“How did you know that?” I ask. Then it hits me. This guy has already gotten to Parvati. That’s probably why she tried to call me so many times.
Langston reads the expression on my face. “She’s an interesting girl, Ms. Amos.”
“Yeah, she is. But I don’t want to talk about her.”
“Fair enough.” Langston nods.
Marcus exits onto a different highway, and the SUV heads north, away from the city. The lanes opposite us are backed up, bumper to bumper with traffic.
“Did Preston ever tell you about his childhood?” Langston asks.
I blink hard. “I don’t really know anything about him from before the day we met. Just that he grew up rich since his dad is in business and politics.”
Langston strokes his goatee. “I see.”
I don’t see how any of this can possibly be relevant to Preston’s murder. I also don’t understand how DeWitt can be convinced of my innocence, unless he somehow knows who killed his son. But in that case, why would he need me? “Look,” I say. “I appreciate you getting me out of that shithole. But what does any of this have to do with who killed Pres?”
“For several months the DeWitts have been blackmailed about their son.” Langston pops his gum. “I have been on retainer with them for years, so naturally they asked me to investigate. The blackmailer was exceptionally clever, and I never figured out who was behind it. Eventually the senator grew weary of being abused and decided to stop paying. That was a few weeks before Preston disappeared.”
“You said blackmailed about Preston?”
“I did, didn’t I?” Langston’s mouth tightens into a hard line. “Let’s just say there are things about Preston that the senator needs to remain a secret.”
“What? Was he like a superhero or something?” I ask, only half kidding. Charismatic. Natural aptitude for everything. Invincible on the football field. The ability to fly or start fires with his eyes doesn’t seem completely outside the realm of possibility.
“I’m not at liberty to discuss what Preston was or wasn’t,” Langston says abruptly. “But you and Ms. Amos probably knew him the best. If anyone can help find his killer, it’s one of you two.”
I nod. I need to find Preston’s killer just as much as these guys do. If someone does want me to go down for this crime, they’re probably not finished framing me.
I take a deep breath and then tell him about the anonymous tip that claimed Pres and I were fighting, about the bloody phone showing up in my trunk. “Do you know why anyone would try to set me up?”
“Nothing comes to mind. Do you still have the phone?” Langston asks. “That could be helpful to me.”
“It got left at Colonel Amos’s cabin, so I’m sure the FBI has it. But it didn’t have anything on it—no files, no apps. Just a few calls from me and his parents.”
“Did you find anything else in your car?”
“No. Preston left some of his camping equipment, but that’s all,” I say. “I hid my car about a mile away from the cabin in a nature preserve. Apparently, it hasn’t been recovered.”
“Marcus and I will find the car and make sure it stays hidden from the feds. We’ll tell you if we find anything of interest,” Langston says. “In the meantime you should go back to your normal life. Let us know if anyone approaches you about Preston, but otherwise stay out of it. These people are dangerous, Max. They won’t hesitate to kill you if you get in their way.”
I nod, but my mind is still spinning. Langston seems all right (now that he’s put his gun away), but I can’t just sit back and rely on him and Marcus to find Preston’s killer. Parvati and I came so close to finding Pres. The fire in Vegas couldn’t have been burning for very long if we beat the fire department to the scene. If only I was a few minutes quicker somewhere along the way. If only I had acted instead of reacted, my friend might still be alive.
I try to think about what I would have done next if I hadn’t gotten arrested in Vegas. Probably go back to the hard drive. Which I can’t do. So then . . .
“Can you get me inside Preston’s room?” I ask. “Like you said—I know him best. I might see something helpful.”
Langston strokes his goatee again. “I went over the bedroom and basement myself after the FBI finished up, but I suppose it can’t hurt for you to take another look.”
I nod. I’m not sure if there’s anything in Pres’s room that’ll help me find his killer, but I don’t know what else to do. My only other option is to call Parvati back, and every time I so much as think her name, I see her and Preston naked in his bed. I hear both of them telling me how they’re just friends, have never been anything but friends. It’s a shitty feeling when you realize the two people you trusted most in the world are liars.
TWENTY-SEVEN
IT’S DEAD QUIET IN PRESTON’S house. Apparently, the federal agents all split once Pres’s body was identified. No point in hanging around hoping for a ransom call anymore.
The inside of the house is dark except for the white glow of a TV screen. Preston’s mom sits on the sofa in the living room, her cat curled protectively on her lap. One hand mindlessly strokes the animal’s fur as she stares glassy-eyed at the wall-mounted flat-screen. It’s the nicest TV in the house, with a better picture and sound quality than the one downstairs, but I’ve never seen anyone but Esmeralda ever watch it before. Preston always wanted to hang out in the basement. He said the living room felt cold and dead, like a funeral home. Funny considering it’s filled with his baby pictures.
Claudia DeWitt doesn’t even seem to notice me. There’s a little brown pill bottle on the glass coffee table, along with a mostly empty bottle of wine.
“We need to look in Preston’s room,” Langston explains. “We’ll just be a few minutes.”
Claudia works the keys on the remote control, slowly scanning through the channels. She doesn’t even look at us.
We pass the study on the way to the stairs. The door is open just wide enough that I can see Senator DeWitt seated at his desk, his pale face illuminated by the glow of his computer. Behind him, a trio of deer heads hang on the wall.
Marcus mutters something about updating the senator on our progress. He knocks on the doorframe outside the study and the Senator DeWitt gestures for him to enter. Langston and I continue upstairs. I stand in the center of Preston’s bedroom, trying to see if anything sticks out as unusual.
Langston leans against the wall just inside the door, watching me scan the room systematically. “You see anything?”
“Give me a few minutes.” I turn a slow circle. Plain white walls, black lacquer dresser and desk. Bookshelf. Bed. No, not the bed. I can’t even peek at the wrinkle-free navy comforter without seeing the tangle of cream-colored sheets, Parvati, the curve of her naked back.