“He found out a few days earlier, before the hit-and-run, and then that night, they saw Caleb on the way into the community entrance, and he dropped Finn off and went back. Okay? Lucas was going to confront Caleb. Caleb tried to protect himself with the gun, but Lucas—”
“Got him first,” Nicola says, and they look at each other.
“Yes,” Paige says.
“Yes.” Nicola nods in agreement. “Okay,” she says, starting to see that this story is pretty tight. Something in her eyes changes: a darkness lifts. She finally has real, concrete leverage. She’s so close to freedom. She pulls on her bottom lip, stands, and paces, looking around the room.
“He’ll be arrested first. We have to make sure they have audio—the proof that nails him. They have to have him in custody with all that other evidence, too, before I tell anyone about Avery.”
“We will,” Paige confirms, and Cora vigorously nods her head.
“Okay, then...then, we should do it now. Before there is any more risk that he’ll find me.”
“We will, but I think we need one more thing for this to work,” Paige says. “We need Finn to be in on pointing to Lucas. He’ll seal it all if he says Lucas dropped him off at ten.”
“No! How?” Nicola asks.
“They record everything in jail. You can’t tell him to lie. It could ruin everything,” Cora echoes, confused. “Finn drove that night. What if he already said so?”
“He probably did,” Paige says, “but he can say he lied because he was trying to protect his friend. There is so much evidence against Lucas with this video that Finn’s lie will be one of the last things for them to worry about. Cora will go and visit him, have a talk.”
“Okaaay...” Cora says, with wide eyes and uncertainty in her voice.
“She won’t tell him to lie. Just trust me. I have a plan,” Paige says. And what other choice is there really? So they all agree, each of them terrified of the fallout.
32
CORA
After they take all my personal belongings and wave a metal-detector wand around my body, there is paperwork. I didn’t know what to expect visiting a jail. I thought it would be like the movies I’ve seen, and I’d have to sit across from Finn through plexiglass and talk on an old-looking phone receiver. That’s not how it is. I’m escorted to a room that looks like a small cafeteria. I sit on a green plastic chair at a small table and watch them bring him into the room. He’s in a jumpsuit. I had forgotten about that, and seeing him looking so submissive and afraid makes me feel pity for him despite how little he deserves it.
He sits across from me. His eyes are pleading.
“Cora, I—I didn’t do this. I know you hate me. I know, but you gotta believe me,” he says, with a hopelessness and despair I’ve never seen before—not in all the years of ups and downs. He’s never looked like this. There is still a small part of me that wants to walk away and let him suffer, but just because he’s a terrible husband and shit human being doesn’t mean he deserves this.
“I know. I believe you,” I say, and his eyes shift, he straightens up. It’s the last thing he ever expected me to say, I can tell.
“You what?” he says. And I know we’re being watched and recorded, so I try to keep eye contact so he knows what I’m doing, how I need him to respond.
“Is there anything else? The warrant? Anything I need to know besides what I told you myself?” I ask, because I do need to know if there is anything more we are dealing with so I can maneuver around it, but the script Paige gave me feels stiff and unnatural, and Finn can tell. He’s confused, but he’s following my lead regardless.
“The only thing the warrant found that they didn’t already have was his DNA. A hair in my car. Cora, I swear to God on my life that kid was never in my car. All of this is—”
“Don’t worry about that. Mia hung out with him sometimes. That explains the car. Is that it?”
“What? She what?” he asks.
“Is. That. It?” I repeat.
“Uh, you mean besides the massive box of bullshit evidence Paige gave them?” he asks.
I make sure to speak clearly when I explain to him what happened.
“Look, there is a video. It shows Lucas’s car leaving the scene that night at 10:33.”
“I’m sorry. What? I wasn’t there, so there is no way—”
“Stop. What I’m saying to you is that I know that you were covering for him when you said you drove that night, but you don’t have to cover for him. You need to tell the truth,” I say, trying not to leave any breathing room for him to interject something stupid.
