“What? You want to say something, spit it out.”
“How about you both cool it for a while?” Riley says, pacing the floor. “It’s hard to threaten people with bodily harm when they’re intent on injuring themselves.”
“What are we waiting for?” I ask. “You got us all here for something. Say it.”
But instead of talking, Jimmy Riley checks his watch, then shrugs. “We’re still waiting for one more.”
A minute later, a tentative knock sounds on the door and he scrambles to answer it. “Come in,” he says, as though inviting a lady caller into his home rather than a chilly warehouse.
Elaine McClure, Robbie’s mother, walks through the door, her eyes a thousand times brighter than the last time I saw her. Even her voice is stronger as she calls out, “Is this everyone?”
“Far as I could tell,” Riley answers, taking his place a step behind her in a show of obsequiousness.
She claps her hands together and stares at each one of us in turn. “Right, then. Which one of you killed my son?”
CHAPTERTHIRTY-FIVE
LILAC
No one answers.Instead, we gaze at each other, broadcasting a multitude of signals that all amount to, “Keep your mouth shut.”
“Come on,” Mrs McClure says after a long pause. “The sooner one of you confesses, the sooner everyone else can go free.”
I snigger and clamp a hand over my face to stop another sound escaping. That she thinks anyone would hold up their hands for so little reward shows how little understanding she has of human nature.
Then Trent steps forward. “It was me.”
“Oh, for God’s sake, you idiot,” Caylon mutters. “Stop dicking about or we’ll be here all night.”
“No, it was me. I killed him,” Trent insists, drawing himself up to his full height.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” I snap, siding with Caylon because I’m scared somebody might actually believe him. Zach drags at my arm, but I shake him off, moving to stand next to the boy who had become my makeshift protector. I wave my hands around theatrically, spouting, “It was me!”
Elaine McClure’s gaze travels between the two of us before it dawns on her she’s being mocked. “This isn’t a game.”
“Then what is it?” I demand, waving my hand at the investigator. “Your pet lackey just dragged us here to playact a Murder Mystery Experience. Tell me what else we’re meant to think.”
“My son’s dead and one of you killed him.”
“Robbie’s not dead.” The saliva in my mouth thickens and I spit a wad to the side. “I already told your man he hightailed it up to Auckland.”
“And your story was so believable,” Riley says, taking his own turn at mockery. “The subtle details really sold it.”
“Well, what the fuck else do you want to know?” I demand. “He was a delinquent who would’ve got himself killed but had enough skill at self-preservation to move before that happened. What information do you need beyond that?”
“He wouldn’t leave without telling me,” Mrs McClure shouts, spittle flying from her lips. “We were closer than that.”
I flap my hand at her. “No, you weren’t. Sorry if that’s a hard truth to accept, but it doesn’t give you the right to disrupt our lives like this.”
Riley steps forward two paces, standing between me and his client. Trent mirrors his actions, leaving them face to face.
“Don’t tell them anything more.” Zach sidles up beside me and throws a possessive arm around my waist. “We should just go.”
Mrs McClure visibly riles at the flat statement. “Oh, you’re so good at pretending you’re innocent, but when Riley told you to come here, you all came.”
“Because he told me he was holding my girlfriend,” Zach says through gritted teeth. “Are you going to pin some bullshit charge on me because I’m partial to keeping her alive?”
He turns me around to face the door and we’ve taken three steps before a gunshot rings out. Numbness sweeps through my body until it takes all my concentration just to remain standing.
