Page 75 of The Secrets We Hide
“Pretty brazen. Anyone could’ve seen them together.”
“Woody never makes a move without a reason. He knew Coach Bell would rat him out. He was letting Allison know that he could get to Mandy.”
“Lean horse, long ride,” Jude said. “Let’s keep our focus on reading the crime scene with fresh eyes. That’s our beginning. The rest is noise.”
Emmy knew she was right, but she still couldn’t make herself go up the porch stairs. She tried to call up a layout of the house in her head, to map out a game plan, but her brain felt like wasps were bouncing against the inside of her skull. She was fresh out of ideas. She had to humble herself again, which hurt a hell of a lot more than the sore muscles in her back.
“I’m delegating. Tell me what to do.”
Jude didn’t stop for a victory lap. “Let’s try to shift our perspectives. Go in through the garage. Look at everything fresh. You knew Allison. What feels off? What isn’t right?”
It sounded exactly like the kind of touchy-feely crap Emmy should’ve expected from her emotional support investigator, but she was too tired to do anything but comply. She walked past Allison’s car, taking in the spotless interior.
Reluctantly, she offered, “This neat freak stuff is new. Before she moved in with Bill, Allison’s house was always a mess. None of this feels like her. It doesn’t feel like anybody.”
“You mean devoid of any personality?”
“More than that. She was working her PI job. Consulting with Clayville PD. Bill works full-time. Mandy’s at school all day, then she usually goes to a friend’s house after. The car and house are spotless. Allison must’ve spent all her free time cleaning.”
“A lot of abusers reinforce stereotypical gender roles as acontrol mechanism. They hold the victim up to a standard she can’t meet, then gaslight her into believing other women are doing a better job.”
Emmy felt like a thundercloud had moved into her chest. Jonah had done the same thing to her. The house was never clean enough. She never looked nice enough. She was a bad cook. A bad mother. There was always some magical woman who effortlessly did it all.
She said, “All right, Dr. Archer. Give me one of your famous lectures. What else do abusers do?”
Jude raised an eyebrow, but that was all the protest she offered. “He destroys things he knows she cares about. Photographs, family heirlooms, plants.”
Emmy was pretty good at destroying her own plants. “What else?”
“Creates social isolation. Controls where she goes, who she spends time with, what she reads, what she watches on television, listens to on the radio, posts online.”
“Allison’s Facebook page hasn’t been updated in five years. I couldn’t find her on any other socials.” Emmy went to the keypad on the side of the garage door, punched in the code Sherry had found written on a card inside a kitchen drawer. “What else?”
“Humiliates her for having hobbies and interests. Expresses jealousy for time she’s engaged in self-care. Makes all the decisions for her under the guise of caring. Lets her make small decisions and ridicules her for her choices.”
Emmy mumbled a curse under her breath as she walked into the garage. That last part had pretty much encapsulated her marriage. She’d let Jonah handle their finances even though he barely worked, which was how she and Cole would’ve ended up homeless but for her parents.
It was a wonder Hannah had held her tongue as long as she did.
“Now that you’ve got me thinking about Bill, have you considered the possibility that Allison put the tracker in Mandy’s shoe?”
Emmy felt like her head was spinning. “Why would she do that?”
“Because Bill would’ve limited the easier options. It’s calledDigital Coercive Control: using the internet or electronic devices to control, harass, frighten or monitor the victim.”
Emmy watched Jude walk into the garage. She looked around the space, probably searching for clues into Bill’s psyche.
“He probably monitored Wi-Fi access and locked Allison out of passwords. That’s why she couldn’t put up cameras to monitor Mandy’s interactions with Woody. The family likely used some form of location-sharing app on their phones, but Bill would punish Allison by excluding her. Mandy doesn’t have a car, so Allison couldn’t track her that way. An AirTag would send a notification to Mandy’s phone. The shoe tracker was the only way Allison could keep up with her daughter without Bill’s permission.”
Emmy remembered the personal hell of trying to extricate Cole from Jonah’s family sharing plan. “I asked Bill if he had Life360 on his phone, but he told me he didn’t.”
“It’s illegal to lie to a police officer.”
“I’d need a warrant for his phone to prove he lied, and I can’t prove he lied without the phone.” Emmy thought of something else. “Allison would need an app to access the tracker.”
“Where are you on cracking the password on her phone?”
“In line at the GBI behind a thousand other police agencies who urgently need to get into a victim’s or suspect’s phone.”
