Season 3, Episode 3: The Party

Lexi lives in a subdivision a few miles out of Neapolis. It’s called Crystal Cove. Sounds to me like the name of a beachfront community. Except when I visited Crystal Cove, the first thing I noticed was that the ocean was nowhere to be seen. The subdivision, with its cute nautical name, is cut off from the coast by a forest. There’s no crystal in the neighborhood, and definitely no cove.

Crystal Cove was built on scrubland by a developer with little imagination. The houses look freakishly like clones. They’re all light blue-gray clapboard with white trim. They have double garages and attic windows. Even the gardens are identical. The place feels like a social-engineering experiment gone wrong.

When I visited, there were no kids riding bikes. Nobody tending garden beds or mowing lawns. No dogs barking.

I rang Lexi’s doorbell. She opened it wearing jeans and a black crop top with a pink sparkly motif. She’s cheerleader pretty. Shoulder-length blond-streaked hair, bright blue eyes. She was friendly enough. We talked for a bit, but she asked me not to record her.

Lexi has good reason for wanting to keep a low profile. You’ll learn why later. For now, let’s just stick with the idea that Lexi is the girl next door. A pretty one with lots of cool friends and a fair bit of attitude.

When K arrived at Lexi’s house late that afternoon, they pulled the sofas out of the way and rolled up rugs to prepare for the party. They made a huge bowl of popcorn, chose a playlist, and tested out the sound system. The first ring at the door came just after eight P.M.

By nine P.M., the party was officially out of control. They’d invited fifteen people. Four times that number turned up. Half the guests they didn’t know. Many were college aged. Some were even older.

Almost everyone brought alcohol. The kitchen counter was laden with bottles of liquor and beer. Pieces of popcorn littered the floor like white confetti.

At some point in the night, someone, nobody ever knew who, poured cheap vodka into all the half-drunk bottles of soda in the kitchen. Not any vodka, either. It was a backyard moonshine that could strip paint off a wall. K drank several cups of soda. She had no idea that it was spiked. By the time she realized it, she was already drunk.

A lot of what I know about the party is taken from videos some of the kids posted on their social media feeds that night. In the videos that I’ve seen, K is unsteady on her feet. She pushes through the crowd in the living room, pausing to laugh and talk with friends. She looks visibly drunk. In the corner of the frame of one video, she can be seen losing her balance and stumbling into someone.

The person she bumped into was Lou Lowe. He’s a baseball pitcher on the high school varsity team. He’s tall, with freckles and strawberry blond hair. Lexi had dated him a few times. She considered him an ex-boyfriend. She would sometimes tell her friends that she wanted to get back with him. That he was the love of her life. Her friends say that she talked that way about all her exes. It was Lexi’s way of putting up a “no trespassers” sign.

Lou remembers that night well because of what happened afterward. Here’s what Lou Lowe said when I spoke with him earlier today.

“I had a training session real early the next morning, so I couldn’t drink. Not even a beer. I guess I was maybe one of the only people at the party who wasn’t drunk. I remember that she knocked into me and said something like ‘my bad.’ I made some joke about how she could bump into me any time. She thought that was funny and we started talking.”

After a while, Lou pulled the classic line. He told K that it was too noisy to talk over the music. He took her by the hand, supposedly to find somewhere quiet to talk.

K allowed him to pull her out of the throng of partygoers down the corridor. They went to the laundry room, where a glass sliding door led to an outdoor courtyard. Several people saw them disappear together. Word spread like wildfire. The rumors reached Lexi. She stormed through the house looking for them, furious that her best friend had disappeared with the boy who she had suddenly decided was the love of her life.

Lexi claims that she found them making out under the laundry line, between hanging bedsheets. She tore into K with a slew of accusations. Most of them were incomprehensible. Lexi was drunk and barely coherent.

Lou walked off in the middle of Lexi’s rant. He left K to take the brunt of her friend’s drunken fury. He feels bad about that now. He wonders if things would have turned out differently if he’d stayed. By the way, he says it’s not true that they were making out. He insists that Lexi made the whole thing up to try to justify her actions afterward and to paint K in a bad light.

When Lexi ran out of insults, she went inside, locked the glass sliding door, gave K the finger, and for added measure pulled down the blinds. K was alone in the dark in Lexi’s backyard. It was cold out. Her jacket was inside, along with her backpack and her cell phone.

K walked around the house to the driveway, where she waited to catch a ride home with someone leaving the party. Nobody left. She stood in the cold as people gawped and laughed at her through the living room windows. Lexi moved among the onlookers, whispering her version of what had happened.

K was too proud to beg Lexi to let her in, or to ask someone to call her parents and deal with their questions when they picked her up. She’d get home by herself. She walked down the street toward the path she’d taken that afternoon. This time, it wasn’t dusk. It was nearly midnight. More dangerous than ever.

It’s a calculation women make all the time. Cat Girl, whom I mentioned in Episode 1, had to make the calculation, too. Should she walk home from the bar, or take a taxi? Should she cut through the park, or take the long way around? Should she speed-dial nine-one-one when she thought someone was following her? Should she …

Well, you could go on endlessly. Women, girls, we make these decisions all the time. Convenience versus safety.

Most of the time things work out fine.

Occasionally something terrible happens.

I’m Rachel Krall. This is Guilty or Not Guilty, the podcast that puts you in the jury box.

11

Rachel

Neapolis’s old cemetery looked more like a secret garden than a burial ground. It was surrounded by black cast-iron fences choked by overgrown ivy. As Rachel pulled her car into the empty parking lot, she knew it wasn’t the smartest thing she’d ever done, taking the bait and turning up at the cemetery first thing in the morning. Curiosity was Rachel’s kryptonite. Always had been. Always would be.

Her mother used to warn her that her curious streak would get her into trouble one day. She was wrong about only one thing: it had done so not once but many times over the years. It was also the secret of Rachel’s success.

It was Rachel’s inquisitive nature that drew her to journalism, and it was her indefatigable curiosity that pushed her to investigate the case of a teacher jailed for murdering his wife on their second honeymoon. Rachel found new witnesses who were never contacted by police, and other evidence that strongly indicated the husband, a well-loved high school coach, had been wrongly convicted.

She turned it into the first season of her podcast. It brought her to national prominence and revived her flagging career just as she was contemplating quitting journalism and finding what she jokingly called a real job. It also caused a torrent of hate mail from people convinced she had helped a murderer go free when his conviction was vacated and he was allowed home pending a retrial.

That was why Pete was so concerned for her safety. He would have had a fit if he’d known she was at the graveyard alone. Going there was potentially reckless, Rachel granted as she turned the handle of the gate to enter the cemetery. But she couldn’t bring herself to stay away.

The gate creaked as Rachel pushed it open. She paused, still holding on to the handle as she surveyed shadowy tombstones covered with creepers. They gave the impression the cemetery was more alive than dead.