17. Lucy Loose Lips

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"We've got this, Helena," encourages Elliot, grabbing my hand as we walk up Lucy's garden path.

Pebbles crunch beneath our feet, prompting a dog from next door to begin barking. It gets louder the closer we get and before we've even reached the door, a figure emerges.

Lucy.

"Hi." Shit! "Can we talk?"

She glances to Elliot and nods, the true optimum of a nervous wreck. Chewed lips. Shaking hands. Eyes unrested.

"My mom is upstairs," she informs, gesturing for us to come inside. "All I have to do is yell and she'll be down here."

"We're not going to hurt you," I ensure, a little stunned by her reaction.

"D'ya think I'd let you into my home if I thought you were capable of hurting me?" she snarls. "I'm merely warning you."

I nod, keeping my mouth shut.

"We're here to help," interrupts Elliot, awkward smile intact. "We know you sent those text messages."

Her stance instantly stiffens.

"We also know that you're being threatened to do so," he continues. "Why?"

"You know why," she whispers.

"We'd rather hear it from you," I appease, following her into the kitchen.

She gestures towards two stools at the far end of the breakfast bar and takes it upon herself to make tea. Elliot and I wait for her to finish, itching to get things going but withholding for the sake of her sanity.

"Two summers ago, someone filmed me having sex and posted it online without my knowledge."

We remain silent, allowing her the chance to continue.

"The police removed it because I was a minor at the time but the damage was already done. I went through weeks of intense therapy and in the end, Mom and Dad decided to move. Tea?"

"Yes, please," says Elliot.

I refrain, already desperate for the toilet.

"Anyway," she continues. "About a month ago, I get this message on Instagram asking me to send some truth or death text messages. At first, I ignored it but they started threatening me. I had no choice."

Elliot nods, sipping his tea in sympathy.

"A few weeks later, I get sent this burner phone by mail. I figured the whole game was just a prank, so I went along with it. I only found out about Sienna's murder the other day when Mom told me." She looks up, hands shaking. "I swear I had no idea."

"You're still connected, though," I offer. "Which, I think was the killers intention all along."

"Meaning?" she asks.

"Meaning, you're not being blackmailed. You're being set up."

Her eyes widen, a small gasp leaving her love-heart lips.

"Which is why it's important for you to tell us everything you know about the killer," states Elliot. "So that we can catch them."

"Are you working with the police?" she asks.

"Not exactly."

"Good," she says. "I don't trust them. Not after my run-in with them."

Elliot nods.

"As much as you don't trust them, I think it's within your best interests to tell them what's been going on," I offer. "You're being set up, Lucy. Right now, you're the only one with a motive. A direct link."

"Motive?"

Elliot steps up. "We know you thought Sienna was behind the distribution of the sex tape all those years ago."

She cringes. "Can we not call it a sex tape?"

"Sorry," he apologises, blushing.

"The fact still remains," I state. "All fingers are pointing to you. So talk to the police first. That way, you're seen as being cooperative."

She looks towards her tea, as if the liquid is somehow the answer to all of her prayers. "Yeah, okay. I will."

Elliot and I toss each other a look of accomplishment.

"Now, you said they sent you a burner phone by mail. Did you give the killer your address?" I ask. "On Instagram?"

"No."

"So, whoever it is must know where you live?" says Elliot. "Who has access to your new address?"

"A few people," she replies. "Moms friends. Michelle. I think the school even have it on their system from when I transferred."

Fuck–that hardly narrows our search.

"And do they send you instructions with what to say in the texts messages? Who to address them to?"

She nods. "I'm sent a text with a sixty minute countdown. If I fail to send the messages within that timeframe, my video goes live."

"I assume they tell you what to say?"

"Yes." She looks down. "I won't be sending any more. Not now."

I reach out and touch her hand, offering her some physical support.

"Do you have evidence of these conversations? Screenshots?"

She nods.

"Good. The police will need them. Could you also forward them onto us? We've spoken to someone else who has been contacted by them and she seems to think they're older."

She frowns. "I didn't get that impression at all."

"Really?" asks Elliot.

She gets out her phone and forwards us the screenshots, once unblocking me of course.

"They know every secret circulating Lincoln halls. There's no way this isn't a student."

This just about puts up back to square one.

"Can I see the burner phone?" asks Elliot. "I might be able to track the number."

She nods, pulling out a second phone.

"Wait!" I instruct. "Wear gloves. This is a key piece of evidence. You don't want your fingerprints on it."

Lucy retrieves a pair of pink rubber gloves for Elliot to wear, the expression on his face a picture indeed. He reluctantly slips them on and starts sieving through the device, all awhile I gather more information from Lucy.

We end up chatting for another hour, picking through everything with a fine tooth comb. Elliot finds nothing on the burner phone but does take a picture of it. We both use the toilet and with promises of catching the killer soon, suggest getting on our way. Lucy promises to talk to the police and gifts us both a bag of chips for our long journey back.

"Thanks for coming."

She politely sees us out, the three of us loitering on her front doorstep.

"Thanks for talking to us," I say, wrapping my arms around myself in a shield-like action.

It's fucking freezing!

She smiles at me, then to Elliot; her features falling shortly after. I'm about to ask her what's wrong when a bleep sounds from her pocket, straight from the burner phone.

"Is that where they send you instructions?" I ask.

She nods and slowly pulls the cell from her back pocket, fingers fumbling. Her cheeks pale as she reads over the words and my stomach lurches, imagining what it might say.

"What?" questions Elliot, just as intrigued as me.

Lucy says nothing and simply holds the phone out for us to read, her ability to speak seemingly gone.

Unknown:
Say hi to Elliot
and Helena for me. : )

I gawk at the screen, overcome with nausea. With lightheadedness. How can they possibly know we're here? Unless...

"Were you followed here?" she asks, voice trembling.

"No," replies Elliot. "We drove over five hours."

She looks to her phone, then back to us. "Well, whoever it is knows you were coming here today. Did you tell anyone?"

Elliot and I lock eyes, both of us thinking the exact same thing. The ugly truth. The logical answer.

Only two people knew of our trip today. Mom.

And Jasmine.

****

Okay, thoughts...

Is Jasmine our killer?

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