What can I say about my senior year? Not a lot really. I avoided the social whirl of fraternities and sororities. I stayed away from alcohol. I didn't attend many student gatherings. Only those Andy dragged me out to. I spent most of my time studying. I was a swot. I was in a few study groups, with my fellow nerds. We'd toss around ideas and theories, instead of tossing back illicit beers. Any music we played was low key, not raucous. We talked about philosophy, science and literature. It was, to most people, incredibly boring. Thanks to my low key lifestyle I gained a reputation. The female students considered me safe. I wasn't going to pressure them into sex or even kissing. I was labeled a gentleman by the fairer sex. Andy studied hard as well. Keeping the perfect balance between fun and education. He to had a good reputation with the ladies. What he referred to as guilt by association, with me. He began toying with the idea of studying to become a lawyer. Perhaps following in his father's footsteps.
Was he to blame for the major events that occurred that year? The bad things that were precipitated in the following years. Andy thought so. I think he still does. No matter how much I tell him he wasn't the cause he refuses to believe me. Now when it does come up, or I see him in the mood I know can sometimes overtake him, I let him know he is forgiven. If there is any fault, it's mine. I know I did the wrong things. I also know that given the same circumstances, I'd do those wrong things all over again. It's that switch you see. It has many settings. Some of those settings aren't nice. Unless you're a fan of the demonic.
It all began when he got it into his head to have a look at cold cases and old crimes. He thought he could bring new eyes to them then solve them. For a while he tried to get me to join him. He thought with our complementary skills we could maybe revive some of these unsolved cases. He started back in the 1800's. Then worked his way forward to more modern times. Narrowing his focus as he did so. Until he was looking at cases in Washington State and the local area. Missing persons. Unsolved murders, disappearances, kidnappings and robberies. Even rape didn't escape his examination. For a month or so he was sifting through the Black Dahlia murder. Finding the waters had been muddied by hundreds of amateur and professional detectives, he moved on. If only he'd had a steady girlfriend to keep him occupied. One day, just after New Year I got a call from him.
"Hi Luke." Andy sounded strange over the phone. "Have you got a minute?"
I was just coming out of a local coffee shop with other members of my study group.
"That depends." I responded cautiously. He'd been pestering me a lot recently to attend some parties. Be his wingman. "Where are you and what do you want from me?"
He chuckled humorlessly.
"I'm in the Law Library annex. There's something I'd like you to take a look at. It's a local cold case from a little over 10 years ago."
I was still reluctant to be drawn in.
"Well it's been ten years, surely it could wait a little while longer. What's so special about it, that you need my input."
He was silent for a few seconds.
"Well as far as I can tell, it was never even warm. I could be wrong, but I think you may have an indirect personal connection to it as well."
I was balanced between being intrigued and dismissive. He was my best friend after Crystal. I bit the bullet.
"I'm on Holland Boulevard." I sighed. "I've got my car so I'll be there in ten minutes. As long as I can find someone to run Heather home."
As it happened Heather had a ride already. Part of me was hoping that wasn't the case. I really didn't want to be dragged into investigating a crime no one else could solve. It reminded me too much of the Sherlock Holmes label I'd been given back in middle school. Andy had a habit of getting me to perform feats of deduction as an ice breaker. Mostly, of course, Holmes and I used inductive and causal reasoning rather than deduction. Sometimes I have to be pedantic. I got in my car and drove over to the library. Then spent a good ten minutes searching for Andy. Eventually I had to call him, as he didn't appear to be there. He apologized for not telling me he was in the old visual media room. Giving me directions how to get there. It seemed they still kept a lot of the old stuff, sometime even after it had been transferred to a digital form. Actual copies of old newspapers and microfiche records. Basically flat sheets of microfilm. You needed to be able to operate an old mechanical reader to view.
Having been shushed a few times while I was speaking to him, I proceeded as silently as possible. Finding the door at the end of a long, rarely used, corridor I let myself in. Andy looked up with a grim expression as I entered. In an effort to lighten his somber mood I sat down on the edge of the desk the reader was on.
"What's the big deal?" I whispered. "Where's this malfeasance you've discovered? Does it go all the way up to City Hall?"
"You don't need to whisper, we're in a room on our own." He countered. "Take a look at this."
Pages scrolled past in a blur. Photographs of old documents and newspaper stories I assume. He stopped at a story about a young Indian girl of 13 who'd been found naked and barely alive on the highway. Her feet blistered and bloody after walking many miles. It seemed there'd been numerous cases of young Indian girls and other poor minorities going missing. Most had never been found. A few bodies had turned up, usually in water. They'd been tortured, raped and murdered. The first thing that leapt out at me was the name of the young State Trooper who'd found the girl and kept her alive long enough for help to arrive. Dan Visser. That was the guy Crystal was seeing on her Friday night outings. The one I'd heard entering her bedroom through the window. I knew it only stood out because I was familiar with the name. It had no other significance. It wasn't even a major coincidence. I'd seen him named in other crime news stories. Well, two others.
The girl hadn't been named, as was usually the case in potential sexual assault cases. Her throat had been cut, quite badly but not fatally. She also bore the wounds of a beating. The police were waiting to interview her after she regained consciousness. I couldn't see anything of any significance. There were no clues as to the perpetrators. It hadn't even been the major headline on that day. The elections taking top spot, because of a scandal involving a corrupt local official. I needed some help.
"What am I supposed to be looking for here?" I asked Andy dismissively.
"That's the thing." He continued. "There's hardly anything else regarding the investigation. No follow up stories. Almost nothing. The only real information I can find is here. Every other possible source has nothing about this. Like it never happened. It's looks like it was never investigated either. When this story came out we had digital media, but the only thing I can find is this. It must have happened in the last days of this library using microfiche."
It did look as though Andy was onto something. The potential covering up of a serious crime. Something occurred to me.
"What's my potential link with this case? I can't see how it connects to me."
Andy took the slide out, replacing it with another, before scrolling through its contents. He must have gone past it because he went back. Zooming in on another story. This time a puff piece. About a young Indian girl coming out of hospital after being rescued. There was no mention of the circumstances causing her hospitalization. It merely stated she'd been found near death on the highway by an unnamed State Trooper. Damn, he was onto something, but it still wasn't anything to do with me. Not until he showed me the picture attached to the story. He looked at me as I stared open mouthed.
"Now do you see? Who does that remind you of?"
It was like I was falling. Dropping away from the world. Now my entire universe was the image. The image of a much younger Crystal. There was no doubt in my mind it was her. It couldn't be anyone else. Unfortunately whoever had made the microfiche had cropped the bottom where her name would have undoubtedly been. I slid off the desk, bumping down on a chair beside my friend.
"Fuck." I breathed.
I was caught. Suspended between conflicting thoughts. This was her business. I was spying on Crystal. If she'd wanted me to know this about her, it should have been her telling me. That she hadn't did not surprise me in the least. My sense of guilt must have affected Andy as well. No wonder Crystal loved Dan, he'd saved her life. Knowing this about her was a burden. One I was happy to have. Or was I devastated? I couldn't decide anything. My thoughts were all over the place. I had no idea what I should do. Stupid as it may seem I was inclined to tell Andy he should drop this and forget everything he'd so far discovered. Which wasn't much.
"I'm going to have a word with my dad. See what he thinks."
If he was expecting any input or reaction from me he didn't get it. She'd been raped. Had she been raped? Whoever did that to her had tried to cut her throat. Then the rage hit me. With molten intensity. Pulsing inside me. Someone had hurt Crystal. Not my business. I could make it my business. She wouldn't allow that. What kind of animal could do such a thing? A man, of course. I was a man, almost. I became aware Andy was watching me with concern. I needed to... What did I need to do? Think about this of course.
"Thank you." I patted him on the shoulder.
What a dumb thing to say. I don't even know if I said goodbye. I walked out of the library. My feet feeling as if they were sinking into the ground with every step. As though each pace was a hurdle. I found myself sitting in my car, tapping my phone on the steering wheel. I called her. Thank God she didn't answer. It went to voicemail. I took a deep breath and as calmly as I could I left the message that I would be at least an hour late. It was only when I hung up I remembered it was Friday. She'd be with Dan. Her savior. Her protector. What need did she have of me? That selfish thought smothered and buried as soon as it bubbled to the surface. For the next few hours I drove. Wherever the road took me.
