3.

His name was Lamar Pine.

Indy's every waking hour is spent looking into the case, which becomes doubly as enticing because of the strange lack of information she can find on it. Brief articles list clues stolen directly from other articles, then falter off into silence. Pine's background is never discussed, as if his life began the moment he allegedly took Elizabeth Dobbs's. She can't find an execution date, either, only a grainy scanned image of the murder victim's obituary. At every turn, the world seems to be telling her, Give up. There's nothing here. Not that the world hasn't lied to her before.

Nevertheless, Indy vows to stow away her curiosity for at least the next hour, for Sylvia's and Gatz's sakes. The last thing those two probably want to hear while they're trying to eat lunch is the gruesome details of Dobbs's autopsy.

Indy steps into the dining hall, shaking off the cold, and freezes in place. Just ahead of her is Percy, mystery meat burger and a generous helping of crinkle fries balanced on the tray in his hands. He notices Indy at the same time she notices him, and Indy decides right then to turn back around and exit the way she'd come in. Sylvia and Gatz will understand.

"Indy. Wait, Indy—God. How long are we going to do this?"

He's closer to her now, she can hear it, but she still doesn't turn to face him. "Your parents are worried about you, you know. Harvey, too."

"I know. I was planning on calling them soon."

"That's good," Indy says. "You should do that."

"Indy. Are you really not going to turn around?"

"Why should I?"

"Because you look like a weirdo standing there talking to a wall," Percy says, "and I want to apologize to you, but it's harder to apologize to the back of your head."

Indy wishes she had more petty bones in her body, but unfortunately she's been afflicted with the flesh-eating disease known as kindness for as long as she can remember. She'll always forgive and forgive and forgive, even if one day it leaves her with nothing left to give at all.

Indy turns around.

Percy smiles briefly, dimple appearing in his cheek. "There you are."

She raises an extremely judgmental eyebrow. "Here I am."

Percy hesitates a beat before he starts, "About the other night—"

"And all the other nights before that one?"

"Yeah," Percy says, sucking his bottom lip underneath his teeth. "Listen, Indy. I'm sorry I made you deal with all of that. It's not fair to you, or to Sylvia, for that matter, and it won't happen again."

Indy wants to believe it'll be that simple, that he really means what he says, but past experience has her doubting his word. Percy has always been somewhat of a party animal, ever since they were still in high school. He was always the brightest thing in the room, and Indy could tell that he knew it, too. People just wanted to be around him, and he just wanted to be wanted.

Over the past few weeks, though, it's spiraled quickly into something else. Nights for making fond memories became nights he would never remember at all, and Indy still didn't know just what set him off.

He's apologized before. And yet here they are.

"I don't know, Percy," Indy says at last, dropping her eyes to the floor when she can look into Percy's pleading ones no longer. "You keep telling me that, but how do you know it won't?"

"I just—I really mean it this time. I don't want to do this anymore, so I won't."

"Percy, you know you can tell me anything, right?" Indy says, and while she internally kicks herself for sounding like such a mom, it doesn't make the words or the sentiment any less true. "Is there something else going on here?"

Percy blinks at her, not speaking, barely breathing. He gathers himself again and says, "No. Not really. Just...sorting some stuff out."

Indy sighs. There is a reason he's an athlete and not a theater kid. "Percy."

"Hey. I would tell you if there were something else bothering me. You know that."

Do I?

"Percy?" a voice interrupts before Indy can prod at him any further. "Percy!"

A girl Indy vaguely recognizes—probably from one of the many parties she's had to drag Percy away from—comes bounding up to them, sliding a hand around Percy's bicep. "Thought it was you. Are you eating here, too? Come have lunch with us."

Percy gives the girl one of his winning smiles, but tosses a glance in Indy's direction that very clearly says, Please help me. "Thanks, Amani, but I'm actually—"

"No, it's okay," Indy says.

The word comes out as more of a squawk: "What?"

"I'm gonna go work on a project, so I'll just grab something quick on the way. Go ahead, Percy," Indy says with a shrug, taking a fry off of his tray. To Amani, she says: "He's all yours."

Amani grins, tightening her hold on Percy and swinging him in the opposite direction. "I saw your scrimmage this past weekend," Indy overhears Amani say as she drags Percy to his doom. "Did you see me in the stands? I made a sign for you and everything."

As she's about to leave them be and step into the dining hall anyway, her phone pings with a message from Sylvia.

turn around while you still can, gatz going on another rampage about their drawing and sketching class

Indy wasn't actually going to work on her project, despite what she told Percy and Amani. But now she's thinking it may not be the worst idea after all.

Detective Ethan Kelso's coffee has gone cold and he no longer wants to be here.

Whether here is Perk County Police Station #16 or on the face of the planet depends on the day, and this morning he has yet to figure out which direction he's leaning towards. He's glad for the simple routine of his daily life: wake up, do calisthenics (when he feels like it), go to work—which, his younger self would be dismayed to hear, feels like more paperwork than detective work most of the time—maybe grab a few drinks with some of the other officers before heading home. It's the routine that keeps him humble, that keeps him grounded. He's afraid of what he'd become if he allowed himself to dream.

The most exciting thing about his office is a raspberry-scented candle from his last ex-girlfriend, a small pot of bright red in a space that's otherwise plain blue and beige. A report that has to be finished before he leaves that day blinks at him from the glare of his computer screen, mostly empty.

A knock on the office door rescues him; one of the officers' faces is a blurry image in the half-transparent glass window.

Kelso waves a hand. "Stevens," he says, reading the officer's name tag discreetly before he does. "What can I help you with?"

"There's a girl outside. A Proudley student, I think. She's asking about some Lamar Pine guy?"

Admittedly, the mention of Proudley College makes Kelso pay more attention. Most Proudley kids avoid his officers like the plague, and whenever they do clash, it's never pretty. The thought that one of them would waltz into the station so easily makes Kelso pause.

It takes a second for him to filter through the piles and piles of case files he's read so far in his career. It's not a case he worked on himself, of course, as it slightly predates him, but nevertheless it is one he would be a fool not to know. "The Elizabeth Dobbs murder," Kelso repeats with a sigh. He clicks his ballpoint pen aimlessly, slams it down to the desk with a clack. "The station shut that one down ages ago. What's this about?"

"A project for class, she says. She needs to look into some cold cases."

Kelso sighs again. "She couldn't have just picked something off Google? Or looked into one of the ones those conspiracy theorists make YouTube videos and podcasts about all the time?"

Stevens shrugs. "She's waiting out front, sir. Should I tell her to go?"

"No," Kelso says. He forces himself upright in his chair, tugging his tie—solid navy blue, the same color as his office walls—looser from his neck. "Go ahead and let her in."

Stevens nods and disappears out into the hall, and Kelso sits there and waits, trying very hard not to regret his decision.

Through the window, he gets the smallest glimpse of the girl before Stevens opens the door for her. His first thought is she has to be one of those spiritual types—she's on the shorter side, her ears bedazzled with what looks like a dozen piercings each, hair in a tightly-coiled afro. She moves timidly, but the second the door opens and she meets Kelso's gaze, he realizes there is nothing timid about her eyes, round and almost childlike but strikingly earnest. She looks at him like she already knows everything he's about to say, and even the things he won't ever say.

Stevens nods and ducks out again, going to shut the door, but the girl catches it in her hands and leaves it to float half-open.

"I understand you're from Proudley? What's your name, miss?" Kelso asks. The girl wavers a bit longer in the doorway before taking one of the seats against the far wall.

"Indy. And yes, I'm a media student there," she says. "I won't take up much of your time, sir. I was just wondering if there was anything you could tell me about the Lamar Pine case?"

Kelso frowns at Indy, now convinced his primary deduction was right. She's probably the sort to charge crystals or commune with the dead using magic cards, or whatever it is they're doing these days. Just why is she looking into this case, anyway? Does she think herself some sort of activist? The conversation has barely started and Kelso's already tired.

"The case was closed a long time ago, Miss Indy. I'm not sure where the sudden curiosity is coming from."

"It's an assignment for class. I can show you the assignment details if you need me to," Indy replies, the polite but reserved interest on her face never shifting.

Kelso holds up a hand. "No need." The quicker he can get her out of his office, the better. So he leans forward, tapping at something on his computer screen. "1978. Lamar Pine was an HVAC guy here in Erskine a while back. He gets a call from Elizabeth Dobbs that her air conditioning's gone out, he goes in for a service call. He drives off maybe an hour later, and twelve hours after that, Elizabeth Dobbs is found dead."

By then, Indy has a notepad open across her lap, scribbling away at it with a light blue ballpoint pen. "What was the cause of death, if you remember?"

"Blunt force trauma. The autopsy suggested she'd been struck in the head with one of Pine's tools—they found a bloody hammer at the scene that belonged to Pine—and died not long after."

Indy grimaces. "Were there any witnesses?"

"Just some neighbors, or something. Though I doubt any of them are still living there. People act like the area's cursed now because of this whole thing."

More scribbling. Kelso's not even sure what she's writing; he doesn't believe he's said much of note. "And Pine?" Indy asks. "When was he executed?"

"He hasn't been yet."

Indy pauses, meeting Kelso's eyes. "You mean he's still alive?"

"Appeal after appeal has kept him on death row but far from an official execution date," Kelso explains, sitting back in his seat, arms folding across his chest. "Though if I had to guess, he won't be there much longer. The case is almost fifty years old at this point. The Dobbs family deserves closure."

"The Dobbs relatives, is there contact info for them? A last known address—"

"You know I can't give stuff like that out," Kelso snaps. "Listen. This was a real person's life, you know. It's a lot bigger than some school project, okay? It'd do you well to exercise some poise about this whole thing."

"I know it's bigger than a school project, Officer Kelso," Indy replies, calmly folding her notebook over one finger. "That's why I'm doing it. From what I've seen, it's fairly common for law enforcement to jump to conclusions without considering all the evidence. Really, we want the same thing. Closure for the families involved."

Exhaustion presses against Kelso's weary eyes. So she does think she's some sort of activist. "I think I've told you everything I can, then."

A gentle fwip as Indy at last lets the notebook fall closed. "Thanks for your help, Officer."

"Detective."

She stands, offering him a smile that makes it nowhere near her eyes. "Sure."