the memory. Hadn’t established a
