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They carried the rug out, rolled up, the browning blood soaked through the underside. There was no saving it, apparently. Even though they were #1 in Forensic Cleanup and Decontamination of Crime Scenes, or so said the vans.
More plastic people, in and out the front door. And now Dad too, heading toward Jet on the drive, carrying a plate with a sandwich.
He handed it over. ‘Made this for you. Found a loaf in the freezer,’ he said, as though that made the bread safe, separate from the murder somehow, behind the freezer door.
Jet’s stomach growled, a new song, now her head had gone quiet. She took a bite. ‘It’s the good cheese,’ Dad said with a small smile. ‘Not the low-sodium stuff. Figured you were allowed that now.’ Jet matched his smile. ‘Won’t be my kidneys that kill me after all.’ She took another bite. He’d been liberal with the mayonnaise too. ‘I bet that’s good.’ He was right, Jet already on to the second half. ‘You warm enough?’ She nodded. She’d put a coat on over Luke’s sweats. Finally found some shoes too, the Birkenstocks from the closet.
Another two non-plastic people emerged from the front door: the chief of police and Mom. A look passed between them before they broke apart, Mom walking briskly toward Jet and Dad. ‘You eating now?’ she said before Jet could ask her anything.
‘I was hungry.’ ‘Dinnertime soon,’ she sniffed. ‘Yeah, Mom. I think it’s probably OK if I don’t stick to standard mealtimes. I’ll be dead in a week.’
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Mom flinched, closing her eyes. ‘Jet, please. Please. I’m going to ask you one last time.’ ‘You already asked me one last time in the hospital parking lot.’ ‘It’s not too late to change your mind. We can go back and Dr Lee can –’ ‘– I made my decision, Mom. There is no going back.’ ‘Jet, please.’ Eyes wide and begging, a cliff edge of more tears.
Jet couldn’t see her mother cry again, and she couldn’t keep saying the same thing. So she said something else instead, wanted to know what that look between her mom and the chief had meant. ‘Was anything missing?’ she asked, gesturing toward the house. ‘Or out of place?’ Mom shook her head. ‘No, don’t think so. Everything looks normal.’ Jet chewed the air and chewed her thoughts, now she was finished chewing her sandwich. ‘So they weren’t in the house to steal something,’ she thought aloud. ‘Or maybe they were, and I came home early and surprised them. But they hit me three times. Just once would have been enough for a thief to get away, if that was the motive. And why take my phone?’ ‘Let the police worry about all that,’ Mom said. ‘It’s their job.’ Jet looked over at the cops: at Jack Finney and Chief Lou speaking to Detective Ecker, standing around an unmarked car. ‘It’s their job,’ she said. ‘But it’s my life. I have to do this. It has to be
me.’ ‘Jet, don’t you –’ Jet wasn’t listening, spoke over her mom. ‘– And they didn’t just hit me until I was in-inca-in –’ Fuck, another hole
in her head. ‘Incapacitated?’ Dad offered. ‘Right.’ Jet blinked her thanks. ‘I was down and out after the first two hits. But the blood spatter shows that they then leaned over me, hit me a third time. Which doesn’t seem like they were just trying to get away.
Seems like they wanted to make sure. That they wanted me dead.’ ‘Excuse me.’ Mom covered her mouth, stumbling away around the side of the house, toward the backyard. ‘I’ll go after her,’ Dad said, taking the empty plate from Jet. ‘Wait, Dad. You also thought nothing was missing from the house, right?
Checked everything?’
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‘Yes.’ Jet took a long breath, allowed the thought time to grow, winding through all the broken parts. ‘If nothing is missing, that means they didn’t find the weapon at our
house, that it wasn’t op-op–’ ‘– Opportunistic.’ Jet nodded. ‘Doesn’t that mean it was something they brought with
them?’ Dad studied his feet. ‘And if they brought the murder weapon with them’ – Jet paused, not long enough to lose the budding thought – ‘that means they came here with one purpose. It wasn’t a stranger. It wasn’t a robbery gone wrong. It was someone I know. And they came here to kill me.’ Dad ran one hand over his stubble, pulling his mouth open, a silent
scream. ‘Who would want to kill me, Dad?’ His eyes filled. ‘I don’t know, baby girl.’ A car door slammed, breaking the moment, and an engine turned over.
Detective Ecker was pulling away. ‘Wait!’ Jet waved her hands, running ahead to cut him off, rapping her fist against his hood.
The engine cut out, car door opened again. Detective Ecker’s face, a new
crease between his brow.
‘What?’ he asked, stepping out.
‘Where are you going?’ ‘I’m working … on your case.’ ‘So am I,’ Jet said. ‘And I’d say I’m slightly more motivated to find the killer. Seeing as they – well – killed me.’ The detective stared at her, waiting for more. ‘Help me, and I can help you.’ She folded her arms. ‘How many murders have you solved?’ ‘A fair few,’ he grunted, crease deepening. ‘This is my first,’ she said, hands up. ‘First time being murdered also.
Newbie. But I’m a quick learner. Adaptable skill set. Almost got a law degree, by the way.’ Jet clapped. ‘So, if you’ve solved a fair few murders, then you’ve already worked out that if nothing is missing from the house, then this wasn’t a – Dad,’ she yelled suddenly, ‘what’s that word again?!’
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‘Opportunistic!’ he called. ‘An opportunistic murder. It wasn’t a stranger robbing the house and I interrupted them. The killer brought the murder weapon with them. They came here with the intent to kill me. Someone who knows me.’ Detective Ecker screwed his mouth. ‘We aren’t ruling out any possibilities just yet.’ Cop speak for: You’re right, Jet, and you’re amazing at this. ‘OK, well, I am,’ she said. ‘I’m on a pretty tight deadline here, bud.’ Jack had wandered over; the chief too, listening in. ‘My Apple Watch,’ Jet said. ‘You haven’t looked through it yet, I only just gave you the code. Do you have it?’ Detective Ecker hesitated. ‘It’s in the car.’ ‘Can I look through it with you?’ she asked. ‘I mean, it is mine?’ Ecker looked back at Chief Jankowski and Sergeant Finney. ‘Then you can take it and do whatever cop things you want to do with it, I promise,’ Jet said. ‘I just need to see.’ She glanced down at his wrist. A gold expensive-looking thing. ‘Looks like you don’t own one. I’m Gen-Z – n-no offense. But I know my way around an Apple Watch pretty well. I’ll find you the good stuff. Let me help you. Please.’ The detective checked with the other two cops.
Chief Lou shrugged. ‘Can’t see the harm in it. We’d tell her anything we find anyway.’ The detective sighed. He circled around and popped the trunk, coming back a few moments later with a small black device in his hands. Jet’s watch. He handed it to her, drawing close to look over her shoulder. ‘Don’t delete anything,’ he breathed in her ear. ‘I won’t,’ Jet replied. The device asked for her passcode and she typed it in: 0709. ‘So,’ she said, ‘I was thinking, you have an estimated twenty-minute range for the time of the attack from those witnesses.’ The detective looked over at Jack. Oops, might have gotten him in trouble there. ‘But if we’re going to be asking for alibis, shouldn’t we know the exact time it happened, the very minute? This thing tracks my heart rate when I wear it. Won’t it show us the exact moment I …’ Jet trailed off, swiping a notification away: Yep, she was aware she hadn’t closed her activity rings the past couple of days, give her a break.
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She thumbed onto the small gray square with a red outline of a heart.
It brought up today’s data: no heartbeats, Resting Rate at 0 beats per minute. Only because she hadn’t worn the watch, but it felt pointed somehow, mocking.
Jet swiped to yesterday’s data, starting the day at midnight. Nothing. No beats. Was that because they’d taken the watch off her when she arrived at the ER? Or was some of it true: Had she been in cardiac arrest as Friday turned into Saturday? She’d almost died, right here, somewhere in this blank data.
Jet swiped again, back to Friday, to Halloween, and the graph filled with white lines, the daily dance of her heart. ‘The doorbell camera shows you getting home at 10:39 p.m.,’ the detective said, leaning closer. ‘So it’s after th–’ ‘– It’s here,’ Jet said, cutting him off. Tracing the white line with her finger. A peak out of nowhere, a white tower rising above the rest of the day, 158 beats per minute. And then a drop. Sharp. All the way down that tower, to 56 bpm. ‘My heart rate rose, maybe when I heard the footsteps.
The first blow. The second, when I realized what was happening. Then I must have lost consciousness here.’ Jet thumbed the line to bring up the exact time. ‘10:46,’ Ecker read it over her shoulder.
Jack removed his notebook, scribbled something down. ‘10:46,’ Jet repeated. ‘That’s when it happened.’ ‘Any messages?’ Jack piped up now, his pen ready and waiting. ‘That thing shows your texts, doesn’t it?’ Jet didn’t wait for permission from Ecker, searching for the green message app. ‘I think it would’ve only picked up any messages I got while I was still here, on the WiFi. Anything after that, the watch would have been out of range from my iPhone, wouldn’t receive. Yep, just two texts. One from my mom at 10:48 p.m.’ Jet sniffed, eyes running ahead of her. ‘You wanna do the honors, Detective?’ He cleared his throat, read aloud: ‘We will be back later now. Have to take the chairs back to the hotel because you wouldn’t do it.’ Jet looked up at the cops. ‘I don’t think that’s a strong enough motive for murder, do you? The chair thing?’ None of them smiled. Come on, she was the one dying; they could at least pity-laugh.
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‘The other text?’ Ecker asked as Jet backed out into the menu of
messages.
A blue dot next to the contact name.
Ecker stiffened beside her, leaning closer still. ‘Who’s that? Who’s Don’t Pick Up?’ Jet bit down on her lip. ‘That’s … my ex-boyfriend. JJ. I changed his name in my contacts after we broke up.’ They were all looking at her, eyes narrowed, Jack’s going farther than that, more like troubled. ‘Look, it’s a thing, OK? People do it. Young people. Never mind, not a big deal.’ Jet pressed the notification and their message thread jumped up.
Weeks of silence. Then, on Halloween, just one word from JJ: Sorry. ‘What time did he send that?’ Ecker asked, voice picking up speed.
Jet swiped the message to see. ‘10:58 p.m.’ ‘After you were attacked.’ It wasn’t a question. ‘Why is he apologizing to
you?’ Jet shrugged. ‘You can’t think of any reason?’ Ecker sidestepped to face her, to study her eyes. ‘No. Not really,’ Jet said, meeting his gaze. ‘We’ve been broken up a while, since July. He didn’t want to, but it’s fine. It’s been fine. I bumped into him at the fair –’ ‘– Did you speak? What did he say to you? What time?’ ‘Nothing. I think it was around ten. He asked to talk to me, about something important, which I knew meant he wanted to talk about us, so I
blew him off.’ ‘Are you sure that’s all?’ Now Jet’s eyes were troubled. ‘I have no reason to withhold anything from you. I want to solve this more than you do. I didn’t give JJ a chance to talk to me at the fair – I don’t know what he wanted. And I don’t know why he sent Sorry to me. Or why he’s left town, not answering his phone.’ ‘I can think of a reason,’ Jack said quietly. ‘Sergeant,’ Ecker snapped in his direction, sharpening the consonants to a point. ‘You think he tried to kill me, then texted me Sorry twelve minutes later?’ Jet asked, not to any of them in particular: collective cop. ‘The timing is
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weird; I give you that. But the killer took my phone. Why would JJ text the phone he knew he had?’ ‘Well, it came up on your watch, didn’t it?’ Ecker said. ‘Could have been symbolic,’ added the chief. ‘But if the killer has my phone … wait,’ Jet stalled, her heart picking up on it the same time as her head. ‘The killer has my phone, I’m so stupid.’ But she wasn’t; the cops were. Why had they wasted time looking at heart- rate data and messages? ‘Find My Phone,’ Jet explained, turning back to the watch, scrolling through the home screen until she found the little green
app. Pressed it.
Three devices were listed.
Jet’s Apple Watch. Battery half full. With you now, it said.
Jet’s MacBook Air. Low battery. At home. Upstairs in her room.
Jet’s iPhone 14.
Jet clicked the final option and it expanded.
Jet’s iPhone 14. Woodstock, VT. Last connected Friday, 10:56 p.m.
A map appeared on the little screen. Small white roads, gray background, and a blue flashing dot. The location of her phone.
Ecker pointed at the screen. ‘Where is that?’ Jet zoomed in until the road names appeared, and the bend in the Ottauquechee River. ‘River Street,’ she said. ‘Near the corner of North Street. Just beyond Elm Street Bridge. That’s less than five minutes away.’ Most of Woodstock was less than five minutes away.
The blue dot didn’t look like it was sitting in any of the houses, out there in the middle of the road. ‘Last connected Friday at 10:56 p.m.,’ Jet read out. ‘So that’s when they turned it off, hasn’t been on since. But it was there, right there, when they turned it off.’ ‘River Street,’ Ecker sounded it out. ‘Does that mean anything to you?
Know anyone who lives there?’ Jet searched her mind, memories intact, even if not all her words were. ‘Nope, I don’t know anyone who lives there.’ The detective swapped a look with the other two, then up at the darkening evening sky. ‘All right. I’ll go speak to the people in these houses. See if they saw anything that night. Chief, you coming?’ ‘Coming,’ Lou said, screwing on his cap.
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The detective held out his hand, gesturing for Jet’s watch.
Jet looked down at it: 6:49 p.m., it told her, still trying to be useful. She placed it in his open palm but didn’t quite let go. ‘You’ll tell me? When you learn anything more?’ ‘I’ll let you know what you need to know,’ he said, closing his hand
around the watch.
Cop speak for: Maybe.
Ecker got back into his car, the chief climbing into the passenger seat. Jet and Jack backed away as he started the engine, driving off with a wave, fingers tapping the glass. ‘Can I borrow your pen, please, Mr Finney?’ She smiled up at him. He offered it over without a word. ‘And maybe a couple of pages from your notebook?’ A bigger ask. But he still did it, without a word, ripping out two fresh sheets. ‘Thanks.’ Jet grabbed them, leaning against the roof of Jack’s squad car.
10:46 – Time of murder, she wrote, before she forgot any of it. Didn’t know how much she could trust her condemned brain.
10:56 – Phone turned off. Last known location: River Street, near corner of North Street. Is that where killer lives? Or they turned it off on their way
home? Didn’t throw it in the river?
10:58 – ‘Sorry’ text from JJ. ‘I’ll just go say goodbye to your parents,’ Jack said when she finally looked up from her scribbles. ‘The cleaners should be finished soon, then you can get back in, get back to –’ He stopped abruptly. ‘Normal?’ Jet guessed. They both knew it was the wrong choice, sorry written all over his creased eyes.
Then he blinked and they softened, the flicker of a smile. ‘Someone’s here to see you,’ he said, pointing, then turning away toward the backyard.
Jet spun around.
The crime scene tape lay trampled across the drive now, forgotten in the wind, pinned down by a pair of boots. And four paws. ‘Reggie!’ Jet yelled, stuffing the paper in her pocket, darting forward.
Billy smiled, letting go of the leash.
Reggie launched toward Jet, his back half almost leaving his front half behind, legs a tangled blur, yipping as he collided with her.
Jet dropped to her knees, screwed her face as he jumped up to lick it.
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‘Hello handsome boy,’ she said, rubbing his belly. ‘Hello. Hello. I’m here. I’m here. Careful of that bandage. No, you can’t have it, silly. I’m sorry you had to see that, boy. I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I’d kill them if they touched you.’ She tried to hold him, but he wouldn’t stay still, lurching in manic circles around her. ‘Dad said you were back from the hospital,’ Billy said, his turn to approach. ‘Knew Reggie was staying with Luke and Sophia. Picked him up on my way. Thought you’d want to see him.’ ‘He’s clever, isn’t he? Our friend Billy,’ Jet said to the dog, straightening up, knees clicking.
Billy glanced at the vans behind her, the plastic people. ‘Crime scene cleaners,’ Jet explained. ‘They’ll be done soon.’ ‘I can’t believe you’re out of the hospital already.’ ‘Why would I waste any more time in there?’ Billy didn’t answer. He did something else: stepped forward and buried her in a hug, Jet’s nose pressed up against his chest.
The first person to actually hug her.
It almost brought her blockades down, the ones made of screws and wire mesh in her head. But if they came down now, how would Jet ever bring them back up? She coughed into the fabric of Billy’s shirt. ‘I’m so glad you’re OK,’ he said, his breath warm against her hair, against the bandages. ‘Don’t be too glad.’ She pulled back out of the hug, Reggie settling by her leg, dusting the drive with his tail. ‘I can’t believe it.’ He sniffed, catching a tear that fell to the groove of his chin.
Jet shrugged. ‘I’m only a few hours ahead of you there.’ Billy’s eyes settled on his dad’s squad car. ‘They don’t know who …?’ ‘Not yet,’ Jet replied. ‘I’m going to work out who did it. I guess you’re the only person I can trust not to be the killer, right? I mean, who would come back a few minutes later to discover their own crime, on camera, and leave their DNA all over the scene, call the cops and the ambulance? And we grew up together, and I know you can’t even kill a bug, so it’s a pretty safe bet that it wasn’t you, Billy Finney. I did want to ask, though. Why were you here? You live in the center of town.’
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‘Dad’s wallet,’ he said. ‘Someone found it on The Green, handed it to me as I was leaving the fair. Think he must have dropped it during the scuffle with Andrew Smith. I walked here to bring it back, put it through the mail slot. Didn’t even get to his front door before I heard Reggie screaming, knew something was wrong over here.’ They both looked down at the dog. Jet might not have survived at all if Billy hadn’t found her when he did. Did she owe these final seven days to this man and this dog? ‘I’m going to do it, Billy. Always told you I’d do something big, didn’t I?
OK, I thought I was going to be president or an astronaut back then, but this is just as big: solving my own murder.’ Billy dipped his head, eyes darkening. ‘Why do you keep saying it like that?’ Jet shrugged. ‘If you’ve gotta die, might as well be funny about it.’ No one else seemed quite ready for it.
Another tear: Billy didn’t catch this one in time, soaking into his checked collar. ‘I was so scared when I found you. I thought you were dead. I really thought you were dead. I don’t know what I’d do if … but you’re alive, you’re OK, you survived. It’s all going to be OK.’ ‘Not that OK,’ Jet said, confused by the sincerity in his face, the hope in his eyes alongside the blue, where hope absolutely did not belong. Wait a
minute. ‘Billy … has no one told you?’
He sniffed.
‘Told me what?’ Ah, fuck. This wasn’t going to be fun.
Jet pulled her coat tighter, night settling in, claiming her exposed skin. ‘Billy. It’s … the thing is … I’m … well …’ Just rip off the Band-Aid, it would hurt him the same whether it was fast or slow. ‘I’ll be dead in a week.’ His face changed, one second to the next. Mouth cracked open, eyes faraway and spinning, a quake in his knees that made him stumble back.
Poor, sweet Billy.
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