Author's Note: I think I've found my way to extend it a couple of more parts . . .
Disclaimer: Rob Thomas created Veronica Mars and all of the characters and settings in this story. I own only the plot itself.
X X X X X
The next nine months or so were kind of routine.
Duncan's public life at Neptune High went plummeting like an anvil off a cliff. The only thing stopping him from going from the heights to the depths, was, well, me.
I didn't do it to be nice, obviously. I needed to stay friendly with him in case Dad's investigation kicked into high gear and I needed to find or manufacture some additional evidence -- whether to convict him or free him would depend on the circumstances. Obviously my life would be a lot easier if someone else were in jail for Lilly's murder, but I never knew what might come up.
This did cause me a few problems -- mostly from Shelly Pomroy, whom I knew damn well had been as willing a participant as Duncan had in their sexual encounter -- okay, as unwilling, pick pick pick.
"Veronica, you know what he did --"
"Shelly, I know what actually happened," I said. "Someone drugged him, the way they drugged you." I admired that she was smart enough to play the victim angle first. "And I know he didn't kill Lilly."
Have you ever noticed that the truth can sometimes be the most effective lie of all? "I know he didn't kill Lilly." Simple, direct, and absolutely true.
But everyone misinterprets why. Everyone thinks it's because I have utter faith in the kindness and decency of Duncan Kane. Which is a crock, of course; Duncan may be "kind" and "decent" as certain people measure such things, but I don't have faith in kindness in decency. (I don't have faith in anything except myself.)
And of course, the reality is so much simpler -- but it's a reality no one wants to even consider.
Anyway, Shelly said, "I just don't get why you're willing to stick by him."
"Because that's who I am," I said. "I stick by the people I believe in." After a second, "Shelly. I can only imagine how you're feeling right now. But I'm asking you as a friend, please don't make me choose between you."
Shelly sighed. "Okay, Veronica. I won't."
Gotta love that Mars charm.
Beyond a few more grumbles about my continuing occasional association with Duncan, there were pretty much no hassles at all. Jake Kane took a plea and went to jail for about a year in a minimum security prison, Dad continued to not be able to find Lilly's killer -- though the rest of the Neptune criminal community lived in fear and trembling -- and I continued to date Logan Echolls and have good sex with him on a regular basis.
Logan would be a viable suspect, too, for Lilly's death; but throwing him into the line of fire would cause me more trouble than it would help me. So he's out unless it's literally him or me.
In the course of the official investigation, I, along with everyone else remotely associated with the investigation, took a lie detector test.
Dad tried to shield me, but I insisted on it.
"How would it look when the next election came around?" I asked. "Shielding your own daughter?"
Dad sighed. "I just don't want anyone thinking you're a suspect, sweetie."
I said, "I'm not. I'm a character witness and I was one of the last people known to see Lilly before she died. If you're doing this to everyone else, you need to do it to me." I grinned. "Besides, you know me. If I ever killed someone you'd never be able to prove it."
He looked at me. "Sometimes you worry me, Veronica," he said with fake sadness.
"Only sometimes?" I said, frowning. "You're slacking off on your Dad duties there, pal. You're supposed to worry about me all the time."
Dad laughed, and scheduled me for a lie detector test -- and made sure he wasn't in the room when it was administered.
I passed with flying colors, of course. I've read all about polygraph tests; there are three ways of questioning people, two of which are worthless. The Balboa County Sheriff's Department, of course, used one of those, and while I look out for my Dad I'm not going to be cluing him in on this one.
They had me deliberately lie on a couple of questions so they could compare those answers to the answers I gave the rest of the time. (One of the questions they told me to lie on, I told them my name was Aileen Wuornos. Not that I'm a fan of the serial killer; I mainly just thought it was funny.)
I was easily able to lie when I had to, even when the question was, "Are there things you haven't told the police about Lilly Kane's death?" I said "no" and the interpreter couldn't tell I wasn't telling the truth.
I love being me sometimes, I really do.
By the end of the summer, though, Dad was starting to get a bit of pressure because he still hadn't figured out who'd killed Lilly Kane. Never mind how well the department was doing in other areas; the Lilly Kane case was high-profile, and there wasn't someone in jail yet.
Dad had the kind of integrity that stopped him from simply arresting someone just to shut people up. Which is the kind of admirable quality he has that's going to get him kicked out of his job come the next election.
He had plenty of reason to think Duncan did it beyond the simple evidence of his epileptic fits; the Kanes had had clothes in the washer when the Sheriff's Department had gotten there – by the time Dad was able to get a search warrant for the clothing in the house, any evidence had long since been washed away, of course -- and Jake Kane had called Clarence Weidman before he'd called the Sheriff's Department.
Clarence Weidman, of course, simply said he'd been called in there because "Mr. Kane relies on my advice. As soon as I got there, I told him to call the Sheriff's Department, of course." Which was an obvious lie. Clarence Weidman was the kind of person you called to clean up messes, not because you needed a shoulder to cry on.
So there was a lot of suspicious activity, which made Duncan an obvious suspect in the eyes of the public, but it would never get him convicted. Even in jail, Jake Kane had a lot of influence, and more importantly, a lot of money.
"Any progress, Dad?" I asked him when he came home one night.
He sighed. "Yes. The Padres have made up a half game in the standings. World Series here we come, baby!"
"Go Padres!" I said. Then, "You know what I mean, Dad."
"I know what you mean, Veronica, " he said. "And I wish I had better news for you. But it's been nearly a year. The evidence trails have long since grown cold. And since Clarence Weidman no doubt used everything short of arson to clean up the crime scene, I may never be able to prove it."
"Duncan didn't do it," I said.
"Sweetie, it's nice that you have faith in your ex-boyfriend, but you have to know all of the evidence points his way."
"And if you had a smoking gun, I'd be forced to believe you," I said. "But if you had a smoking gun . . ."
"We wouldn't be having this conversation."
"No, we wouldn't." Then, as if I'd just come to the revelation, I said, "You know what I'm going to do?"
"Almost never," Dad said.
"You're stuck. Maybe a fresh set of eyes would help." When he didn't take the bait, I said, "The murderer of my best friend is somewhere out there laughing right now." The laughing at the moment was all internal, of course.
"So . . ." Dad prompted.
"So I'm going to find him."