Page 123 of Our Last Resort

Harris wrestles handcuffs onto Gabriel’s wrists. His colleagues—I recognize Deputy Calhoun, plus the other cop I saw at the Ara, and four more who must have come as backup—stand behind him, forming a human barrier, like they’re worried Gabriel will make a run for it.

“You’re under arrest for murder,” Harris says, his mouth to Gabriel’s ear, and gives him a sharp nudge. I expect the usual warnings to follow: “You have the right to remain silent”; “Anything you say can and will be used against you”; “You have the right to an attorney.” But Harris is seething.

“Were you trying to kill her, too, you piece of shit?”

He nudges his chin in my direction.Oh.He meansme.I realize what the scene must have looked like to him: Gabriel, his suspected murderer, with another woman, at the edge of a cliff. Seconds away from a fatal shove.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Gabriel manages through gritted teeth.

“SHUT UP!”

Harris seems to catch himself. “You’re under arrest,” he recites again, “for the murder of Sabrina Brenner. Anything you say can and will—”

“Wait,” I say.

I know it’s stupid, to think that I’ll get through to him, but what else am I supposed to do? Watch Gabriel get taken away?

“He didn’t do it,” I try, pitifully, ridiculously. “You have the wrong—”

Harris takes one hand off Gabriel to shove me aside.

“You,” he says. “Stay out of this, or you’re coming with us, too.”

“Do you have any proof?”

My question is like kindling to the blaze of Harris’s anger. With one hand still on Gabriel’s wrists, he brings his face right up to mine.

“Were you trying to protect him? Huh? Did you think it was clever, making up all that stuff about William Brenner?”

He’s clearly expecting an apology of some sort, or for me to insist,No, no, I swear, it wasn’t like that, I wasn’t trying to do anything.But he’s too angry to wait for a response. With his free hand, he snatches what looks like a plastic bag from the hand of his nearest colleague.

“Is this good enough for you?” He’s shoving it against my chest. I can’t see what’s inside, but I hear the rustle of plastic. “The fucking murder weapon?”

“Kenneth,” Deputy Calhoun says. “That’s enough.”

As she takes the bag back from Harris, I see it: Slipped inside a translucent evidence bag is a rock. A rock that used to be white and is now almost entirely stained with blood.

I blink.

White marble chunks from Italy,Catalina said on our first day, when she gave us the tour. She was standing near one of the decorative planters, running the tips of her fingers on the rocks.You won’t find them anywhere else in the region.

This white rock like a red flag. It could only have come from the hotel. In time, it will be tested, but it’s pretty clear whose blood it’s covered in.

Harris is taunting Gabriel again.

“Did you really think we wouldn’t find it, in your fucking backpack?”

Wait.

Wait.

In hisbackpack?

I looked inside Gabriel’s backpack just yesterday. All I found in there was the butterfly hair clip—the one I’m still carrying around in my shorts pocket.

But no rock.

“Let’s go,” Harris says, and leads Gabriel away.

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