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“No, no, no, it’s not like I planned it that way from the outset. It was more like I was…well, improvising. The night of Dad’s birthday, I needed your help, I really did, but then realized I could pin it on you if I had to. I’m sorry, TJ.”
“So many apologies, dude. Honestly, you’re too kind.” I stuffed it to stay on point. “So what happened the next night, when Lemaire was found dead in the Mercedes?”
“Okay so that day, after the night I hit him with the rock, he called in sick to work. He called me at the end of the day. He said he drove around, trying to figure out what to do. He couldn’t take the pressure. He was losing it.” John shook his head. “So I convinced him to meet me at Dutton Run Park that night.”
“Why would he agree to that? Why wasn’t he afraid you’d try to hurt him again?”
“He was, but I threatened him. I told him if he didn’t show up, I’d go to the cops about him. We had a gun to each other’s head, and he scared easy.”
I felt a pang for Lemaire. “So that night, how did he die if you didn’t kill him?”
“I didn’t do it.” John hesitated, newly grave. “I drove to meet him at Dutton Run Park. It was pouring, you remember. When I pulled into the lot, he was already there, parked and waiting. Just then Irealized there was a car behind me. I hadn’t seen it before, maybe because of the rain. I was being followed.”
Whoa. “What kind of car?”
“I don’t know, I’m not a car freak and I couldn’t see in the rain. The car followed me into the lot and all of a sudden the driver shot at me. I kept driving and got away. Lemaire couldn’t start his car.”
“Oh no.” I remembered that Daniel had told me that Lemaire’s car had just gotten out of the shop. It must not have been fixed properly. “So you got away, but he didn’t?”
“Correct. If I didn’t keep going, I’d be dead. I didn’t call the cops because it would all come tumbling down.”
“Like it is now, anyway. Did you see the driver’s face?”
“No, I couldn’t. I didn’t look back.”
“If I showed you a picture, could you identify the driver?” I started scrolling on my phone, found a picture of Fake Elliott Thompson, and held it up. “Is this him?”
John leaned over, squinting. “I don’t know, TJ. Like I said, I couldn’t see in the rain.”
“It wasn’t Barry Rigel, was it?”
“I don’t know.”
I had another thought. “Maybe the driver was one of your bookies. Maybe it wasn’t related to Runstan.”
“It’s not a bookie. Bookies don’t kill people they want money from.”
“So then what happened?”
“I saw on TV that Lemaire was dead. The driver must have shot him and made it look like a suicide. He wouldn’t want Lemaire to identify him.”
“So it really wasn’t you? You swear to me?”
“I swear it on Connor’s life.” John shifted to get up, wincing. “Let’s go get this over with. I’ll explain to Mom and Dad. Everything willbe fine after we pay the clients. Come on, get up.” John motioned me up. “I have everything in control.”
“You can’t even walk.”
“I canwalk, TJ.” John shuffled from the table in his Adidas slides, and I got up, took his elbow, and walked him down the hall. It was almost dawn, and daylight slipped through the cracks in the door.
“You need a locksmith and a carpenter.”
“I’ll call from the car.” John opened the broken door, and the knob came off in his hand. “Damn.”
“Give me that.” I took the knob, set it on the console table, and tried to close the broken door behind us. “Let me help you down the steps.”
“No, I’m fine.” John made his way down, his hand on the wrought-iron rail.
“Mom will want you to go to the hospital.”
