Then Pete says, barely audible, “You what?”
“I saw the video, Pete. He stabbed him — in your kitchen.”
A broken sound escapes him — part sob, part disbelief. “Jesus Christ… You shouldn’t have seen that. I thought you told me you hadn’t watched them.”
“I know, I’m sorry I lied. I copied them onto my laptop. I had to! I was trying to help you! But listen — we can go to the police. We can end this. Together.”
“No,” Pete says quickly. “No, we can’t.”
“Of course we can. He murdered someone, Pete. There’s clear proof of it.”
“I helped him,” he blurts out.
My stomach twists. “What?”
“I helped him bury Chris.” His voice fractures, shaking apart. “After it happened. I didn’t have a choice, Tom. He made me do it. He said if I told anyone, he’d kill me.”
For a moment, I can’t breathe. “Pete…”
“He said we’d both go down for it. He had messages — photos — stuff that makes it look like I planned it.”
“Look if he coerced you into it, the police will understand when they see the videos of how he’s been treating you—"
“No! I’ll go down for it too. I can’t go to prison!” He’s sobbing now. The sound of him crying while trying to keep his voice low makes something inside me tear open.
“Pete, listen to me,” I say, eyes fixed on the wet blur of the road. “You were scared. You didn’t have a choice. The police will understand that.”
“You don’t get it,” he says. “He’s clever. He said if I leave, he’ll make sure I take the fall.”
Although I don’t agree with him, now’s not the time to debate this. The priority is to get Pete out of the house. Dealing with the police can be our next issue.
The phone rustles like he’s moving. I hear something slam against the door from the other side.
“Pete?!”
“He’s outside,” Pete whispers. “He’s shouting. He knows I’m in here.”
My heart lurches. “Stay quiet. Don’t say anything.”
The sound that comes through next freezes me: James’s voice, faint but furious, shouting Pete’s name over and over, words too muffled to make out.
Then a heavy bang. The thud of a door taking a hit. Another.
“I’m going to fucking kill you!”I hear through the phone.
“Tom,” Pete says, barely breathing. “He’s going to break it.”
“I’m nearly there,” I lie. “Just hang on.”
There’s a crash — something splintering, maybe the bathroom cabinet, maybe the doorframe.
“Pete, talk to me. Are you okay?”
“Tom, please don’t come in. He’ll kill you too.”
A loud crash cuts me off. The sound of shattering glass, a scream — then silence.
“Pete?!”
