The Podcast

Chapter 24

Monday evening

The walls in here are dark, contrasting the light neutral tones used in the rest of the house. On one one wall, a dark floral wallpaper made up of intricate monochromatic flowers and vines, in dark forest greens and deep grayish-blues, adds texture to the space. Lucas peers through a window overlooking Sumner's yard, a visible corner of the infinity pool glittering like crystal, the hard concrete edge shearing off above the driveway.

Sumner walks toward a black wood credenza, opening its doors before entering a code into the keypad of a small built-in safe.

For a moment Lucas wonders to himself, what's in this for her? Why is she choosing to be so forthcoming, so cooperative?

But then she's walking toward a large black wood dining table that is arranged like a conference room, a long plush bench running along one side, perpendicular to her personal desk in the center of the room. In her hands, is a manilla envelope, the paper crinkling gently under the vise-like grip of her fingers.

"Are you going to open it?" Lucas crosses his arms across his broad chest, the material of his shirt straining around his shoulders.

"Just...give me a minute." Sumner's words are earnest, desperate. Unless she's a better actress than the internet gives her credit for, this is clearly the first time she's shown whatever's in this envelope to anyone.

Lucas sits down slowly on the bench, giving her the moment she needs. Finally, and with a touch so delicate she might as well be handling museum-quality jewels from ancient civilizations, Sumner pulls out pieces of card stock, one by one. She lines them in a row in front of Lucas, then takes a tentative seat next to him. Her heart is racing so loudly she flushes knowing he can hear it. But she doesn't move, doesn't speak.

Nearly the same exact size and shape, all printed in neat, all-caps handwriting, three cards line the table.

"Fuck, why are there three?" Lucas breathes out the word, leaning over to read each one.

"This," Sumner taps the table, careful not to touch the actual card, "is the first note. The one I found next to Chloe. Eight years ago."

Lucas shifts to get a closer look, grimacing at the vulgar words. They echo the ones Sumner had told him downstairs in the kitchen, appearing even more threatening in writing. His strong denim clad thigh presses up against hers as he inches closer to look at the letter. Neither make a move to distance themselves.

TWO GIRLS LIKE SISTERS, BUT ONLY ONE IS HIS DAUGHTER,

A SECRET BETWEEN THEM, THE OTHER'S FUCKING HER FATHER.

"Now this note I received about six weeks ago. It's the first note like this I've gotten since Chloe's death eight years ago." Sumner taps the table near the second note. "It's how I connected the two Joshua Tree murders."

HOT BY DAY, COOL BY NIGHT. THE BOYS WERE BOUND, THE ROPES WERE TIGHT.

Lucas drags a heavy hand over his mouth, the hairs rising on the back of his neck. Sumner's cheeks are flushed, her body trembling slightly. He wants to reach over and grab her, help ground her body to something solid and sure. But he restrains himself, urging her silently to continue.

"And this," Sumner moves her hand toward the third card, her arm crossing in front of Lucas' chest, "is the note about the UCLA murders."

BLACK. BROWN. OFF-WHITE. TWO DEAD IN ONE NIGHT.

"Black, brown, off-white?" Lucas recites the chanting words, trying to work through the riddle.

"Type of bears."

"Bears?"

"The UCLA Bruins...bruins are bears."

"Jesus. So this really is some sick, twisted game. The same person who killed Chloe is killing all these copycat victims?"

Sumner doesn't respond to Lucas' question. It's been living on a loop in her head for the last month and half, escalating in volume when he first stormed into her podcast studio.

"Sumner." Lucas rests both palms on the other side of the table, leveling her with his stare, the heat and intensity rolling off of him in waves. "You have to have an idea, a suspicion of who it could be—"

"I swear to you, I don't!" They both pause at the pitch of her voice, the loss of control. She looks back at the letters to center herself. "I haven't always been truthful about everything. Clearly." She clears her throat as she waves her hands toward the notes, her slender leg bouncing with nerves. "But I'm being truthful about that. I've looked for years, Lucas. Dug up everything and anything I could get my hands on. There were never any DNA samples matched at the scene of Chloe's murder. I interviewed friends, ex-boyfriends, people in our hallway, random students...any lead I could find."

Lucas holds her gaze, his gut leaning toward believing she's being honest. That a part of her is just as frustrated as him, even if her motives aren't the same.

Sumner eyes him suspiciously, worried that he'll reveal what she's shown him. Drag her from her own house in handcuffs. Such a cop-out ending after so many years of clinging desperately to this secret. To that first note that has now spawned two more.

Sumner holds her breath, waiting for him to speak. This is why she never lets anyone in. She has too much to hide. Too much at stake. How does one strike the balance of sharing enough to let someone in without sharing too much to scare them away?

She struggles to inhale as Lucas' silence stretches on, the corset around her ribs tightening with each attempt, air trapping in her throat, choking her as her eyes widen in panic.

"Sumner," Lucas stands behind her, close without touching. Nothing repels Lucas Saba on the job more than a crying woman. She looks on the verge of tears. For some reason he wants to reach out and touch her. An inconvenient urge. Entirely inappropriate considering the circumstances.

His hands fist at his sides with indecision. But Sumner doesn't give him a chance.

Tipping her head back with and quickly swiping under her eyes, she stands from her desk and moves toward the door of her office. The moment of frailty is gone. The ice queen is back in place.

"You'll still have to work on the case as if you don't know these exist. That was the deal." She's looking at the letters, her voice devoid of emotion.

"I know."

"Alright then. I think it's best that you leave now."

"Okay." Lucas casts one last glance down at the letters, his ability to memorize good but not as ironclad as Sumner's. He stalks toward her, determined to leave with the upper hand despite her abrupt dismissal of him. She may be trying to regain control but it's only convinced him further that she's even more unraveled. He'll have to keep chip away at her, piece by piece.

Not to mention he's conceded a lot during this unorthodox visit—too much—by allowing Sumner to keep this critical evidence in her possession.

"But if you get another note," Lucas leans over her, gripping the doorway above her head, "you call me first. No questions asked."

"Fine." Sumner sticks out her hand, her elbow tucked into her side with the limited space between them. Always determined to maintain a steely veil of professionalism.

Lucas raises a brow, then lifts his hand and takes her much smaller, softer palm into his.