Forbidden Secrets- Stiles Stilinski

Chapter Eight

Stiles points to a picture of Matt. "So this kid's the real killer?" Sheriff asks.

"Yeah."

Sheriff starts shaking his head. "No."

"Yes."

"No."

"Dad, everyone knows the police look for ways to connect victims in a murder. All he had to do was go through their transcripts and find out which class they all attended."

"Yeah, except for the rave promoter, Kara. She wasn't in Harris's class." Sheriff argues.

"Oh yeah, that's right. So I guess they're dropping the charges against him?"

The two glare at each other for a moment. "No, they're not dropping the charges. Which doesn't prove anything. Scott, June, do you believe this?"

"It's not easy to explain how we know, but if you can just trust us. We know it's Matt." I say.

"He took Harris's car. He knew if the cops found tire tracks at one of the murders and that if enough of the victims were in Harris's class, he'd be arrested."

"Fine. I'll allow the remote possibility. But give me a motive. Why would this kid want most of the 2006 swim team and its coach dead?"

"Isn't it obvious?" Stiles asks. "Our swim team sucks! They haven't won in years!"

We all look at him. "Okay, we don't exactly have a motive yet. But then again, does Harris?"

"What do you want me to do?"

Stiles looks back at us. "We need to look at the rest of the evidence." Scott says.

"That's all back at the station. Where I no longer work." Sheriff argues.

"Trust me, they'll let you in."

"Trust you?"

"Trust... Trust Scott? Or June?"

Sheriff points at us. "Them I trust."

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"I don't know, guys. Look at this. There was a six car pile-up that night. The hospital was jammed." Sheriff says.

"Just keep going. He'd have to pass one of the cameras on that floor to get to Jessica. He's got to be on the footage somewhere-"

"Hold on, stop. Did you see that? Scroll back." I say.

"That's him. That's Matt." Stiles says.

"All I see is the back of someone's head." Sheriff says doubtedly.

"Matt's head. I sit behind him in History. He has a very distinct cranium."

"Are you crazy?"

"Fine, then look at his jacket. How many people wear black leather jackets?"

"Millions. Literally."

"Can you scroll forward? There has to be a shot of him coming at one of the cameras, right?" I ask.

"Stop, stop, stop! There he is again." He points to the camera again.

"You mean there's the back of his head again."

"But look, he's talking to someone."

Scott leans in closer. "He's talking to my mom."

Scott quickly calls his mom.

"Scott, you know how many people I deal with in a day?"

"This one's sixteen. He's got dark hair, looks like a normal teenager-"