Never Live, page 13
There was a positive atmosphere at the police department. May sensed it as soon as she walked in. The officer at the desk beamed at her.
"Congratulations, Deputy Moore. I'm so relieved that this is concluded. You cannot believe how many calls we've had to field. Every parent in the entire Tamarack County has been in a state of panic."
"I can well believe it, and with good reason," May sympathized.
"It's so hard for us, as police, at the start of an investigation like this. I'm just thrilled that it hasn't dragged on."
"That's the worst situation," May agreed. "Panic turns sour and the police start to be blamed."
"And the public loses trust in us. It becomes such a toxic situation."
Worst case scenario it might be, but May knew that until the case had been finalized there was always the risk that they might catapult straight back into these dire circumstances.
"We are lucky that a good lead has taken us further," May acknowledged. "We have very strong proof that will back the case up, but it's not yet over. We want this case to be watertight. This next hour is going to be critically important."
Looking more somber now, the woman nodded.
“I need to remember that,” she said. “I’ve seen many seemingly strong cases break on the rocks at the last moment. I sure hope this isn’t one of them, although I know it’s not always within your control.”
“It happens,” May agreed, feeling her mouth suddenly dry. This case could be one of them. She knew all too well that this happened. Witnesses could change their minds. Strong alibis could pop like rabbits out of a hat, causing surprise and despair and cracking a seemingly solid case apart.
She headed through to the interview room. Then she stood outside the door, preparing herself. She glanced at Owen, relieved in that moment that the awkwardness of earlier had vanished and it was just the two of them, on the fight for justice and looking to obtain the outcome they needed.
"I’ll do the initial interview," May said firmly. “Will you start by checking his devices? We need proof from the phone and laptop, as soon as we can get it.”
"Yes. I’ll go do that. Good luck,” Owen said, and hurried away.
May opened the door and walked in.
Coach Adamson stared up at her, hunched over the table.
He looked like a broken man, May thought. His handsome face was hollow with despair. His eyes blazed out, bright and frantic. His well manicured hands were clenched together on the wooden desk, so tightly enfolded that his tanned knuckles had gone white.
But as shattered as his demeanor looked, his words told a different story.
In a deep, shaking voice, he began to speak.
"I know why you brought me here. I didn't do it! I don't care what you think or how it looks. I didn't do it!" he pleaded, staring at May with forlorn hope in his eyes.
CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR
In the back office of the police precinct, Owen began working frantically. They needed evidence. Evidence, hard proof, to take this killer down.
In front of him he had the laptop from Coach Adamson's trunk, as well as his cellphone which had been taken from him when he had been checked into the police department.
Adamson had cooperated with police, giving them the access codes to both his devices.
Now, Owen had to check for any evidence that might be on these devices, either hidden away, or else in the record of messages, calls, or emails.
He pressed his lips together, aware of the seriousness of this task and also the pressure of time they were under. He'd watched the first few moments of the interview from the observation room, and it was clear that despite incriminating evidence in the form of the pictures, Coach Adamson was going to deny this every step of the way.
He would fight and fight as long as he could, employing every trick in the book. And then there was the fact he was a popular, respected figure in the community. That made it even more important that they dug up whatever evidence they could.
Owen did not have time to blink. He was fully alert, taking in every last detail, working with a steely determination. He had to find the evidence they needed.
As Owen scrolled to the places in both devices where he wanted to start, he found his thoughts going back to that disastrous conversation with May yesterday.
He could bang his head on the desk, thinking of how badly that had gone. He'd handled the whole thing appallingly. He'd chosen totally the wrong time. Congratulations, Owen, he told himself cynically.
He had rushed it, and then shyness had overwhelmed him, fear of rejection had loomed in his mind, and it had come out wrong.
She'd literally just misunderstood what he was saying. There had been issues with Dan’s Bar, he’d realized that immediately. On the wrong foot from the start, he hadn't gotten the message across in any coherent way to sell the idea of going for a drink, to her. It had been disastrous.
Most humiliating of all, he was sure that somewhere along the line she'd realized what he meant. May was sharp; she’d just been distracted. His efforts had been too little, too late. She hadn't revisited the topic though, and now he had no idea where he stood with her.
But he had still had feelings there, feelings he needed to get out. He'd been thinking about May a lot as he'd driven to his brother’s place, licking his wounds and in need of a few drinks. Even though he’d briefly thought she was insufferable, insensitive, and had broken his heart, deep down his mind had reminded him that she was the most amazing woman. Her integrity, her resolve, her compassion. Not to mention how he could drown in her bright blue eyes and felt warmed when she gave him that wickedly gorgeous smile.
He had barely been able to speak to her when she’d called the next morning. He’d felt offended, rejected, embarrassed, and as if he was suddenly a stranger to her. Thankfully, the events of the morning, happening so fast, had somehow smoothed things over.
Now, to his dismay, he was feeling a flare of hope again. He’d wanted that emotion gone forever, but here it was, back again.
Just a date. One date. Was it too much to ask for? Or should he give up on the idea and just feel grateful that they were in a comfortable and friendly relationship?
Which he hoped they could get back to after how badly last night had played out.
He felt embarrassed, unloved, rejected, and hurt. He also felt confused and angry with himself. But looking at another layer of his feelings, Owen found that he also felt determined that he was going to get things back on a workable footing.
May hadn't meant to hurt him. But now, the whole situation was difficult to talk about.
He closed his eyes for a moment, and then opened them again.
It was clear that what he needed to do now was focus. Thinking about May wouldn't help solve the crime. Not in any way. And mooning over her wouldn't impress her. Buckling down to work and finding critical evidence on these devices, however, would definitely impress her.
So, calls first.
Owen was relieved to see a record of the recent calls made to and from Adamson's cellphone. This was useful.
He scrolled through, looking at names, and keeping an eye out for any calls made to and from the recorded cellphone numbers of Sadie or Alyssa, both of which he had on file.
But as far as these records went back, Adamson hadn't spoken to either of them at all. He hadn't called them; they hadn't called him. He had made quite a few phone calls, but they had mostly been to football team members, his coaching colleagues, and a few personal calls to friends.
No Sadie, no Alyssa, although he guessed Adamson could have deleted such calls.
Their phone numbers had both been inputted into Adamson's contact list, though, Owen noted. He personally thought that was highly irregular, but he guessed that in today’s digital age, Adamson would be able to defend himself by saying he’d done it so they could be in messaging groups and communicate more effectively.
And that was where he went next.
There, Owen realized, was a lot more to be picked up. Coach Adamson was a serial texter. There were reams of communications here. He had several groups set up on his phone to interact with students, and he had messaged both Sadie and Alyssa in the days before they died. He guessed that being in the special coaching group had provided a good excuse for that.
Owen quickly hunted through the messages, reading every last one.
The tone was definitely flirty. And the content was somewhat inappropriate. He called them 'angel' and 'sweetheart.' References were made to 'bikini ready bodies' that had Owen narrowing his eyes in anger. In a couple of the messages, he suggested one on one extra lessons, and that they should hook up with him for coffee.
That was definitely pointing to him wanting an inappropriate relationship. Owen thought, with a frustrated sigh, that he’d been allowed to get away with doing this. For sure, May could use this information. But as much as seeing these texts was disturbing, Owen was disappointed that there had been no direct solicitation of the girls. Also, he could see no fights or friction that could have pointed the way to a murder scenario erupting.
The girls seemed happy with his tone. They had replied with smiley emojis. And scrolling through other messages, Owen realized that Coach Adamson communicated this way very consistently. All the girls received the same warm, flirty, over-friendly treatment from this slimy man who had slept with one or more underage girls in the past.
His eyes opened wider as he saw messages to both girls saying, "See you at the prom! And the post-party!"
That was important, Owen thought, feeling as if he was now making progress. That was an important link in what was needed to nail this guy. He'd clearly shown that he intended to meet up with both his victims during that fateful night when Alyssa had been murdered. He could have been right on the scene, and grabbed the opportunity he was seeking.
But the investigator's side of Owen’s brain was still needing more.
Emails? He turned to the laptop.
Scanning through, he saw there were a lot of emails in Adamson's inbox, too. Owen began scrolling through, noting that they were mostly from team members and colleagues. He clicked on the most recent, a few hours old.
It was from Coach White, a colleague, and it was a thank you note for all Adamson had done in the last few days.
He ran a search for Sadie's name, and then for Alyssa's. The girls came up here, too. In fact, they came up a lot. He frowned, going over the emails and reading them carefully.
There was nothing definitive here.
Most of them were feedback on assignments, progress reports as part of the coaching group, heads-up on televised events they might want to watch, and invitations to workshops and matches.
Nothing to indicate that Adamson was planning trouble or that there was a murderous rage just waiting to erupt.
Owen sighed in frustration. He was doing all he could. All they needed was some kind of evidence and they could nail this guy to the wall. But he was getting nowhere.
He glanced at his watch. He was doing nothing to help the timeline flow here.
Then Owen remembered there was one thing he could do. One thing that was going to be vitally important in linking the threads together.
The pictures.
He could create a timeline of when Coach Adamson had taken the shots, and see if that linked up to the messages. In fact, simply linking up the dates of those incriminating images with the communications, would be helpful.
Feeling that he might have the answers now, and hoping he'd be in time to help May, Owen went back to the coach's phone and quickly accessed the images.
CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE
May sat down opposite Coach Adamson, frowning at him sternly. She was not going to be sympathetic to his pleas of innocence. She was going to question him, put the pressure on, use what evidence she had, and take him to the point where he was willing to confess.
"I didn't do it," he said again. He was sobbing now, his shoulders heaving. "You don't believe me," he said, wiping at his face. "But I didn't do it."
This was a very different man from the one who had pointed the gun at himself, saying he wanted to escape his wretched guilt.
"Let's establish the facts for a start," she said. "Were you at the post-prom party, late on Saturday night?"
"Yes." He nodded, looking miserable. "I was there."
May’s eyes widened. She hadn’t known for sure that any of the school staff were there at all. This was a big surprise to her.
"Were you there in any official role? Were you there in your teacher's capacity?"
He shook his head again. "There were a few of us who just - who just came along after the prom. To hang out with the students, to have a drink. I mean, it was legitimate. We just wanted to join in the fun." He stared at her anxiously.
“Who else did you see?” May didn’t trust his explanation at all.
“Uh, one or two others. I think Miss Jones was there. She teaches art. I noticed one or two others.”
May concluded that very few teachers had been at the party, and that Coach Adamson, for some reason, had not been in a state to recognize or remember who else had shown up. Perhaps he’d been avoiding them. Or perhaps his focus had been elsewhere.
"So you were there, and you saw the girls, and you spoke to them?"
“Yes, that’s all it was. Friendly. Caring.”
"How did you get there?"
"I drove." That was all he said, and then looked away from her.
"Did you arrive before Sadie and Alyssa?"
"I – I don't know." He looked miserable, and wouldn't meet her eyes. "Maybe. I wasn't really paying attention. I just wanted to keep an eye on the kids. Make sure they were okay. Make sure no one got hurt or anything."
"So you were at the party just to socialize and look out for everyone?" That sure had gone wrong, May thought.
"Yeah. I was there." He made a vague gesture. "And I hung out with a few people, one on one. We talked about their careers, about life and stuff. That's it. Just friendly conversations."
"What time did you arrive?"
"The prom ended at about eleven. I think I probably got here about half past."
"What time did you leave?"
He paused, then said, "Sometime around three, maybe. I don't remember specifically."
"Did you see Sadie and Alyssa at any point during the evening?"
"Yeah. Sure, I think I even said hi. I mean, I honestly didn't see a problem. I can't understand how this happened. Everyone was getting along. People were dancing, socializing."
"Did anyone notice you speaking to Sadie or Alyssa?"
"I - I guess so. I don't remember."
"Did you tell anyone you were leaving?"
"I said goodbye to a couple of people. Everyone was pretty drunk by then."
"Did you drive straight home? Which route did you take?"
"I don't - I don't have a memory of that."
May's eyes widened. No memory of getting home? How drunk had he been? Or was he going to use this as an excuse, to say he'd had memory loss and couldn't take responsibility for the crimes?
"Oh?" She looked at him. "You don't remember anything about the drive home?"
"No. I'd had more alcohol than I meant to, and I was pretty tired. I remember thinking I should drive slowly, because I was feeling drunk, so as not to cause a crash. But that's about it."
"I see. So you’re admitting to a DUI, for a start?” she challenged him.
“I don’t recall exactly how much I’d had to drink,” he said uneasily, flushing red.
“And there's a span of time here, from when you left the party to when you arrived home, that's missing from your memory?"
"Uh, yeah. That’s correct."
"And you don't have a memory of what happened in that space of time?"
"No. I don’t."
"Do you remember going into the woods before you left?"
"I don't remember. I don't think I did. I know at some stage, before I left, took a walk around the perimeter because I thought I'd lost my car keys, but then I found them in my inside pocket."
"Did you see Dylan, Alyssa's boyfriend, at all?"
"I definitely saw him but I can't recall when. Quite late, I think."
"Did you see him going into the woods?"
"That I don't recall."
"Did anyone see you arriving home?"
"No, I live alone. And like I said, I was driving slowly. I wouldn't have made a noise."
May shook her head. This was a very unreliable and piecemeal account. Coach Adamson could have strangled Alyssa during an alcohol-induced psychotic break. Or he could be giving deliberately vague and evasive answers. Either way, there was no clear alibi here and from that perspective, he was looking guilty.
Now it was time to find out what he'd done in the morning.
"What were your movements the next day? Early Sunday?" she asked.
"Early Sunday. I slept. I woke up feeling rough. I went for a run."
"You went for a run? Where?"
May recalled that, according to the map, Coach Adamson lived about five miles from the second murder site. A fit man, going for a run, could easily have gotten there on foot.
"I - I can show you the route, I think. I took a lot of the trails and they're quite complicated. I was feeling hungover."
"What time was that?"
"About - um - mid-morning, I think. We got a message, that's right. We got a message saying there had been an incident, and that all sporting events were canceled at school for Sunday afternoon and would be rescheduled for a later date. So after that message, I went for a run."
"And you can't trace the route on a map?"
"I would have difficulty doing that."
"Did you see anyone out running?"
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