“The San Diego cops investigated?”

“Yes,” June said. “We all had to go into the police station for questioning. It seemed like we were there for days on end, but none of us knew anything. One moment she was alive and on the beach with everybody else. The next moment she was dead. Finally the cops turned us loose, and we drove back to Tempe.”

“What happened then?”

“First there was the funeral. Her parents were heartbroken. After that I really don’t remember much. The rest of that semester was like living in a nightmare.”

“Did you tell Sully’s parents about what had happened between you and their daughter?”

June shook her head. “No,” she answered. “Why would I? Finding out something like that about their dead daughter would have made things that much worse for them. Besides, I kept thinking that eventually we’d find out who had done it-that there would be some closure-but months went by and then years, and nothing happened. We all talked about it among ourselves. We figured her killer must have been someone-some stranger-who had found her alone on the beach. That’s what I always believed, anyway.”

Brandon heard that last throwaway sentence and immediately understood the implication.

“Now you know better?” he asked.

June nodded. First she smoothed her skirt, then she straightened her shoulders. “Yes, I do,” she murmured, but her voice was barely audible.

By then Brandon’s eyes had adjusted to the dim light. Every flat surface in the room and most of the wall spaces as well were covered with a collection of photos. He could tell from June’s voice that they were venturing into dangerous waters, and he wanted to make it easier for her.

“Your kids?” he asked, nodding toward the nearest set of photos and breaking the tension.

June nodded. “Seven kids, fourteen grandkids, and two greats,” she replied. “Fred died two months short of our fiftieth.” She paused for a moment before continuing. “He died two months ago-about the time I sent that note to Mr. Farrell.”

“And that was because…” Brandon prompted.

“Because Fred did it,” June Holmes declared. Her lips trembled as she said the damning words. “He’s the one who killed Sully.”

“And how do you know this?” Brandon asked.

“Because he told me so himself-five years ago, when he was first diagnosed with lung cancer. He wanted me to be grateful and to understand what he had done for me.”

“For you?” Brandon asked.

June nodded. “I told you my parents were strict Mormons. So was Fred. The LDS Church doesn’t countenance homosexuality now and it certainly didn’t back then, either. The very fact that I’d had that one encounter with Sully-one other people knew about-made me damaged goods. When I came home from San Diego, I expected Fred to drop me like a hot potato if he heard any gossip about what had happened. So I told him myself. I thought he’d break our engagement, but he didn’t. He said he could hate the sin and still love the sinner.”

The imprisoned cat finally gave up and shut up. June seemed to be waiting for Brandon to say something more. When he said nothing, she continued. “Fred wasn’t ever what you could call a forgiving kind of guy. I should have wondered about that, but I didn’t. I was so incredibly grateful that he didn’t turn his back on me and walk away. No one would have blamed him if he had.”

“In other words, he got big points for standing by you?”

She nodded. “To say nothing of a proper marriage in the Temple-a marriage for time and all eternity, as they say. Then, five years ago, he got his cancer diagnosis and dropped his bomb.”

“About Sully?”

June nodded again. “He told me one of his friends was in San Diego that spring break, too. He heard about what had happened, and he was the one who called Fred. Fred’s father had just died. His mother was getting ready to sell their house and needed to have it painted. That’s what Fred was doing over spring break-painting the house inside and out. Someone-this unnamed friend-called Fred that afternoon and told him what had happened. He drove over that night. After he did it, he walked into the ocean and rinsed off the blood. He left Phoenix after his mother went to bed and was back home before she woke up in the morning. As far as she was concerned, he never left. When he got back to his mother’s house, he burned all the clothing he was wearing that night-even his shoes.”

“Was he ever considered to be a suspect?” Brandon asked.

“Not as far as I know,” June answered. “There may have been a few questions asked about him in the beginning, but his mother’s word carried the day, especially since no one remembered seeing him in San Diego, no one who knew him, that is. He came and went without anyone being the wiser. Back in those days there were no credit cards. He paid cash for his gas and food.”

“If he got away with it for that long, why did he bother telling you?” Brandon asked.

June shrugged. “I guess his conscience was bothering him,” she said. “He thought he was dying. The doctors only gave him six months or so. That was before they let him into that first chemo protocol. He said he hoped that I could do the same thing for him that he had done for me.”

“As in hate the sin and love the sinner?”

“I tried,” June said. “But I couldn’t do it. I had been in touch with Sully’s parents from time to time. I went to both her father’s funeral and, much later, her mother’s. I knew how much it had hurt them to lose their precious daughter, and it hurt me to think it was my fault.”

“You weren’t the one wielding the knife,” Brandon said. “It wasn’t your fault.”

“But if Sully and I hadn’t had that encounter-if Fred hadn’t found out about it…” June’s voice dwindled to nothing.

“What happened after he told you?” Brandon asked.

“It was just a few months after Fred told me that I heard from Mr. Farrell again. I was surprised that he was still working on the case after all those years, but Sully’s mother had won a bunch of money in one of the big lotteries, and she was using it to start a cold-case organization of some kind.”

“Yes,” Brandon said. “It’s called TLC-The Last Chance.”

“Mr. Farrell said he was going back through the case and interviewing everyone who had been connected to Sully. He wanted to talk to me, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t face telling him the truth and have my children’s father go to prison. I was afraid they’d want me to testify against Fred, and I couldn’t do that. Besides, to be honest, I guess I didn’t want my children to know about what I had done, either. I’ve spent a lifetime trying to live down that one indiscretion, but it’s always there with me. It never goes away. I also didn’t want to lie to Mr. Farrell.”

“Did your husband offer you any proof of what he’d done?”

“He didn’t offer it to me, but I think I found it.” June reached into her purse and pulled out a Ziploc bag, which she handed over to him. Inside it was an old hunting knife. Through the clear plastic, Brandon could see that the blade was dull and rusty, as though it had been left untouched for a very long time.

“One of my sons found this hidden in the back of one of Fred’s toolboxes out in the garage. In all the years we were married, I never saw this one before. I know from watching TV that sometimes it’s possible for investigators to get usable DNA evidence from items like this.”

“You’re giving it to me?” Brandon asked.

“Yes,” she said. “I want you to take it and do whatever you need to do to find out for sure.”

“All right,” Brandon said, dropping the bag into his jacket pocket.

“So that’s it,” June said, using the arms of the chair to rise to her feet. “I’m ready to go whenever you are. I just have to drop the cat off on the way.”

“On the way where?” Brandon asked.

“To jail,” June answered. “Isn’t that what this is all about? Aren’t you here to arrest me? Doesn’t all this make me some kind of accessory after the fact?”