Page 150 of Sugar & Shadows

“There’s more.” I wasn’t sure how much I could share with them. The investigation records were currently sealed, pending the prosecution. Caleb’s public defender would eventually get copies, but probably heavily redacted. If the police knew how much Meg had found, we’d both be looking at charges.

But I could give them a few breadcrumbs.

“The autopsy report,” I whispered, “doesn’t line up with Caleb’s statement.”

Frankie went still. “What do you mean?”

“In the confession report I read, Caleb said he and Will fought near the old logging cut after midnight.”

“Sounds like Caleb,” Nina mused sardonically. “Always getting into fights.”

Frankie glared at her.

“But lividity patterns suggest the body had been moved hours after death.”

Nina blinked and Frankie stood.

“The medical examiner said that he’d been lying face up for several hours before he was put into the barrel.”

“But Caleb said—” Frankie blurted.

I nodded. “And there were defensive injuries on Will’s hands. Bruising and cuts.”

Nina hung her head. “So there was a fight.”

“Yes,” I said. “But Caleb didn’t describe any injuries he incurred. Do you remember seeing him bruised or cut in the days after Will died?”

They shook their heads.

“Since he was arrested months later, they had to take his word for it. Again, not definitive, but notable.”

Frankie practically vibrated with anger. “He didn’t do it,” she snapped.

“I didn’t say he did,” I replied. “I’m just sharing inconsistencies. And the cell phone tower data on their phones put them in different locations. If Caleb moved the body and put him in the barrel at the Lawrence farm, why was his phone connected to a tower near town for most of the night?”

“Impossible,” Nina said, bent over my nails and painting with precision.

“Not impossible,” I said firmly. “But it is inconsistent.”

Frankie was pacing again, her energy feral. “Someone set him up. I knew it. Nina, I told you.”

“Frankie,” she warned.

“No. Nope.” She shook her head, her eyes filling with tears. “He’s protecting someone. Or he was forced.”

My chest ached for them. She could be right. She could also be wrong. Grief had a way of taking minor details and turning them into wild hope. I knew all too well how easy it was to fall victim to that kind of mentality.

“Please listen carefully,” I said, looking at Frankie. “Details matter. But this is not enough to prove his innocence.”

Her shoulders fell.

“But there are unanswered questions,” I added. “My advice? Lay low and save your money for a good lawyer. We’re still waiting on the superseding indictment, so we have time. We can keep picking at this and see what we find.”

“But why?” Nina asked, her own eyes misting. “Why would he do that? Confess to the murder of his best friend? None of this make sense.”

There were a million reasons. Fear, shame, loyalty. And some much darker. “I don’t know yet,” I said, “but false confessions under pressure are not exactly rare.”

“And the fire?” Frankie asked, a hint of hope in her eyes.