Sarah Varland - Cold Case Witness

Neither could she.

Gemma swallowed hard, fought back emotion as she kept her eyes focused on the beam her headlights left on the road for her to follow into the darkness of the night. She’d run today because she already believed she knew who the body belonged to. And if she was right about who the body belonged to, then there was a good chance she was right about several other aspects of this case, too.

Meaning the Treasure Point Police Department had been wrong to declare the case closed.

Meaning that as Gemma had always feared...the man most responsible for the crimes still walked free. Maybe right here in this little town. And there was one more crime to add to his tally that she had been sure of—murder.

She turned into the Hamilton Estate, drove her car to the construction site and parked but left the engine running. Was she sure about this?

It looked safe enough out there, although she knew looks could be deceiving. Gemma took a deep breath, shut off the car and opened the door. The minute she did so, an owl hooted. Startled, she slammed the door back shut, then laughed at her own cowardice. She was from here, not an out-of-towner. She should be used to those noises. Unafraid of them.

But the truth was that every heartbeat of the night, everything that should seem normal, took her back to that night when everything had started.

Being here again, seeing it at night, made her wonder if the setting would jog her memory in a way it hadn’t when she’d been here in the daylight earlier, make her remember anything about the crime that had faded in her memory.

So far there was nothing new. Only fear. But growing within was also the determination to be done with this, to do something good for this town and make her parents proud.

Gemma could do this.

She opened the door again, this time squaring her shoulders and ignoring any odd sounds she heard. She walked across the parking lot to the building, pulling the key out of her pocket as she did so. They’d handed it to her just before she’d left that afternoon. It fit right into the door and she unlocked it, walked inside.

Locked the door tight behind her.

She exhaled deeply, shut her eyes and whispered a prayer of thanks that she’d made it this far. Gemma wasn’t sure how God felt about her lately, with her losing her job, not attending church and all of that, but a prayer now and then couldn’t hurt in her present situation.

Gemma clicked the light on, flooding the room with a warm glow that made her relax even more. The hard part was over. She’d made the walk from the car to here without incident—surely if someone had been waiting for her, they’d have attacked. She was unharmed, so it was likely she was in the clear. At least for now.

The office smelled musty, like a mix of pine straw, cardboard and something damp. It smelled perfectly like the history of the South. A small smile crossed her face. Working here wouldn’t be so bad, especially if the committee members left her alone during the day and she got to immerse herself in other people’s stories, learning about the past and doing something for the town without interacting with anyone else. It could turn out to be something she enjoyed, especially if it meant as much to Claire and her parents as she was hoping it would. More than anything, she wanted them to be proud of her.

“Okay, where to start first?” She said the words aloud to herself as she walked to the first filing cabinet she saw, deciding to start there, hoping that hearing her own voice would somehow make her feel less alone. At least when she was working here during the day she wouldn’t be by herself. She’d be able to see the construction crew through the window. And even more interesting, Matt O’Dell would be here every day. Just as close physically as he’d been when they’d had almost all of their classes together their senior year of high school, and just as far away in every other way as he always had been.

If things were different between them, maybe she would have called him tonight. She trusted him more than she did any other officer at the TPPD. He hadn’t been one of those who’d questioned her memories, who’d shrugged off her worries. After doing some research, she knew now that eyewitness testimony wasn’t the ultimate form of evidence. If physical evidence contradicted it, it won every time. It was factual, unbiased. So part of the story she’d remembered had been ignored because nothing else had seemed to support it.

But tonight, she knew if she looked out the window toward the construction site, she’d see the crime scene tape from the scene they’d discovered earlier.

There seemed to be support for her memories now.

Gemma shuddered. It was time to delve into these files, the history of the town, and see if there was anything that could help her.

She searched through the green hanging folders, through weathered newspaper clippings and typewriter printed notes, for hours. She couldn’t find anything that remotely tied to the case she’d been involved in.

Sighing, hating that she had to admit failure, she closed the file drawer and stood up, heading for the door. She slid her phone out of her pocket and glanced at it. Almost eleven—even later than she’d thought. Gemma stifled a yawn as she twisted the lock on the door to unlock it. The adrenaline and fear she’d felt when she’d first arrived had long since dissipated. Gemma reached to turn the door handle to open it.

It twisted. But the door didn’t move.

Gemma frowned. She’d locked it when she’d come in. So turning it that way should have unlocked it...right?

She twisted the lock the other way. Tried the knob again.

Nothing.

Chills moved across her body. Sinister laugher came from the other side of the door. Deep. Soulless. Gleeful.

Gemma swallowed hard against the pounding of her heart, which was pounding on the side of her throat, making it hard to breathe.

Relax. She had to relax. She took a deep breath, looked around the room. There had to be somewhere she could—

The lights went out.

Gemma dropped to the floor, crawled behind one of the desks almost without thinking. Survival instincts seemed to have taken over and all she knew was that someone was after her, very likely wanted her dead, and she was trapped in here. But she needed to keep it together, to stay calm and think.

Maybe someone only wanted to intimidate her.

The laughter came again, seeming to be the very sound of evil personified.

And then Gemma started to feel a touch of a headache, which spread quickly into an all-over ache, as if she’d come down with the flu in a matter of seconds. Was it fear messing with her? Or maybe the missing criminal had finally found a way to eliminate his last witness. A gas leak that could fill up the room with carbon monoxide would be an easy way to kill her and make it look accidental.

Her breaths were coming fast now from her fear, and she tried to slow them down, desperate to slow her inhalation of carbon monoxide. Did it work that way? If she tried hard enough, could she keep herself awake?

A window. She just needed to find a window, crack it open and maybe get a few breaths of fresh air. Her head hurt and her eyes, though she couldn’t see in the dark, felt funny somehow.

Gemma pulled her phone out of her pocket, hesitated over the 9 that her fingers wanted to dial on gut instinct. Calling 9-1-1 would bring the Treasure Point police to her, but would they believe her this time anyway?

Matt O’Dell would believe her. She didn’t know why she thought so, but she did.

She had his number in her phone, from when he’d called looking for her earlier in the day and left her a message telling her he needed to ask her some questions about what she might have seen. She’d ignored him.