CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
ZAIN
I’ve been staring at the case files for hours, combing through the same reports over and over again, trying to make sense out of something that hasn’t made sense in fourteen years.
I lean back in the chair, eyes still on the screen. The police were too busy pinning everything on me to even think about anyone else. Ramsey practically had me locked up before the trial started. But this guy my mom mentioned. He definitely wasn’t part of the investigation.
There’s got to be something in these files. Even if it’s something small that I missed. An overlooked witness, a name in the footnotes, something they never followed up on because they didn’t care to.
I open the witness statements again, scrolling through the list of names, slower this time. I’ve read this list so many times, but tonight I’m looking for anything that seems out of place.
Nothing jumps out at me.
I pull up the crime scene reports, the forensics, the notes from the interviews. The same names keep repeating, the same details cycling through. But there has to be more.
Scrolling through the forensic report again, I take my time. My eyes scan every detail, every fucking note, but it’s like trying to read smoke. The report focuses on blood patterns, DNA samples, and the timeline of events.
Then something catches my eye.
Unidentified partial print, left side of front door.
I freeze, staring at the screen.
How did I miss this? Unidentified print?
Pulling up the rest of the report, I search through it. There was no follow-up investigation. No further notes. Just a single line buried at the bottom of the report.
They never followed up on it. Didn’t even send it off to see if it matched anything in the system.
I slam my hand down onto the table, causing my coffee to spill.
This could have cleared my name. They had physical evidence of someone else being there, and they didn’t fucking investigate it.
I click back into the witness statements, thinking about the man my mom spoke to. Could that print belong to him? What if he wasn’t just asking questions out of curiosity or to write an article? What if he wanted to make sure no one was looking for him?
The police interviews are next. I dig through each file, hoping for a hint of something … anything … that connects to that print. But there’s absolutely fucking nothing.
Ramsey didn’t care. Holson admitted he had doubts, but was more interested in his career than putting an innocent man behind bars. And now, I’m left chasing shadows.
I rub a hand down my face. I’m fucking exhausted. I need to sleep. But I can’t. I can’t shut down my mind. I can’t rest until I find out who that man was, and why the police ignored the print they found.
I need fucking answers.
Reaching for my phone, I go into the caller list and hit a number. The phone barely rings before Rook picks up.
“Zain.”
“I need Knight to find someone for me. My mom mentioned a guy asking questions after the murders. He didn’t give her a name, but she insists he wasn’t part of the investigation.”
There’s a slight pause, then Rook replies, voice brisk. “Alright. Tell me everything you know.”
“She only saw him once, after Jason and Louisa were killed. He was asking around, knew specific details that weren’t public. Not a cop. Didn’t show a badge or any kind of ID.”
“That’s not much to go on.”
“I know, but I do have something else. There’s a mention of an unidentified fingerprint found on the front door. No follow-up.”
“You think the prints and this guy might be connected?”
“I don’t know, but it’s worth looking into, right? The police had me, so I don’t think they cared about looking into anything else.”
Rook doesn’t hesitate. “I’ll call Knight. You’re sure they didn’t run the print through the system?”
“It was only a partial print. There’s no record of them running it.”
“Then we’re looking for a ghost. But the kind of ghosts in my line of work sometimes leave trails. I’ll see what I can find.”
“Thanks.”
“I’ll be in touch.”
I drop my phone onto the table, and go back to staring at the screen in front of me. Knight is the best at what he does, but I do wonder if even he can find a man who left nothing behind but a set of prints no one bothered to check.
Closing the laptop, I stand up. Maybe I should go for a run and burn off some of the adrenaline spiking through me. I need answers, but I need something else too.
Control.
I can’t control what the cops didn’t do back then, and I can’t go back and change the trial that ruined my life. But I can control this moment. I can control what I do next. I can chase this lead, and try to find this guy.
One way or another, I’m going to find out the truth.
My cell buzzes with an incoming message.
Rook: Knight’s on it. He’ll contact you when he has something.
I don’t bother to reply. Neither of us are the type who need to say more than what’s necessary. Instead, I reach for my coffee cup. It’s cold when I take a sip, and my lips twist at the bitter taste. Putting it back down, I think about my next move. I can’t just sit around and wait for answers to fall into my lap. There has to be more.
I glance at the time on my cell’s screen. It’s late, but not too late. I’ve got a few hours before I’ll attempt to sleep, if that’s even possible. Maybe I will go for that run. It’ll clear my head.
Knight’s on the case now. One way or another, we’re going to find out what really happened back then. I’m not giving them another chance to bury the truth.