“Listen Amy,” I said as I walked her back to her room. “I need to get those voicemail messages recorded. You never know if they’ll come in handy.”
“Come in with me, we can listen to them together and you can help me record them.” She was staggering a bit.
“Well I can listen.” I chuckled. “But I don’t think I’m much use to help you record them in this state. If you save the messages we can do it tomorrow when I’m sober.”
Sutton’s messages were increasingly desperate, and it was clear that he was getting more and more drunk as the evening progressed. In the seventh message he actually broke down and admitted he forced himself on Amy and begged for her forgiveness. He swore he would never tell a soul, and even offered her gifts and money if she’d stay silent.
“A car would be nice!” Amy
