Page 67 of Cut Off from Sky and Earth
He shrugs. “Suit yourself.” He raises the cup to his lips, takes a sip, and grimaces. “Actually, good call. Jeez, this sucks.”
I chuckle, then I lower my chin and give him a close look. “What do you want, Graham? You’re not going to get to a confession out of me by pretending to be my friend.”
“I am your friend.”
I let that pass. “You can’t trick me into confessing. For one thing, I know all the tricks. For another, I didn’t kill anyone. So there’s nothing to confess to.”
He abandons the coffee and rests his forearms on the table, leaning across to peer at me. “That isn’t entirely true, though, is it? You may not have killed anyone—although, the evidence is what it is, Tristan, and it’s going to be hard to explain away. But you know something. You’ve said as much. At your house you claimed you suspected your brother of the Ward and Rowland murders. So what did you do? Withhold evidence? Tamper with it?”
“Of course not.”
“You were working together, weren’t you?”
“No.” My voice is forceful. Then the thought —hitting me with the force of a gut punch. Despite Tate’s repeated overtures, I wasn’t working with him. But what if he did have a partner?
I must gasp or grunt because Grant peers at me. “What?”
I ignore him. My mind races. If Tate was working with someone else, then Emily could still be in danger. No. If that’s true, she is still in danger. The truth unspools in front of me like puzzle pieces snapping together.
“Tristan?”
I can’t wait for Loretta. “How’d you find Tate’s body?”
“I told you. He was in the parking lot behind the gym.”
“Not where. How? Did someone stumble over it? Who called it in?”
He narrows his eyes. “I’m not sharing details of the investigation with you. Like you said, you know how this?—”
I pound my fist on the table, and he flinches.
“We don’t have time for this, Graham. I think Emily’s in danger. Who called it in?”
He bites his lip for a moment, then shakes his head. “I shouldn’t be telling you this.”
I hold my breath and say nothing, letting him get there on his own. I can’t still my jittering leg, though.
“We got a call to do a welfare check. Tate’s therapist, a Dr. Wilde, was worried because he didn’t show up for his last video appointment, and he couldn’t reach him.”
Wilde told my mother the police called him. He also told her that Tate was in Ohio—or at least let her believe it.
“When?” I croak.
“This morning. He didn’t have a home address, but he said Tate worked at a local gym. So we sent squad cars to all four gyms. We found him behind the Sweetwater Sweat Spot. What’s going on, Tristan?”
“I need you to call this number.” I rattle off the digits for Alex Liu’s landline while he stares at me.
“Graham, please. I need you to warn Emily.”
“Warn her about what?”
“Make the call. Tell the woman who answers that Emily’s therapist is coming to kill them.”
Thirty-Five
Emily
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