Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 87913 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 440(@200wpm)___ 352(@250wpm)___ 293(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87913 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 440(@200wpm)___ 352(@250wpm)___ 293(@300wpm)
“Did you have fun tonight?” he asks, and I tip my head back to look up at him.
“Yeah, you?”
“I wouldn’t say I had fun, but it was all right. Did you eat?”
“Yes.” I stumble over my own feet when someone behind us shouts his name. “Thanks,” I whisper when he grabs my upper arm to catch me.
“You okay?”
“Yeah, just clumsy.” I turn with him and watch a man jog our direction, the woman I saw at the bar who I thought Dayton was with standing a few feet back like she is waiting for the guy running towards us.
“Dude, you forgot your card at the bar.”
“Shit, thanks man.” Dayton takes the card from him and puts it in his wallet.
“No problem.” His friends gaze comes to me, and he smiles.
“William, this is Franny, Franny, William.”
“Nice to meet you.”
“You too.” He focuses back on Dayton. “I’ll call you.”
“Yeah man, tell Gem good night.”
“Will do.” He smiles then jogs back down the block to who I’m guessing is Gem and when he meets up with her, she lifts her hand and waves in our direction. I wave in return trying not to overthink why I feel so relieved that Dayton wasn’t out with her.
“Sorry about that.” Dayton mutters and I latch onto my bottom lip with my teeth when he takes my hand in his. It’s huge, engulfs mine, and causes tingles to shoot up my arm. I don’t remember the last time I held hands with anyone. Matthew wasn’t the kind of guy to show casual affection, so we never held hands or kissed outside of the bedroom. We didn’t even cuddle on the couch while watching TV together.
“It’s good you got your card back.”
“Yeah.” He agrees as we stop at his SUV. Opening the door for me, he stands in the doorway until I’m buckled before jogging around the hood to the driver’s side.
“How was work?” I ask as he’s sliding behind the wheel, and he turns to look at me.
“All right, but I’m glad it’s the weekend.” He starts the engine and begins backing out of the parking space.
“Eighteen items were recovered from the crime scene. Those included bedding, clothes, an open soda can left in the middle of the bedroom floor, and a knife block from the kitchen counter that was missing one knife. The knife handle was found under Alice’s body, the blade still in her back, hair, carpet fibers…”
As I’m trying to figure out what I’m listening to, it switches, and music begins to play through the speakers.
“What was that?” I ask, and he glances over at me.
“A podcast.”
“You listen to true crime podcasts?”
“Not normally.” He focuses on me as he comes to a stop at a red light. “But the woman who runs The Forgotten got ahold of the case I’m working on about a year ago and started looking into it. After doing her own investigation, she approached the department and paid for the DNA testing that we are using to bring charges against the person responsible for the murder.”
“Why didn’t the department pay for the testing?”
“Testing costs money, and typically, those funds are allocated to the most recent cases. Even then, the cops have to pick and choose which cases take precedence.”
“Seriously?”
“Yep.”
“That’s messed up,” I whisper.
“It is,” he agrees.
“So, what happens if a woman is raped? They could just choose that it’s not important enough to send off for testing?”
“I think they try to prioritize those cases, but that doesn’t mean some aren’t left behind.”
“Oh my God,” I breathe, and he reaches over, wrapping his hand around mine and squeezing before letting go.
“It’s fucked, and no one likes it, not even the cops who have to deal with it.”
“How do we change that?”
“Not sure it’s possible to change it, Franny. Each police department only gets so much money per year, and DNA testing is expensive, especially when you’re talking about using the newest technology.”
“But this girl with the podcast was able to pay for it herself?”
“She was.”
“So can other people just pay for DNA testing for cases that are being left behind?”
“Franny—”
“Yes or no, Dayton?”
“I guess. I’m not really sure how any of that works, babe.”
I don’t know when he decided to start calling me babe, but I like it way more than I should.
“Maybe I could talk to my mom about it, she’s always raising money for different causes.” I glance out the window as the city goes by in a flicker of lights. The idea that a woman—or anyone—can be hurt, and the only thing keeping the person responsible for hurting them from going to jail is the cost of a DNA test, makes me ill. I can understand that the system is messed up and that there is only so much money to go around, but in my mind, some things should be a priority.