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- Brent called to tell Molly that Cameron’s dead body had been found in her office at Objection. 
- Another pair of footprints were found at the scene of Cameron’s murder, but Brent and Detective Harris found it odd that they were stamped in paint instead of the victim’s blood. 
- Helen, out on bail after being arraigned for Sandy and Ryan’s murders, was arrested again for killing Cameron.  


Danielle Taylor’s heart thumps hard against the inside of her chest. She stands in the middle of her bedroom, still in her bathrobe, with her cell phone pressed to her face.

“You’ve got the wrong person. At least for Cameron’s murder,” she says. 

Her brother’s voice is sharp and urgent as it cuts through the phone line. “What do you mean?"

Helen didn’t kill Cameron, and I can prove it."

“Danielle. What are you talking about?"

“I saw her last night,” she explains, “after Molly left Cameron at the meeting and before you called to tell us his body had been found."

  Danielle Taylor


“She was—” Danielle pauses, overcome by the reality of the situation. She never should have gone to that liquor store. But she had to. Really, she never should have drank that wine from the gift basket in the first place. Once it was done, she had no choice but to replace it. She just hopes that Brent doesn’t try and poke any holes in her story.

“I went to pick up Thai food for Molly and me,” she says. “At that place on Overland Street. There’s a liquor store in the same complex, and I saw Helen going in."

“You’re sure it was her?"

Am I sure? Danielle thinks. Of course I am. If I hadn’t seen someone I knew, I wouldn’t have sat inside the Thai restaurant with my bags of takeout for ten extra minutes before I went to the liquor store.

“Yeah. It was absolutely her."


She can practically see Brent, standing there frozen, his mind churning and his eyes alive with thought. 

“Do you need me to come give a statement or anything?” she asks.

“I might. Yeah. That actually — look, don’t tell anybody I said this, but you actually just corroborated Helen’s own story."

“I had to say something."

“Yeah.” He sighs, and it comes through the phone as noisy and muffled. “Which means we’ve got another lunatic out there."

“Better to know so you can find whoever it is."

“Yeah. I need to go deal with this. Thanks again, Danielle."

“Of course."

She ends the call and crosses the room. Thank goodness he didn’t question why she went to that Thai place instead of the one closer to the house. Then again, why would he? She knows that she drank, but it isn’t as if everyone constantly suspects that she has been sneaking alcohol and covering her tracks.

Maybe they should, she thinks as she stands in front of the mirror, studying her reflection and trying to figure out how she could have changed her own life so much in under 24 hours.


After paying his parents a visit, and still unsure of whether he will go to the office at all today, given last night's tragedy, Tim Fisher returns to his own house. The suburbs dwelling, which he bought only a few years ago, usually inspires pride in him: pride that he has been able to get back on his feet following his kidnapping and captivity; pride that he has the space and means for any or all of his children to stay with him if they wish. He has always imagined building the sort of life that Bill and Paula were able to give him, his sisters, and their brother, and while the life he thought he had carefully planned with Claire did not turn out as expected, he would like to believe that he is providing his now-grown kids at least a version of that warm home experience that he treasures so deeply.

Today, however, when he pulls into the driveway, the house appears oddly haunting. It is by no means a mansion, but it is large enough for four bedrooms, with plenty of space spread between its two stories -- and that says nothing of the decent-sized yard in back. Despite the sunny glow of the summer day and the sense of lazy cheer throughout the neighborhood, with children home from school for the summer, the house has never looked so foreboding, so dangerous, to Tim.

Inside, he finds his daughter stationed at the dining room table with her laptop.

"Hi, Dad," Samantha says.

"Hey. Working on something?"

"Just reading some news articles."

He steps from the hardwood floor of the entry onto the oatmeal-colored carpeting of the dining room. "About what happened last night?"

Her eyelids flicker behind the lenses of her glasses -- an uneasy confirmation.

"There's something I want to talk to you about," he says, leaning over the back of one of the dining chairs opposite her. "About what's going on."


"I don't want you to be living in a panic or anything, but we all need to be careful. Smart, rather. I shouldn't have left you here alone all morning."

Samantha's features tense with worry. "Why would you think..."

"I don't think anyone has any intention of coming after you," he says, hating the idea that he has just transferred his own fears to her. "But bad things are happening, and they're happening too close to our family. Let's all be smart so we don't have to deal with anything scary."

"Okay." Her eyes momentarily drift back to the laptop's screen, and Tim has no doubt that she was reading about Cameron's murder. "Do you think that person meant to kill Aunt Molly?"

Tim flinches at hearing it spoken so plainly, but Samantha has always been good at reading between the lines, at reasoning things out.

"If I'm being honest," he says, "yeah. For some reason, someone is targeting us."

"Whoever killed Sandy was really trying to kill Uncle Jason," Samantha says, as if working it out by speaking the words.

"We don't know that for sure, but it seems like a pretty clear throughline to me. That's why I want us all to be careful. No staying in the house alone. No going to strange places at night. I want us all to be safe."

She nods in understanding. "That makes sense."

"Why would Mrs. Chase have wanted to kill Aunt Molly?" Samantha asks. "Uncle Jason, I can understand -- as much as you can understand why a crazy person would kill someone. And there was that fight they said she had with Uncle Ryan before he died. But why would she go after Aunt Molly?"

Tim runs it through his mind again, as if scrolling through it once more might alone him to spot something he hadn't seen before, some notation in the code that has been overlooked to this point. Of course, that isn't the case.

He exhales heavily. "I really don't know. If we're being frank here, I think the police have the wrong person. Helen might be a little off-her-rocker, but this doesn't fit."

"Then who could be doing this?"

"I don't know," he admits. He certainly doesn't want to terrify her with any of his other theories. "The important thing is that we all stay on our toes until this person is caught."

"Yeah." Again she glances at the screen. "No matter how many times I read about it or hear about it, it's so bizarre to think that Cameron is dead. It doesn't seem real."

Tim cocks his head. "You knew Cameron? I didn't realize you had visited Molly at work."

"No." Samantha removes her glasses and rubs her eyes. "I sort of... I've kind of seen him out a few times." She pauses, a little too dramatically, and Tim has no idea what could warrant such seriousness until she adds the final part: "At the bar."

"You go to bars?"

"Sometimes. With Tempest." Her throat bobbles visibly as she swallows. "Like those Saturday nights they have at The Lookout."

The reality of what she is saying hits Tim like a rush of hot air, overcoming him and causing him to burst into a sudden sweat.

"Sam, what are you saying?"


Alex Marshall plucks a red grape from the bowl that has been set out on the kitchen table. He pops it into his mouth and chews thoughtfully.

“It’s so unfair that he’s dead,” he says. “I know I keep saying that, but, like… he was so young. And he had so much going on."

Trevor Brooks nods in solemn agreement. “I know.” 

“But I’m glad you’re okay,” Alex says. “You could’ve walked into something really bad, and…"

“Yeah.” Trevor’s eyes drop to the tabletop. “Believe me, I’ve thought about that."

  Trevor Brooks

“We all need to be really careful.” Alex finishes the last of his glass of water. “I’ll get out of your hair now. I just wanted to talk, I guess."

“It’s okay. It’s good to see you.” Trevor offers a warm smile, which stands in stark contrast to the sadness that has been visible in his eyes since Alex’s arrival.

“You, too.” Alex stands and places his glass in the sink.

“Oh, I should grab that recorder for you."

“It’s weird taking something that Cameron meant for me to have,” Alex says. “Are you sure you’re done with it?"

Trevor shrugs. “Mostly. I listened through the important parts of the meeting."

“You can hang onto it if you want. Clearly I barely noticed it was missing for all these months."

Though Trevor opens his mouth to respond, he is interrupted by the sounds of the door opening in the foyer. 

“Honey! We’re home!” Roz Brooks exclaims, punctuating the announcement with her trademark cackle.

“Another cruise?” Alex asks Trevor with a grin.


Trevor heads for the foyer, and Alex follows several steps behind him, not wanting to intrude upon the family reunion. Roz and her husband come at Trevor with open arms from amidst a mountain of luggage.

“Alex! Hi!” Roz exclaims as she is embracing Trevor. “Come here!"

Laughing, Alex does his duty and hugs Mrs. Brooks. 

“Good to see you, Alex,” Patrick says, extending his hand for a shake.

“Did you have a good cruise?” Alex asks. He hasn’t seen the Brookses in a long time, and he wasn’t certain what kind of reception he would receive from them — given his role in busting up Trevor’s nuptials last year — but he is relieved to see that things seem normal.

“It was fantastic!” Roz says. “We went all around the Mediterranean. But we spent the last few days in L.A. with that gorgeous grandbaby of ours, and— Oh! You boys need to see the pictures. She’s getting so big!"

Alex looks to Trevor for a cue.

“Come on, I know you aren’t in a rush,” Trevor says, and they follow Roz back into the kitchen to huddle around her phone and fawn over the photos of Lauren and Josh’s daughter.


In a small room with cinder-block walls in the back of the building, Helen Chase sits across a table from her husband and her attorney, a middle-aged lady with a short, no-nonsense, reddish hairstyle and a jade green blazer.

“All they have to do is check my credit card records,” Helen says. She did not sleep a wink last night after being brought back to jail, and now, with her arraignment on another count of first-degree murder hovering just before them, she appears to be on the verge of collapse.

“It will take some time,” her attorney says with her usual tone of barely concealed annoyance. “And that isn’t necessarily something to be presented at the arraignment. It might have to wait for trial—"

“Trial?” Helen says, exasperated. “Why would they waste time and money trying me for a crime when I have a clear alibi?"

“Right now, all they have is your word,” the attorney says, “and seeing as how you’re already the primary suspect in two connected murders, they aren’t especially eager to take it."

“Then do your job and make them!” 

“Helen, calm down,” Don says, leaning forward to take her hand. He looks to the attorney, who bears an expression similar to what might happen if someone had just tried to set her on fire.

“Helen is just very stressed out,” he says, “as I’m sure you can understand. This is all so unbelievable to us. My wife is not a killer."

“And I’m going to make the judge or jury see that,” says the attorney, “but I’m also not a magician, Mrs. Chase."

Helen huffs as the door opens. All three of them sit up a little straighter, as if they’ve been caught at something. Brent walks slowly into the room.

“My time with my client isn’t up yet, Commander,” the attorney says.

“I know,” Brent says, “but I have news.” After a pause that lasts far too long for either of the Chases’ liking, he explains, “We’ve had a witness come forward who can vouch for your whereabouts last night at the time Cameron Kelley was killed."

Helen gasps. “Does that mean—?"

“I just spoke to the judge. Since you aren’t being arraigned on this new charge, your bail has been reinstated. You’re free to go."

“That’s fantastic!” Don says, hardly able to believe this one stroke of good fortune at long last. 

“Just to be clear, the charges in the other two murders are not being dropped,” Brent says sternly. “And I’d advise you to watch your every move. But we don’t have reason to hold you in this latest case."

“Thank you,” Helen says, standing from her chair. “Come on, Don. Let’s go!"

“Thank you, Brent,” Don says as Helen grabs him by the hand.

“We’re still watching you,” Brent says as they scurry out of the room.

Helen’s attorney points one manicured nail at Brent. “I’ll have you eating crow on those other charges in no time, Commander,” she says before marching out after the Chases.


Tim's brain shifts into overdrive. Even without an answer from Samantha, he comprehends what is going on, what she is trying to say. He has never thought much about the possibility, for whatever reason, and especially today, with everyone so preoccupied by this latest murder, it seems like a conversation topic from another universe. But there she is, his little girl, all grown up, opening up to him about something very serious, and he knows that he has to be fully present and compassionate and say the right things, or he risks doing damage both to his daughter and to their relationship.

"They have these Saturday nights at The Lookout once a month," she says, her voice a little shaky, "for... for LGBT people. Tempest has been bringing me. We ran into Alex there once -- Trevor, too -- and Cameron is always there with his friends." She winces as she catches herself. "Was always there."

"And you enjoy going to those nights?"

"I do. Yeah."

Tim slides out the chair he has been leaning upon and seats himself across from her. "I'm glad you have a place you like going."

Something about her brightens, the mere hint of a smile blooming at having cleared this first and no doubt terrifying hurdle.

  Samantha Fisher

"It isn't my place to grill you about what you feel or what you've decided," he says, and suddenly his tongue and his brain feel like a pair of feet trying to run with shoelaces that have been tied together, "not that it's something anyone decides, but I mean, however you're feeling--"

"I think I like girls," she says plainly.

"There we go," Tim says, and they finally share a smile of relief. "Only girls?"

"I think so. Yeah."

"Okay. I'm really glad you felt like you could tell me that, so thanks. It means a lot. You know I only want you to be happy, right?"

She nods. "Thanks, Dad. Sorry I told you at such a weird time. It's only -- I was thinking about Cameron, and how he always seemed to be having so much fun with his friends, and it's a good thing he did, because he didn't get nearly as much time as he should have had, and it made me realize I should talk to you about this now instead of putting it off."

"That makes a lot of sense to me. Have you talked to your mother yet?"

Samantha is quick to shade her head, her dark, loose hair fanning out around her.

"Why not?"

"She's Diane Bishop," Samantha says, as if the name is the title of a well known encyclopedia article about a slew of horror-inducing phenomena.

Tim has to chuckle. "Part of being Diane Bishop is that she's your mother, and she loves you unconditionally."

"It's still intimidating. I figured you would be the easier one."

"I'll take that as a compliment," he says, and then he gets out of his chair and crosses around to the other side of the table. He opens his arms. "Come here."

Samantha stands and eagerly steps into his waiting embrace.

"I love you so much," he says.

"I love you, too, Dad."

"And your mother loves you, too, and she will be very accepting," he adds. "She's always been friendly with Alex. She doesn't have a bigoted bone in her body."

"Except against stupid people, and people who miss left-turn green arrows, and people who get in the express lane at the supermarket with too many items..."

"Those people deserve it," Tim says, squeezing her to him. "As for your mom being okay with this news, I promise: you have nothing to worry about."


"She's gotten so big," Alex says from the back of the huddle.

Roz has just finished flipping through her photos of their two days in Los Angeles, a visit during which she managed to take more photos of their granddaughter than Alex would have thought was possible. As cute as Sophie is, and as much as she is constantly changing and growing and trying new things, he doesn't think Jason has half as many photos of her on his own phone. Then again, he isn't a doting grandparent, and he isn't Roz Brooks.

"Oh, last one," she says with one more excited swipe. "There she is trying to feed her grandpa a carrot."

"After she tested it out for me," Patrick chimes in. "I don't recommend it."

"I'm gonna have to go down for a visit soon," Trevor says, standing and straightening his long body. Though he has been retired from modeling for several years now, he still has the unmistakable posture and graceful lines of a person born to be photographed.

Roz takes off her purple glasses and places them on the table beside her phone. "I could use a nap," she says. "We were up before the crack of dawn to spend a little time with the baby before our flight. And don't get me started on that LAX!"

"It's a nightmare," Patrick adds from his post at the refrigerator, which looks glaringly bare.

"Sorry, I had planned to shop this morning," Trevor says, "but after last night..."

"No need to apologize," Patrick says as he closes the fridge. "We can call out for something."

"Why don't I go out and get food while you nap?" Trevor suggests. "Alex, we can go eat, and we'll order food to bring back so my parents can eat when they wake up?"

"That sounds wonderful!" Roz says, and Alex knows that he does not have the option of declining, even if his plan for the day was not to spend the entirety of it with his ex. Judging from the swiftness with which Trevor proposed his plan, he probably knew exactly that and swooped in while he could.

"My keys are upstairs," Trevor says.

"My car is right out front," Alex says. "I'll drive." Then he stands back as a flurry of conversation ensues and Trevor's parents advise him exactly what to order them from 322.


In a car parked halfway down the wide subdivision street, a figure sits in wait. Patience, that internal voice advises, even though that seems impossible considering the absolute panic that has ravaged last night and this morning.

"There's a recorder out there."

That's what Cameron said last night, a sort of desperate taunt when it became clear to him that he was staring death in the face.

"It's recording everything that's going on. If you don't go out there right now and get it, Trevor's going to show up and either find us or take it."

Still, business had to be taken care of once Cameron walked into that office. The lamp did the trick nicely, bashing in his skull with a series of sickening cracks and splashes. It never should have been like that, but there was no other choice.

Then, of course, Trevor showed up, mere moments after Cameron slumped to the floor, good and dead. Remaining in that office with his body, with all that blood, felt like a sentence of eternity in Hell, but it was necessary. Trevor came and went without any idea of what had occurred just on the other side of that door -- but he took the recorder with him.

It's possible Cameron was lying. It seems strange that the recorder would have been left running on his desk. And yet the possibility cannot be ignored. If it exists, it is cold, hard proof of everything.

"The proof," the figure mutters. "I have to get the proof before it's too late."

Finally, Trevor emerges from the house -- and, surprisingly, Alex is with him. They climb into a Volkswagen parked at the curb and drive away, thoroughly unaware that they are being watched.

It's time, the figure decides, now with no focus in the world besides getting that recorder.


Will the killer recover the recorder?
Will someone manage to hear the recording first?
Will Helen be able to stay out of trouble?
Join us in the Footprints Forum to discuss it all!

Next Episode



Wed., August 26, 2015

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