“You have to remember she's been missing for almost five months now. But I guess even then, she would have been in touch with them for a couple of months. There had to be something that made her question whether he could have committed that murder,” I say.
Sam glances over at me. I can see the look out of the corner of my eye.
“What are you thinking about?” he asks.
I glance over at him. “Do I look like something really tiny is pissing me off?”
He opens his mouth like he's going to say something, rethinks it, and closes his mouth, then shakes his head. “No.”
"Okay, good. So, it's just Dean who thinks that about me, then," I say.
"I thought that was an oddly specific self-evaluation," he chuckles.
"I think I want to go talk to Xavier. Detective White might be able to get me in there. I want to hear for myself why this man is so elusive to people, and what he had to do with Lakyn." I pause for a second. "What do you think? I mean, I know I said I was focusing on Dean's case and that the local law enforcement can handle it…"
"You had no intention of pursuing her disappearance, yet found it dropping in your lap. Remember, there are no coincidences. It doesn't matter how you ended up where you are. What matters is that you're there. You have to decide what you're going to do about it," he says.
"What do you think I should do?" I ask.
Sam turns to me, reaching for my hands and pulling me up against him so our fingers intertwine and our chests touch. "I can't tell you that. You're going to have to figure it out for yourself."
"I still think she orchestrated this," I say.
"And yet," Sam says.
I nod. "Exactly. And yet."
He smiles and leans down for a kiss. "You're going to have to follow your heart on this one, Griffin."
"It's done me pretty well so far," I say.
He shrugs. "It's done alright."
He grins at me and I shake my head as we continue our walk back toward my house.
A long day at work makes Sam fall asleep early, leaving me wide awake. But it's not just the hour that's keeping me from sleeping. I can't stop thinking about the picture I saw in the detective's war room. I didn't mention it to Dean, and I haven't mentioned it to Sam. Now doesn't feel like the time to talk about it. There are other things that need to be dealt with first, and there are things I need to figure out about the picture before I push it into everyone else's thoughts.
The other investigators seem ready to put the situation behind them. Not that they want to forget. Not that they are trying to pretend it never happened, or that it doesn't matter. Just that they're willing to accept what they haven't been able to figure out. They're willing to move forward and not constantly think about what's behind them.
I've tried. In so many ways, I'm much better than I used to be about obsessing. Cases don’t haunt me the way they used to. But in this situation, it doesn't mean all those questions didn't come right back into my mind when I looked at the picture of Lakyn Monroe and saw a blonde woman behind her. The same blonde whose face I last saw in a video walking beside Greg, just before his death.
The instant I saw the picture, I recognized her. There's no way I could forget her face. In the image, she's standing behind the celebrity, watching her as Lakyn talks to another woman. The expression on the blonde woman's face says she's waiting for Lakyn’s attention. Not in the way of a fan who is hoping for just a tiny taste of connection with the celebrity she idolizes. Instead, it's the kind of impatient, anticipating look of a person waiting for someone fairly familiar to her.
She knows Lakyn. Or had at least interacted with her before. She didn't look at all uncomfortable or nervous. She was just waiting.
There was nothing on the picture or written on the board near it to indicate who the woman might be. I don't want to distract the investigation by dragging it back to Greg, but I can't help but make the connection. Sam says there are no coincidences. So, why does this woman keep showing up?
I need to see the picture again. I need to figure out who she is and what she knows.
Sitting up in bed, Sam snoring softly beside me, I prop my computer on my bent knees and stare into the glow of the screen. Just searching for Lakyn Monroe's name is futile. It brings up millions of search results and countless pictures. I work through them, narrowing down my search, and trying to pinpoint exactly when the image was taken.
A slight gasp jumps in my throat when the image finally shows up. I expand it, but the momentary optimism disappears. It's not the same image as the one on the board. At least, it's not in the same condition. Whereas the one in the police department was crisp and clearly showed all the people around Lakyn, including the blond woman, this one is in a forced focus perspective.
Lakyn is in clear focus, but everything around her is blurred. The pool of pale color behind her is the blonde woman, but I can't see any of her features.
I keep scrolling through the image results, trying to find another copy of the picture. When one doesn't show up, I click on the image again and follow through to the article it's attached to. The brief piece outlines Lakyn’s speech at the victims' rights convention, highlighting the importance of ensuring the right people are held accountable for crimes. She describes those
