Here we go.
Ball. Ball.
Ha-ha!
Let's go.
Let's go, Scotty boy.
Gotta be tougher than that. Come on, now.
-Come on, now. -You got so lucky.
-Let's see it. -You got so lucky.
Let's see it, all right?
Come on, come on. Yeah.
I'd driven my bike through the woods a million times before.
In daylight, at night, through rain and snow.
But never had I seen anything like this.
There were boys I knew who'd pay all the money in their piggy banks
to catch a glimpse of Chrissy Monroe without her clothes on.
But the spark of youth and vitality
that Chrissy exhibited so loudly and proudly in life,
the indelible spark that made horny 16-year-olds
want to see her naked in the first place,
was gone.
She was dead.
So where were you coming from before you came across the victims?
I was, um...
I was taking notes for the varsity basketball team.
For the school paper.
And I understand you knew them.
The Monroes live across the street from me,
and um, Mr. Carpenter was my freshman English teacher.
I'm sorry to hear that.
Did you see anyone on your way home?
You know, before you came across the bodies.
Uh, no.
So nothing suspicious?
No screams, no gunfire?
No, I--
The cicadas, they drown everything out anyway.
Cicadas.
I'm standing in front of Whitehead & Sons Funeral Home,
where Chrissy Monroe's wake is currently open to the public.
The lines are long, and the mood is somber.
And staff here tell me they'll be here
until everyone has had a chance to pay their respects.
So was there, like, blood?
Yeah.
Was she, like, wearing any clothes?
Just her skirt.
Did you see her titties?
Dude.
Come on.
The Monroe family was a prominent fixture in the community,
the Kennedys of Colfax.
Their barbecues and cocktail parties were famous throughout the town.
Becky Monroe had always been the black sheep of the family,
overshadowed by Chrissy's more traditional American charm.
Many years prior, when we were both children,
Becky and I shared each other's first kiss at one of her parents' legendary parties.
We'd never spoken of it,
but it had forever left an implicit bond between us.
We were more than mere neighbors.
Brad Kirchhoff, our school's star power forward,
had been Chrissy's on-again, off-again boyfriend for the last year and a half.
As a result, he was also a suspect.
And so if I look into your alibi,
I'm not gonna find any loose ends, right, Brad?
I have, like, 20 teammates ready to corroborate my story.
I was at practice.
I understand your father's in the military.
Any guns in your house?
What does that have to do with anything?
Brad, were you aware that Chrissy and Mr. Carpenter were intimate?
N-no. He just helped her study.
Well, I hate to break it to you, but he was more than just her tutor.
Hey.
Mm.
Wait. Where are you going?
Home.
I need to get out of here.
No, I'll uh...
I'll walk you.
It's not safe out here.
And how about the police questioning me?
Like, the nerve, man.
I wouldn't take it personally.
They talked to me too.
You don't think I had anything to do with it, do you?
No.
I loved her.
Did you know anything...
about Chrissy and Mr. Carpenter?
No.
You know, you're the, uh...
You're the only person I feel comfortable talking to about any of this.
Looking into Becky's eyes,
it occurred to Brad for the first time how much she looked like Chrissy,
and like her sister,
she had lied to him.
She knew more than she had let on about Chrissy's secret life,
and the guilt was eating her alive.
As Becky entered her home,
she thought of all the things she wished she had said to her sister.
Chrissy?
Did Mr. Carpenter give you a ride home?
Yeah.
Are you...dating him?
Not exactly.
Just be careful.
Okay?
I am.
I am. Don't worry.
It won't last forever.
Chrissy?
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