Chapter 5

Chapter Five

The sun was just coming up as Detective Scheffield sat at his kitchen table, blowing the steam off his first cup of coffee. There would be many more to come, he surmised, at least until he could create some sort of working theory as to why at least one gunman came into this particular house, at this particular time, and shot these particular people. It had been a long day yesterday searching the house; and a disappointing day, because they weren't able to find much in the way of useful clues inside. He definitely had in his plans to go back today and walk the perimeter of Genevieve's property in the daylight to look for disturbed ground, footprints, and anything else that caught his eye. He was thankful the thunderstorm last night had not lasted very long; the damage even a brief rainstorm could do to a crime scene was great. It was propitious that he had made casts of all the footprints close to the front and back doors and the few he found under some windows yesterday. Plenty of photographs had been taken of the prints as well; he simply didn't trust a photograph alone. Also knowing that he could not totally rule out this being a random homicide; or the work of a serial killer, he decided to do a little profiling. First, he would develop what amounted to basically a character sketch- an educated guess as to someone's identity; what they look like, their approximate age(s), where they live as opposed to where they hunt their unsuspecting prey. The list is endless. Second, he would start piecing together a list of probable suspects locally first; no matter who those suspects are and no matter what their relationship is with the deceased or the living victim. This was the type of situation in which peoples' toes were going to get stepped on; and the type in which no apologies were going to be handed out. Third, he had to start eliminating those suspects as expeditiously as humanly possible. Most will have rock solid alibis; after all, this is practically Mayberry. It's the select few whose whereabouts cannot be accounted for in those early morning hours yesterday that intrigued him. Most of them will be telling the truth as well; they simply won't be able to prove it. It is these suspects the detective planned to turn inside out and badger until one of them finally cracks. For, in his opinion, this was no random crime and the two women were no random targets. This killer...this one knew his victims. He knew them very well.

One of the first people he wanted to eliminate was Grace Walker. Yes, it did strike him as quite odd that she just happened to show up from God knows where the very night before the murder and attempted murder. But something - a feeling he had deep down in his gut - told him she was not the one who pulled the trigger. Granted, it was a hell of a coincidence, but he believed that is all it was. She simply wasn't the type; she didn't have it in her to perform such a despicable deed. This he could tell about her from the very start. Still, he had to make this little theory work out on paper. He had to go through the rigmarole of eliminating her just like everyone else. He also had to rule out that she was not an intended target. From what she had told him, her alibi sounded a bit flimsy, though he knew that could be attributed to the fact that she had allegedly traveled down a country road to get to town and back; a road not heavily traversed by anyone, no matter what the time of day. Her saving grace would most likely be the few people who could place her at the café she claimed to have patronized while she was in town. And that was the first place the detective planned to head this morning; as soon as the rest of the world came alive. Until then, he decided to head directly to the coffee pot on the kitchen counter and pour himself another steaming cup.

Across town and several miles into the woods, Grace was waking up to what would presumably be the second worst day of her life. One of the very first thoughts that popped into her head when she opened her eyes, was Adrienne. She rubbed her eyes, tried to run her fingers through her tousled hair, and immediately reached for the phone to call the hospital and check on her. After sitting on hold for the better part of five minutes, the nurse finally picked up the line, yawning apologetically as she did so. All the information she could offer at this point was that there was no change in her condition from the night before, that she could track down the doctor if Grace wished, and that her family members were still there from the night before if she wanted to speak with them. She thanked the nurse, as well as asking if she could call her if there was any change in her cousin's condition whatsoever. Of course she planned to go to the hospital in person, just a little bit later. No matter how she tried to push it down and not think about it, her body was weak with exhaustion and it was letting her know, any way it could. At this point, she figured the best she could do was ply her body with caffeine - and plenty of it - plus a good shot of adrenaline that she knew would course through her veins if she broke the yellow crime scene tape that wound its way around the perimeter of Genevieve's house and yard; and went in the house to do a little detective work of her own. Not that she thought Matt Scheffield wasn't up to the job, it was only her nagging curiosity saying two sets of eyes were better than one. Basically, she had to see everything for herself when it came to this situation. It was all just too bizarre. She was smart; she knew the killer had to be someone that they both knew - or they all knew; all three of them. She still wasn't certain that one or two of those bullets weren't meant for her; and if they were how was that problem to be addressed? Would she simply have to walk around feeling like a moving target?

The absolute first thing she had to do, before any breaking and entering charges should be incurred, is place a call to Detective Scheffield. She wanted to know what he knew, as well as to feel him out about Gram's house; like would he have a clue that she had entered the house before asking his permission, or could she get away with it? He was no dummy, but neither was Grace. She had gotten away with stranger things in the past. Apparently, she had a gift, a rare ability to see what she knew not everyone saw, and feel what she knew not everyone felt. It's not like she talked to the dead or anything. She simply felt things that turned out later to be true. For her, it was developing into much more of a curse than a blessing. But, like it or not, it was an ability that clearly wasn't diminishing with time or age. She had always had dreams and nagging little feelings, but lately it had grown into sleep deprivation and feelings she simply could not ignore, push down. And, presently, she had an ominous feeling; so strong it was only one step away from voices in her head. The larger part of her wished for this ability - whatever it was - to just disappear; but there continued to be a part of her who almost craved having something to investigate. Especially if it stood to educate her about her family; answer questions that had always seemed unanswerable.

Not wanting to wake Jesse, who was still passed out cold on the couch, she slipped out the back door - with Casey in tow - to call the detective. She held the phone in her hand for the longest time; just staring at it. She was still having difficulty accepting the fact that a call of this kind had to be made. Finally, she bit the bullet and dialed the number on the card Matt Scheffield had given her the day before. He picked up directly; obviously eager to hear from her.

"Good morning, Miss Walker. I hope you did manage to get some sleep last night." he opened with; greeting her with a neutral attitude.

"Good morning, Detective Scheffield. Please, call me Grace." she answered in return.

"Very well...Grace. Call me Matt." he insisted. "I'm sorry I don't have much to tell you at this point other than we have ruled out robbery as a motive; that is unless you can come up with something missing that we don't know about. That was actually one of the first things we did yesterday. In fact, motive is what I seem to be having trouble pinning down. I spoke briefly with everyone at the scene - mostly neighbors - and nobody had any idea at all why someone would want the two women dead. And no one is coming forward saying they heard or saw anything out of the ordinary, which is fairly common these days. People just don't want to get involved. I do plan to re-interview absolutely everyone at the station, but that's going to take a while; time better spent in the field, speaking to people, confirming alibis." he informed her, getting straight to the point.

"I wish I could be of help to you, but I don't know anything. I'm no fool, detect...Matt, I know even I am a suspect at this juncture; and I'd be more than happy to cooperate fully with you. Whatever you need to do to eliminate me, please...do it; so you can focus on finding out who the real culprit is. Haven't you spoken with my Uncle, Christopher Devereaux? It is his mother and daughter. I'm sure he knows much more than I." she told the detective.

"No, I have yet to speak with Mr. Devereaux or his wife." he began, "I was giving them a little time to attend to their daughter; and receive the news of his mother, Genevieve's passing." was his response. He knew his captain wouldn't be thrilled if he was aware of this. They should have been among the first people he got a statement from, but he simply couldn't bring himself to steel his heart the way one would have to if they interrupted a person's desperately sad moment of profound grief with a barrage of questions; especially ones that clearly implicate the grief-stricken themselves.

"By the way, Matt. It's not their daughter...not really; only his. Adrienne's real mother died when she was seven. Caroline adopted her after she and my uncle got married, but that was in name only, and just to please him. It was as if he wanted to erase all memory of his first wife and Addie's real mom, Julianne." of which she made sure he was aware. Grace had always had a special loathing for Caroline, Chris's second wife. She treated Adrienne terribly growing up. And she always made sure she knew Caroline wasn't her real mother...that she had no mother anymore. Sadly, Grace knew her pain very well. She no longer had a mother either.

"Thank you. That may prove to be valuable information." he said, expressing his gratitude.

 "Well, I'm going to check on your alibi this morning and see what we can do to eliminate you; though I don't think it will be much trouble. Just...uh...don't leave town without letting me know first." he instructed, feeling bad as he did.

"Well, that's sort of the thing, detective - Matt - everything I own is presently sealed up in my grandmother's house. Would it be possible for me to gain access to at least some of my clothes and other belongings? And also my car; the blue Lincoln Continental parked in front?" she asked. "You're more than welcome to look through everything."

"Let me see what I can do about getting a uniformed officer over there to let you in. I just want you to be prepared for what you will see. Nothing has been done in the way of clean-up, if you know what I mean." he let her know. "Also, you can't touch anything...I mean nothing outside of your bedroom. The officer will have to be present as you gather some things; just as a precaution. You understand..." he had to force himself to say.

"Don't worry.  I would prefer to make it a quick in and out of the house anyway. I'm not 100% sure I could handle more than that yet." she reassured him. "Should I wait for your call? I know it's early yet." she asked of him.

"Give me an hour and I'll have an officer meet you at your grandmother's house." was his reply.

 "I still need to speak with you at the station and get your statement on paper today - the earlier the better. If I'm not available, there are other officers with whom you can speak. And I apologize for the inconvenience, but we can't release your vehicle just yet. Our forensic team has to go over it because it is parked on the property; and particularly close to the house. We simply didn't have the extra hours in a day we needed to get to it yesterday. I don't expect that it was involved with the crime at all, but my boss is definitely going to require proof of that. Standard procedure. Again, I am sorry for the inconvenience." he offered her sincerely. He knew he shouldn't be so open with Grace about his opinions. First of all, it was unprofessional; and second, she was still a possible suspect. He couldn't explain what made him feel the way he did; he just felt that she was trustworthy.

"I understand. It's okay about my car; I can manage to get along without it for a little while if necessary. Well, I'm going to rummage through my friend's closet and come up with something decent to wear. I'll wait for your call regarding an officer to let me into the house. Thank you, Matt." she said.

"It's no problem; or at least not a big problem." he answered truthfully. "Very well. I'll call you." he responded. Then he hung up.

Just as she was ending her conversation with the detective, Jesse's head popped out of his back door in search of her. It wouldn't be the first time she had spent the night and disappeared before he awoke; usually without so much as a note. But this time she hadn't left, for he found her seated on the rickety old wooden steps outside his back door. She turned around at the utterance of her name; not at all surprised by whose voice she heard.

"Hey." he said as he ran his hands through his curly hair; trying his best to untangle it. It surprised him that he felt so awkward around Grace; after a lifetime of closeness which included too many intimate moments to count. It was simply a different kind of intimacy. One that wasn't centered around sex. Sex is the easy part. It's everything else that can get tricky.

"Hey." she replied. "I didn't want to wake you. I know it's still early." she offered up as an apology; checking as she did so the time on her cell phone, which read 6:48 a.m.

"Are you hungry? I can make you some pancakes." he offered.

"Yeah." she began, "Pancakes would be great. Thanks, Jesse. Not just for the pancakes, you know...but for everything. I honestly don't know what I would do if you weren't here right now." she admitted, her eyes welling up again.

She wiped a tear from her face as she stood up to go inside: whistling for Casey to come as she did so. Her voice was a little too worn and too shaky to yell for her by name. And she didn't want Jesse to hear the weakness and exhaustion in her voice and worry about her emotional state on top of everything else. She already felt badly about putting him out of his own bedroom; banishing him to the living room couch. There was really no need for her to feel guilty, though. He didn't mind...any of it. When it came to Grace, there truly was no end to the things he would do for her. He had displayed that in the past, time and again: and he was all too willing to display it now. Sometimes she wondered why he was always so good to her, but she never lingered there for long. She was too afraid of losing that - losing him - as the one she could always go to with anything; no matter how bad of a thing it was; no matter what sort of trouble and turmoil it caused in his life. And she had caused him more than his fair share of exactly that. So she elected to tread lightly for now, unsure of how much help she would actually need in the near future. She surmised it could add up to quite a bit of trouble for him this time around. And this time it was serious trouble with indelible consequences within the realm of possibility. She simply had no idea where else to turn. It was when these kind of thoughts crept into her mind that she missed already having Gram to turn to as well. As a matter of fact, she wasn't completely convinced she would ever get over losing her grandmother; there was simply too much that loss encompassed.

Within a minute or two Casey came running at the sound of her mistress' whistle, going from top speed to a standstill in nothing flat. Grace couldn't help but let a little laugh escape at the sight of her dog hitting the brakes so clumsily. They both went up the steps and into the house, the aroma of fresh coffee brewing and pancakes cooking on the stove. She went directly to the coffee pot where she found the mug Jesse had already put out for her; waiting patiently for the coffee to finish brewing before pouring herself some, loading it with sugar and creamer like she always did. Then she took a seat at the kitchen table and watched as he flipped in the air the little pancakes he had shaped like animals. She had tried and tried this in the past, and she could never even get them to hold any shape, much less flip them in the air successfully. As a matter of fact, it brought back a memory of Gram chastising her for the mess her efforts left on the elder woman's kitchen floor when she was just a girl. It couldn't help but make her smile, despite how absolutely dreadful she felt.

"A smile. That's a start." remarked Jesse as he placed a plateful of pancakes on the table in front of her. "What are you thinking about?" he added.

"Gram. And me trying to recreate your animal pancakes." she answered, smiling up at him; knowing that he knew exactly what she meant.

"You just weren't meant to be a chef. Your strengths obviously lie in different areas." he chuckled, "Vastly different areas." he teased; in an effort to keep the mood light for her.

He filled a plate with pancakes and sat down at the table, hoping that there would be more chewing than conversation. Things like this - the two simply sharing a meal - never used to feel so uncomfortable, so forced almost. There had been more moments they shared like this one than he could begin to count. A big part of the uneasiness for him, he knew, was not knowing quite how to comfort her this time.  Something hung in the air around her so thick it threatened to choke him as well if he breathed too deeply. And he was becoming aware that no events in her life felt to her as this one felt; not even her mother's suicide. He knew that her mother's passing hurt her deeply; but not even this tragic event dredged up so much sadness, so much hopelessness, as losing her grandmother seemed to for her. He honestly didn't know what to say to her. A huge part of him wanted to scoop her up and just hold her; desperately wanting to make her feel better. But he was not sure if this would make things easier or more difficult for her. She had not in his recollection ever been so distant with him. So he deduced it would be more suitable not to push her; to allow her the space to come to him when she needed him.

Grace finished eating and poured herself another cup of hot coffee, watching Jesse snicker as she scooped four teaspoons of sugar and a pile of creamer into her mug and stirred like crazy. She sat back down at the kitchen table, sipping her coffee; having a great deal of trouble peeling her eyes off the floor. She was also wondering why the air was so thick with uneasiness; why she felt so far away from the man sitting across the table from her. This wasn't just any do-gooder in Aurora; this was the friend who had come to her rescue countless times throughout her life; the friend who she was certain would be there whenever she needed him, no matter what the problem. This was Jesse...her only true friend; the kind whose loyalty was never in question and she knew never would be.

Her mind just kept going and going; trying to make some sort of sense out of such senseless acts. It wasn't going so well at the moment; all the events that had been unfolding since she got to town weighing heavily on her. She just kept silently repeating, "Gram is dead" over and over. Out of all the awful things that had happened in her life, she never recalled feeling so lost as she did now. And she had lived through more daunting, harrowing times than she cared to repeat - even silently.  Still, none of it left her feeling quite so alone in the world as this.

Deciding to swallow her fears for now and concentrate on finding some answers, she looked up at Jesse and asked, "Is it okay if I go raid your closet for something to wear? I spoke with the detective this morning and he's going to have an officer meet me at Gram's house, so I can grab some clothes and personal effects. I'm not sure when the crime scene tape is coming down and I'll have full access to the house. Who knows in this town?"

"Yeah, help yourself to whatever I have in my closet." was his reply.

 

"Thanks, Jesse." she said; and started down the hall toward his bedroom. Halfway there, she turned back and said "Oh, I forgot. Can I have a ride over there when I'm ready? They're not letting me take my car yet; not until they trash it looking for evidence that doesn't exist. "

"Of course. Don't worry about it. I'll help you get around as long as you need. You know that." he answered in a reassuring tone.

"Thank you. I do know that. I just forget sometimes, you know?" she told him honestly.

Then she turned and walked back to the bedroom, feeling a little less awkward after the last exchange of words between them for some reason. She went directly to his closet and opened the door, then began shopping for something in a man's closet that would suffice on a woman as well. Especially a petite woman, such as herself. Finally, she settled on blue jeans whose legs had to be rolled up and a t-shirt she hoped she wouldn't be drowning in. Oh well, she thought, at least they are clean and not full of holes. This was not the first time in her life she had borrowed his clothes, and he wasn't always so neat and clean as he is now. A chuckle escaped her as she reminisced. Under that chuckle, however, laid a possibly irrational concern; the nagging thought that something was definitely different between them, and that whatever the difference was - it wasn't good.

After dressing, she went into the bathroom and once again utilized her finger for a toothbrush; then splashed her face with warm water and brushed her hair. Not exactly what she would define as putting her best foot forward, but it would simply have to do. She could do a better job with her own clothes and accessories, not that she would necessarily change anything until she had to change it. Jesse's entering the bathroom with a towel thrown over his shoulder and his turning on the shower made her decide she was finished in there, so out of the room she went. There had been enough tension between them already and she truly didn't want to throw seeing him naked into the mix. Although it wouldn't be the first time she had seen him in all his glory.

She chose to use the time searching for her phone and putting Casey outside on a makeshift lead she threw together, rather than leave her cooped up alone in his house. Taking an empty drywall bucket she found in his shed, she filled it half full with water and placed it in the shade; the heat of the day reaching oppressive status despite the early hour. Late spring was always touch and go in Aurora as far as outdoor temperatures were concerned; one morning crisp and cool and the next a scorcher. She could still remember walking to school sometimes as a child - leaving in the morning wearing a sweater because the day before had been chilly; and walking home in the t-shirt she swiped out of Jesse's locker so she didn't have heat exhaustion from walking home in that itchy, hot sweater. Then the next day doing the exact opposite.

She perked up her ears, hearing some kind of noise, then realized it was her phone ringing. The sound was muffled, so she walked around to see when it got louder. After reaching a pile of Jesse's clean laundry in one of the wide, comfy armchairs in the living room, she began digging and plucked it out just in time to answer. It was the detective, calling her back about going to get some of her clothes from Genevieve's house. Grace thanked him and said she would be on her way in 10 minutes. Walking back to the bathroom to tell him they were ready for her at her grandmother's, she heard the shower turn off so she just talked to him about it through the door.

He threw on some clothes, brushed his teeth, and they were on their way. Not much was said on the ride over. Her nervousness showed in her face and her knuckles were white from holding her knees with such a tight grip. All he could do was put a hand on top of hers to let her know he understood the fear she must be feeling; going to her dead grandmother's house and having to see the pools of her blood, dried on the floor. And he was certain he would not be allowed to go in with her. She was lucky the police were letting her in to get her clothes at all, he thought.

When they got there, they decided to park on the street and walk up the long driveway to the house. He was half surprised nobody had instructed them to do so. Small town cops. Not everything gets done by the book when you live in a town of this size. Some rules apply to some of the people some of the time. And none of the rules apply to the cops.

Once Grace got far enough up the driveway, she could see that the officer they sent out to let her in the house was Cliff McHenry; who they both had known their entire lives. In some ways, Cliff was no different now than he had been in high school. Not to say he didn't take his job seriously, he just wasn't the sharpest tool in the shed. Poor guy, Jesse thought. Grace was going to take advantage of this, and he knew Cliff would never even see it coming.

They finally reached the house; sweat beading up on their foreheads from the short walk in the hot sun. Cliff offered his condolences again, then let her know the condition of the place was hard to take; even for him it was very difficult to view.

"Are you sure you want to do this, Grace? Cliff inquired with a gentle tone. "I have to go in with you, but I'm just going to stand right inside the front door. If that's okay with you." he practically begged.

"That's fine. I appreciate your concern very much, but I'll be all right. Thanks, Cliff." she offered, trying to don the most pitiful, innocent smile she could manage.

She wanted answers, and she intended to find some, no matter how difficult that process proved to be. Her quest for the truth would lead her to places she never imagined. Jesse stood right outside the open front door, using just his eyes to scan the bloody scene, as well as the front rooms of the house. He had done some minor repair work to the wall and ceiling in the living room not a month ago. Nothing could have changed that fast, so it's possible he would be the only one who would notice if something were out of place. Unfortunately, without getting in the house, there wasn't a copious amount he could tell.

Grace had ever so carefully stepped over the blood at the bottom of the stairs, then practically ran up the rest of the steps to get to the second floor. It reminded her of a feeling she used to get ascending this very staircase when she was young; the feeling that someone was always nipping at her heels. In fact, she used to get that feeling elsewhere in the house as well. Someone was always behind her, following her. She knew Gram felt it, too. Not that she would ever have told Grace, but she knew it somehow.

The first bedroom she had to pass was Adrienne's room. Her doorway wasn't visible from where Cliff stood downstairs, so she tiptoed through the open door just to take a quick peek. She saw the blood-stained sheets bunched up on the bed and was desperately trying not to be affected by it. She came here to get some clothes, yes, but she was also on a mission to discover the truth. Why she thought she could figure it out before the detective, she didn't know. Perhaps it was the nagging feeling that something was definitely up that she couldn't wish away. Either way, she was going to find out the truth.

She quickly checked her cousin's hiding place for her diary and, to her surprise, found it still safely tucked away. Grabbing the diary, she quietly walked back out of the room and down the hall to her room. She wanted to do a lot more exploring, but was fully aware that she wasn't going to be granted the time she needed. Not today. At this moment, she was extremely relieved that she had not yet unpacked any of her things. She dumped out her largest duffle bag and picked through those clothes, only packing a small amount, leaving room for a few of Casey's chew toys and her toiletries. Before she left, she took a quick look into Gram's empty bedroom, but nothing caught her eye. She needed more time.

Cliff called upstairs to find out if Grace was done, but she was already on her way back down the stairs. He offered his hand to help her step over the blood; not wanting to be reprimanded for allowing her to tamper with evidence. He had been spoken to by his superior about vomiting in the yard when he felt choked by the smell of the fresh blood yesterday. Yes, it was an incredibly unprofessional thing to do and he felt so awful that it happened. It's just that he had never been exposed to something so horrific before and he simply wasn't equipped to handle it.

"I wanted to tell you again how sorry I am to make you do this. I feel guilty." was Grace's apology to Cliff; or at least the best one she could manage.

"Don't you worry about it, Gracie. And if there's anything you need, you just let me or my wife know, okay? You remember Sandra, don't you?" he responded. Cliff was always a chivalrous guy.

"I do remember your wife, yes...and thank you so much for such a kind offer. It means a lot." she answered sincerely. "Actually, we do need to get going, Jesse. I have tons to do and none of it's fun. Cliff, thank you again. Say hello to your wife for me." she added, flashing him the best smile she could muster. Then she turned back to Jesse and nodded she was ready, so they braved the long walk down the driveway again to the car. She took one last look at the stoic old house, then got in the car and they left.

Meanwhile, Detective Scheffield had switched from his kitchen table to his desk at work. He still needed to get into town, to the coffee shop, to check on Grace's alibi. In lieu of doing that first, he had opted for going through the case file before it got sent upstairs to his commanding officer. The rather small file had grown quite rapidly already, so he decided to get it over with now. Of course, he could have delegated this job to someone else and done more running around than sitting in a chair, but truthfully that was partially why he was reading it. He didn't trust any of the officers or even the detective under him - who he deemed pretty useless most of the time - to be thorough enough; and they couldn't afford to make any mistakes on this one. So he did it himself.

Everything seemed in order for the most part; the statements gathered from everyone were typed up neatly and actually split into two groups - family and non-family. No one had been brought in for a second interview, so those were absent from the file at this point. That would be all right with the man upstairs for now. It hadn't even been 24 hours yet since the crime occurred; there was only so much this small task force could manage in that amount of time.

Then he took a gander at the evidence report. Listed on it were the shell casings that had dropped on the floor and been left there. His eyes almost came out of his head when he saw typed: Shell casings from a .38 revolver. He just kept repeating in his head, ".38 revolver. .38 revolver" over and over in disbelief. All cops should definitely know things like: revolvers do not automatically eject shell casings! He was mortified to come to the realization that this was one or more of the officers on his task force that were responsible for this mistake. The only way that could be true is if the shooter intentionally removed them from the cylinder and dropped them on the floor. The detective had a difficult time imagining any criminal would do that; especially when whatever crime he was dabbing into truly needed to be a fast job. Perhaps it was an honest mistake and whoever made it meant to list it as a pistol/handgun. He was kind of holding out hope for that one; they simply didn't have the manpower to replace even one member of the task force.

His frustration level having risen considerably, he decided to put the file down for now and go do some field work. There were several people who would not be able to make it in to the police department to be questioned, so he would perform the irritating task of going door to door to speak to these people. Also, he still planned to go check out the crime scene again - inside and outside - to see what he may have missed yesterday. There had to be at least a few things he overlooked in the midst of all the chaos. First, though, he was off to the coffee house in town to check on Grace's alibi. He was praying she had told him the truth the first time around, but still he had to make sure. So he hid the case file for now and headed out the door.