Alicia, Caitlin and Lindsey weren't sure what to do next, after leaving Andrea Cha's former office. That night, they told Lara what they had discovered and asked for her input, but the woman had little light to shed on it. She informed them that she'd taken over Denver's case, and they could understand why that would consume her focus.

One idea she did have for them was to check gas station surveillance cameras. Assuming the duo fled by car, they could only go so far before they had to refuel.

“Could you get those for us?” asked Caitlin excitedly.

Lara was getting ready for work. She stood in the bathroom, buttoning her uniform's blue blouse. Alicia, Lindsey and Caitlin stood just outside the bathroom doorway, and saw her shake her head. “Sorry. I need to keep my nose in this case file until this trial is over. A lot of people are going to be poring over the details of this case. I need to make sure everything goes off without a hitch, and I need to be there at the station constantly to put out any fires.” She did up the top button, then took her black tie off the towel rack and began to tie it around her neck. “Besides, without a warrant, there's nothing forcing a store owner to give surveillance footage to the police. They might give it to me anyway, most of folks in town with all night gas stations know me pretty well. They've sold me enough coffee over the years. But I'd need a good excuse.”

“Why don't you say you need it for Denver's case?” Lindsey suggested.

Lara glanced at her out of the corner of her eye and smiled as she tightened the knot. “Good idea. Unfortunately, I already picked up all the surveillance footage in town when we were trying to find the Satanists. Before we had Denver, and before Chase disappeared. I can't use the same excuse twice.”

The girls still thought there was a good idea there, though, so for the next week they spent their time afterschool going around to gas stations in the Sunnycrest area asking if anyone had seen a blonde girl their age with a little Asian lady. They got a lead which excited them on Tuesday, when the owner of a small convenience store out the north end of town said they saw a couple fitting the given description, but when they attempted to direct their searches in a northerly direction, along the highway and beyond, they produced nothing but frustration.

“You know, it could be that she thought we might try this,” said Lindsey, on Friday night. Alicia was driving them home on the freeway, after another long, fruitless expedition to the northern reaches of Sunnycrest county. “She could have intentionally filled up at gas station to the north of Sunnycrest to mislead us, then doubled back to go a different direction.”

Caitlin had considered this possibility earlier, but didn't entertain it. She didn't want to believe it. If this lead wasn't working, what else was there? To visit every gas station in the state? It couldn't be done. Lindsey's suggestion had not occurred to Alicia, on the other hand, and the idea dismayed her greatly.

The next morning, Caitlin emerged from her room around nine. Her hair was down, and she was still wearing her oversized nightshirt. She was texting Flor when she looked up and was surprised to see her mom sitting at the kitchen island.

“Mom,” she said, surprised. “You're still up?”

Lara was eating Chinese food out of a cardboard carryout box and reading some documents. She looked up at Caitlin, surprised. “Sweetie? I thought you already left. Aren't you late for school?”

Caitlin pulled up a stool and sat across from her, setting her phone down on the countertop. “It's Saturday, mom.”

“Ah. Sorry.”

Caitlin thought nothing of it. It wasn't the first day her mom had gotten wrong lately, with all that was going on. Lara held out the box of Chinese food to her, and Caitlin declined with a hand wave. “Working late on the volleyball girls, I guess?”

“Yup,” said Lara. “Denver's hearing is one week away.”

“Why does that mean more work for you?” asked Caitlin. “I mean, what do you have to do with it? They're not calling you up as a witness, are they?”

“No, but there's still a lot of evidence to go through,” said Lara. She turned a page. “Like this, for instance. A copy of Paris' diary.”

“Oh?” asked Caitlin, leaning forward and taking a look. “Does she talk about the murders?”

“That's what most of it is about,” said Lara. “It was heavy on her mind, as you might imagine.”

“Wow. That's kinda risky. What if someone found it?”

“She had it hidden well,” said Lara. A note of pain sounded behind her voice. “Besides, her parents...I talked to them. They're the trusting kind. They wouldn't dream that their daughter could be up to no good. They wouldn't have ever looked for her diary.”

“Does it look...Are there any...” said Caitlin. She wasn't sure how to say it, and couldn't help but feel guilty when she did. “Does it fit with our story?”

Lara looked back at one of the earlier pages, and a puzzled look crossed her face. “Yeah. I mean, our story pretty much fits the real one with the exception of that night at the cabin, and Paris obviously wouldn't have had time to write about that. It's quite damning stuff, really. It backs up Denver's confession to the letter.” She scratched her cheek. “But, you know, there is something funny about it.”

“What's that?” asked Caitlin.

“The second victim. Hugh Hartline,” said Lara, “The diary doesn't mention anything about him.”

“Wait, really?”

Lara nodded. “She goes into painful detail about all the other sacrifices, but not him. And you know what? That also fits Denver's testimony. She refused to confess to his murder. All the others were fine, but she maintained they had nothing to do with his death.”

“Then his killer's still out there!” said Caitlin.

Another nod. “The evidence seems to suggest that. All things considered, I think it's enough to open his case again. In retrospect, his manner of death never really fit with the others, either. The other deaths were very gruesome, with a knife as the murder weapon. Satanic symbols were carved into the body or painted on the surroundings with blood, to create a visceral, shocking scene. But Hartline was simply strangled. Strangled and dumped.”

This awoke a familiar image in Caitlin's head. As she contemplated it, her mother loaded up her fork with noodles and went on. “In addition, we found dried female sexual fluids on his body that we couldn't match to any of the volleyball girls. Fluids less than twenty-four hours old. I mean, based on what I've heard you and Lindsey say about him, he's a bit of a lothario, so maybe that doesn't mean anything. But then again, maybe it does. You want a fortune cookie? They gave me two.”

“Sure,” said Caitlin absently, standing up and taking one of the cookies. The cellophane crinkled as she tried to stick it in her pocket, leading her to realize she didn't have one because she wasn't fully dressed yet. Her mind was going a hundred miles per hour. She quickly retreated to her room to throw something on. “Thanks, mom!”

...........

Denver had her head on the table she was handcuffed to when Maureen entered. Her arms were crossed on the desk's metal surface, forming a sort of pillow which her face and forehead were buried in. She lifted her head at the sound of the door opening, then sat up.

“Hey, Denver,” said Maureen, setting her briefcase on the tabletop. She smiled. “Tired?”

“No, just bored,” said Denver. “There's nothing to do in jail.”

“Ah.”

“How long do you think it'll be before they send me to prison? At least there, there's other chicks to talk to and you get time out in the yard and stuff.”

Something about that statement really depressed Maureen, even if it was true. “I don't know. Probably not long. That's one of the things a plea bargain does, it makes the trial process go a lot faster. That's why the prosecution likes to push for it.” She sat down and opened her briefcase. “Speaking of which, that's what I wanted to talk to you about today. I met with the prosecutor of your case, a lady I work with a lot named Heidi Lords, and we discussed your guilty plea.”

“Yeah?”

Maureen pulled her chair in a little closer to the table and began going through her files. “Yeah. Now, as you know, your intial charges were four counts kidnapping, four counts murder in the first degree, and three counts desecration of a corpse.”

Denver replied without blinking or hesitating. “Right,” she said.

Maureen looked at her, then back at her briefcase. She extracted Denver's file and opened it up. “Right off the bat, she was willing to throw out your kidnapping and desecration charges, so that's good. But really, four counts of murder one is the equivalent of four life sentences. Everything aside from that doesn't really matter.”

“Yeah,” said Denver, unsurprised. She had her own level of knowledge of the legal system. “But I get to go to the looney bin, right?”

Maureen looked apologetic. She gave Denver her full attention. “I tried, Denver. I wanted you to serve your sentence there. The prosecutor seemed sympathetic, or at least as sympathetic as a prosecutor is allowed to be. She's read your file and she knows your situation.” The meeting room had a small window with a metal grate over it. Maureen gestured in its direction. “But Denver, you gotta understand what you did. This town is out for blood. Your blood. If you manage to dodge prison, best case scenario nobody in town hall gets re-elected next year. Worst case scenario Sunnycrest has a riot on its hands.”

Denver looked down at the table sadly. “Yeah, I guess that's fair.”

“The judge would throw out a deal like that in a heartbeat,” Maureen concluded. She looked back down at Denver's file, then selected a sheet and slid it across the table so Denver could look at it. “The best I could do was get the murder ones changed to manslaughters, with your mental faculties as justification. Five years per, total of twenty years with the possibility of parole after sixteen.”

Denver's eyes returned to her, shocked. “Even that will probably piss people off. Anything less than life would,” said Maureen. “I'm sorry, Denver.”

“No, that's...” said Denver, “...better than I expected. Thanks.” She was silent for a moment, as the situation sank in. “Still though...it is a long time. Way longer than I was in juvie for.”

Maureen nodded. “If you don't make parole it'll be longer than you've been alive. Are you okay with pleading guilty and receiving that sentence?”

“I guess so. Yeah. I probably deserve more...”

Maureen watched her for a moment, then returned to her briefcase. “Denver, I'd like to ask you about something.”

“Yeah? What?”

Denver watched a stack of papers emerge in Maureen's hand. The top left corner of the stack was stapled. “Your confession,” said Maureen. She looked at the door, then back at Denver, lowering her voice. “Were you coerced into giving this, Denver?”

“Co what?”

“Forced.”

“Oh. No way. That cop lady couldn't force me to say anything I didn't want,” said Denver.

“I don't mean just physically. Did she intimidate you? Threaten you?” Maureen couldn't believe she was even suggesting Lara was capable of such a thing...but these were strange times Sunnycrest was living in.

“No,” said Denver. “She just said she'd help me get a lighter sentence.”

Maureen frowned. There wasn't anything illegal about that. It wasn't technically even a false statement. The confession helped facilitate the plea bargain, after all. But it did feel rather out-of-character for Lara.

“Is the confession true?” asked Maureen.

“Yes.” No hesitation.

“Everything in it?”

Denver's eyes drifted back to her lap. “Yes.” Some. Very little hesitation, only a split second, but some.

Maureen did something a bit unprofessional, but she couldn't help it. She reached across the table and took Denver's cuffed hands in her own. Denver looked at her with surprise. “Denver, you can trust me. I'm your attorney. You need to be able to talk to me, and tell me everything.”

In the second before Denver answered, a look of confliction crossed her face.

“Are they trying to railroad you?” asked Maureen. Point blank.

Denver pursed her lips. She started to look away, but this time, she maintained eye contact. “Everything they're charging me for is something I really did. I kidnapped those people and helped kill them. That's the truth.”

Maureen read the girl's tired eyes, her stony face. She saw no signs of untruth there. Just that Denver was hiding something. “Then it's the massacre. The way your friends died...it didn't really happen that way, did it?”

Finally, Denver could maintain eye contact no longer. The teen giantess took her hands away from Maureen and looked back down at her lap.

Maureen expected an answer. It didn't come. Denver just remained silent, stewing in her own thoughts.

“Denver?” she prodded delicately.

“It happened that way. London and Brooklyn did it,” she said.

Maureen hung her head in disappointment. For a second, she thought Denver was going to tell the truth. “You can't expect me to believe that,” she said, lifting her head back up. “I've been going through the evidence, Denver. There's so much about the official story, the one you helped codify, that makes zero sense. For starters, neither London's nor Brooklyn's fingerprints were on any of the weapons. In fact, there were no prints on any of them at all. Almost as if they'd been wiped off. Including the knife that punctured London's own eye! When would London have the chance to do that? You also said London and Brooklyn were the ones who ate parts of Venice and Sydney, but the autopsy showed nothing in their stomachs except partially-digested pizza. And then there's the-”

“Look, they're all dead. What's the difference?” interrupted Denver. She didn't raise her voice, but there was a sullen stillness to the words that silenced Maureen as if she'd shouted them. “They did horrible things, we all did. That's it.”

Maureen was taken aback. “But Denver, don't you see? If it wasn't London and Brooklyn who killed them, if someone else is responsible, we can bring them to justice. Plus, this whole case could be blown open. This introduces reasonable doubt. All the evidence is called into question. You could be found not guilty. You could go free!”

It was Denver's turn to be quieted. Her hands curled insecurely into fists. “Don't do that,” she said sadly. “It doesn't matter what you say in court. It's like you said, they're out for my blood. I'm already avoiding a life sentence, they're offering me twenty years. Don't ruin it. Please don't. Besides, I don't deserve to go free anyway.”

Maureen didn't know what to say to that. Denver was right, of course. Despite her mental state and her desperate position at the mercy of the court, she saw her situation for what it was with a clarity that Maureen, older, but still more innocent, did not. She sighed and began packing her papers back into her briefcase. “Don't worry, I can't do anything without your approval,” she said. “Get some rest, okay? You look exhausted. I'll talk to you tomorrow.”