My very own case. I never guessed how emotional it would be though. It's like I've been hit by a dump truck which then piled dirt over me. Anything other than just lying here is a major chore. But I know I must push through it, or I'll never learn the truth. And even though Linzy isn't helping, I believe once I figure it all out, she'll move on, which is what's best. Right? I'm on my bed and have my pillow back on top of the pile, just in case Dad enters in his usual way. I start with the interviews-slash-interrogations. The first is mine. I skim it, not seeing anything different or weird, just what I said. The next ones are from Linzy's family. Mrs. Quinn last saw her daughter when they argued, and she told her to go to her room. According to Mrs. Quinn, they argued all the time in the past couple of years. It was common and expected. Mr. Quinn last saw Linzy when she put her dinner plate in the dishwasher. Linzy had eaten in her room, as she always did, while he and his wife ate at the table.
