A Natural

“Not necessarily. Maybe someone drove by her on the street and picked her up. Anyone could have coaxed her to come along. Especially with the rain last night.”

Bill remembered. Christa's clothes had been completely soaked. And that was before the gunshot. Before the blood.

His eyes darted to the laundry room door. It was closed, hiding the heap of her ruined clothes, but there was a sizable crack between the door and the floorboards. For a moment, his eyes played a trick on him, and he saw trails of dirty, bloody rainwater snaking across the floor and kissing the front of Officer Kitchener's boots.

He blinked it away.

“You didn't see anything, did you, Bill? Any strange cars parked along the street?”

“No, I didn't. I was busy last night, working in the garage.”

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