24
Ralph and I sat in the parking lot, shell-shocked now that we no longer had the distraction of dealing with law enforcement.
“Abusers do kill their victims,” I said. “And it could have been a different abuser, a different abusive relationship. This isn’t necessarily related to Jerome and Trevor.”
“Uh-huh. And that’s why neither one of us told your deputy friend that the guy who murdered Anita is the same guy who ran us off the road yesterday.”
“Same car,” I clarified.
“Uh-huh.” Ralph sighed and, with no baseball cap to fiddle with, rubbed his hand over his short hair. “I just keep remembering what a cute kid she was back then. Innocent. Makes you wonder how she got here.”
“How do any of us get here?” I asked. “Choices—good and bad, ours and other people’s. Throw in a dash of rando
