“I think that Jesse doesn’t really know anything. I think he just had a bit of an intense crush on Kelly and that’s it. Did he like her? Yes. Was he close with her? No. But did he think he was close to her? Yes.”

“He was obsessed?”

“Most likely,” he answers.

“Did he say anything of value?”

“It doesn’t sound like it,” he says. “But we’re also testing his DNA, and if there’s a match between him and that third set of DNA, that’ll give us more insight and cause to hold him for more questioning.”

That answer makes me feel like I understand things again even if I don’t feel like I do. Something still doesn’t feel right.

“Do you need a ride home?”

“No,” I say. “How long until the DNA test comes back?”

“I’ll expedite it to the lab—twenty-four hours.”

“You’ll let me know right away?”

“Of course.” He nods.

I walk away trusting that he will. I’m not sure why he decided to help me suddenly when it seemed like he had given up on the case. What changed? Maybe he believes Jesse had something to do with Kelly’s death or maybe he thinks Jesse just might know something. It has to be Jesse. He has to be that third DNA set. No other man was mentioned by any witnesses Sheriff Stevens or I interviewed. Unless, of course, Kelly kept that third man a complete secret from everyone. Why though? Why him? She didn’t exactly hide Adam. Many in town knew about them. I hope the third set of DNA matches with Jesse. I’m tired of this wild goose chase, and I’m sick of not having all the answers. Now I have to put an end to whatever the fuck Adam is up to.

38. Adam Morgan

38

Adam Morgan

The scotch has stolen some of my memories. I hope I didn’t obtain some pertinent information from the phone calls I made because if I did, I’m not sure I’d remember it. I’ve decided to start on the last phone number I could recall making.

A sandwich and chips did me some good as well as a power nap. I’m starting to feel like myself again—and by that, I mean, hopeless and depressed—but definitely sobering up. I’m facing the death penalty. There isn’t much else I could feel. But I’m resisting the scotch for the time being.

I pick up the phone and begin dialing. The phone rings and rings and rings and just as the voicemail picks up, my front door swings open with a bang.

“Adam!” I don’t even need to see her to know it’s her. I could recognize that disappointed voice anywhere at any time.