I stop responding because he never talks to me this way, and it hurts to have someone who always watches out for me snub me like this … especially when I can see now that he has a point.
I look back toward the crime scene one more time and see Chief Vega leaning out from the alley and squinting toward the coroner’s truck.
The moment I see his face, I duck down and follow Mr. Masters quickly through the crowd and around the corner.
As soon as we’re in his blue BMW, he starts the air conditioner and then turns to me. He tilts back his hat and I can see concern in his eyes, along with that look that tells me he’s thinking hard about something.
“I’m sorry for treating you like this, but you need to start thinking straight.” His tone is stern; his eyes plead with me to listen.
“Well, that’s not the best apology I’ve ever heard.” I drop my chin and glare at him.
“Okay, let’s see how badly this scenario could’ve played out, shall we?” He lifts one eyebrow in a challenge.
“That’s really not—”
“Let’s say you make it across and actually get to the body. What do you see?”
“I don’t know. I don’t think that’s where I was going.” I sigh, then decide to play along. “Maybe I would see the same types of injuries from the first murders—”
“Which would be reported to me anyway without you going to jail, but continue. Anything else?” His voice is soft but firm.
“I don’t know, maybe I could find something in the alley they didn’t see.” I’m starting to feel less sure that coming here was a good idea with each answer I give.
“Doubtful because they’re trained professionals, but even if you did, then what?”
“I’d tell you.”
“Okay, so you would call me from the police station where they’re holding you until your mother gets there…” His words drift off and he waits.
I stop responding. Leaning forward, I rub my forehead against my hands.
“It gets so much worse, Miss Riley. This is just the beginning.” He continues. “Let’s say you somehow are the one to find the key to proving your father’s innocence. Except you forgot something. Your dad isn’t even a suspect in this crime. Being in Polunsky gives him the best alibi known to mankind. So, since they can’t look at your dad for this, the first thing they’ll look for is a copycat.”
I may not show it, but I’m following every word and my whole body starts to feel cold even in the hot sunlight.
“They’ll look first for people who might be close to the man they believe is the original East End Killer. Someone not in jail who has an excellent motive to want to cast doubt on the state’s case, someone who loves him and visits him all the time.” He now looks sympathetic.
“Maybe someone who’s terrified that he’ll be executed in three weeks?” I mutter under my breath, trying to shake the fear from the tale he’s weaving for me.
“Exactly. And then you go and place yourself at the crime scene and start tampering with evidence? You’re now in jail. He’s still going to be executed because with your tampering they can’t even consider the evidence here anymore. Not sure about you, but that’s certainly not the happy ending I’m looking for.” He squeezes my shoulder and shakes his head. “Riley, do me a favor and just try to make them look a little before volunteering to be the next easy mark they can pin a murder on, will you?”
I reach over and give him a tight hug, knowing he’s completely right. Coming here had been stupid. I’d let the need to do something override any common sense. “Thanks. I didn’t realize how bad it could have been.”
“I know you didn’t.” He leans away, and I see a bit of fear in his eyes now as he shakes his head. “This is no game. You can ask all the questions you want of me, of your parents, but now is the time you need to trust me the most. I’ve been fighting for your father as long as you have with very few weapons at my disposal. This morning, someone handed me a loaded gun and only twenty-one days to use it.”
“You think this will finally give us some of the proof we’ve been looking for?” I clench my hands against my sides.
He winks and pats my shoulder. “The way this looks right now, I’m gonna give them hell or die trying.”
13
ON THE DRIVE HOME I bite my nails, thinking how close I’d come to landing myself in a heap of trouble. Everything feels upside down today and it isn’t even noon yet. The sick feeling in my stomach is almost as bad as my hangover had been.
Hangover …
My world comes crashing down as I remember my own confession to Jordan. I close my eyes and groan as I make a quick right turn. At the next stoplight, I pull my phone out of my pocket and bring up Jordan’s info—which is now filed under a very different name. I send him a text just before the light turns green.
Meet me at the park. 20 minutes.
Two minutes tick by without a response. I wait, listening for my text notification as I drive and focusing on breathing slowly. Maybe he’d given up on me. Maybe he didn’t want to see me again after I hadn’t responded. Maybe—