Page 93 of Our Last Resort

I look up at Harris.

“This, as you’ve probably guessed, is a screenshot of what we found on Sabrina Brenner’s phone,” he says.

What?

“Now, the code isn’t too hard to crack. Gabriel Miller—we both know who this is. Six-twelve—that’s Gabriel’s date of birth, right? The twelfth of June?”

I don’t say anything. Harris doesn’t seem to mind.

“And Jackson, of course, is the street on which he lives in Seattle.”

I don’t confirm, but Harris is right.

“So what I’d like to know,” Harris says, “is what are Gabriel’s personal details doing on Sabrina Brenner’s phone?”

“I don’t know.”

That’s the truth. I have no fucking idea.

That damned phone.

I would never have given it to the cops if I’d known.

They must think I gave it to them hoping to frame William, and overplayed my hand.

Oh my god. Gabriel has no idea about the phone. I never got to tell him.

Harris rests his elbows on the desk, clasps his hands below his chin.

“I’m going to be straight with you,” he says.

Wouldn’t that be something.

“Whatever happened to Sabrina Brenner, I don’t think you had anything to do with it. As far as I’m concerned, you’re not a suspect. Not at the moment.”

Okay.

“I think,” the cop says, “that your brother—that Gabriel had something to do with it. I know he lied to me about his past interactions with Mrs.Brenner. Obviously. And I also know he lied to me about his whereabouts the last evening she was seen alive. I know he left the dinner table briefly just hours before her death.”

Harris closes the folder.

“People lie all the time, of course. Or they get confused. Or they don’t remember. That’s why I haven’t moved on him until now. But the phone makes it clear there’s more to his story.”

The deputy stares into my eyes.

He’s so young. Younger than I am, for sure. He’s inexperienced, grandiose, and more than a little bit arrogant.

But he’s not bluffing. That’s the scariest part: He’s not that good, this deputy, and still, he’s got something real on Gabriel.

“I think you’ve been covering for him,” Harris continues. “I think you’ve been covering for him for a long time. And I think it’s weighing on you. Is that why you were so upset by the pool two days ago?”

It’s not hard to recognize Harris’s tone for what it is: a threat.

“I’d like to leave now,” I say.

“Like I said, if you help us, then we can help you. But you’ve got to make the first move.”

“I’d like to leave.”

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