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“I’m sorry I didn’t believe you guys,” Wilden was saying, striding past a chain-link fence. Behind it were unused police vehicles and a large white school bus. “It was a mistake. But we know everything now. We have all the notes he sent you.”
The girls stopped dead. “He?” Spencer squeaked.
“Who is he?” Hanna whispered. “Ian?”
Just then, another police car wailed into the lot. Policemen ran over and started to pull someone out of the backseat. There were shouts, and then a kicking leg, then a flash of teeth. The cops finally managed to get whoever it was out of the car and began marching him toward the station. When there was a break in action, Emily saw a tall, lanky man with greasy blond hair and a moustache. Her stomach curdled.
There was a worried crinkle between Spencer’s eyes. “Why does he look familiar?” she murmured.
“I don’t know,” Emily whispered, her mind frantically searching.
Members of the press rushed to the cops and started snapping pictures. “How long have you been planning this, Mr. Ford?” they screamed. “What made you do it?” And finally, rising above the rest, “Why did you kill Alison?”
Aria grabbed Emily’s hand hard. Emily’s knees went weak. “What did they say?”
“He killed Alison,” Spencer murmured. “That guy killed Alison.”
“But who is he?” Hanna blurted.
“Come on,” Wilden said gruffly, shoving them away. “You shouldn’t see this.”
None of the girls could move. The man’s untied shoelace dragged along the pavement as the cops shoved him toward the station. His head was hung low, exposing a bald patch. Emily raked her nails up the side of her arms. Ali was . . . dead? What about Leah? What about the girl Emily had seen in the woods?
The reporters kept screaming, their voices blurring incoherently. Then one reporter shouted louder than the others. “And what about the body that was just found? Are you responsible for that murder, too?”
Hanna turned to Wilden. “Another murder?”
“Oh my God.” Emily’s insides turned to mush.
“Girls,” Wilden said sternly. “Come on.”
By now, Ali’s alleged killer was at the front steps, only twenty or so feet away from Emily. He noticed Emily and smiled lewdly, revealing a gold front tooth.
Electricity crackled in Emily’s veins. She knew that smile. Nearly four years ago, workers began pouring concrete into the hole in the DiLaurentises’ backyard the day after Ali went missing. Wilden had been there . . . but so had a lot of other guys, too. After Mrs. DiLaurentis interrogated them, Emily cut through Ali’s backyard to the woods. One of the workers turned and leered at her. He’d been tall and lanky, and when he smiled, he’d had that same horrible gold front tooth.
Emily turned to Spencer, aghast. “That guy was one of the workers who filled in the gazebo hole the day after Ali went missing. I remember him.”
Spencer was very pale. “I saw him a few days ago. On my street.”
Chapter 31
The Very Good and the Very Evil
Four junior Rosewood cops arrived to escort Spencer and the others home. Spencer climbed into the back of the cruiser that would drive her back, choking on the smell of fake car leather, vomit, and sweat. A dark-haired cop slid into the front seat, started the engine, and pulled to the exit.
Out the window, the press was clamoring at the police station door, eager for another glimpse of the killer. Spencer stared hard at the windows in front of the police station. All the blinds were shut tight. Could that guy really have done it? He was such a stranger, an outsider. It seemed so out of the blue.
She wrapped her fingers around the metal cage separating the front seat from the back. “Who else did that guy kill?” she called. The cop didn’t answer. “How did you find out he killed Ali?” she tried. He merely turned up his CB radio. Frustrated, Spencer kicked the back of his seat hard. “Are you deaf?”
The cop gave her a chilling glare in the rearview mirror. “My orders are to bring you home. That’s all.”
Spencer let out a small whimper. She wasn’t exactly sure she wanted to go home. What kind of state would her house be in right now? Was her dad still there? Had he fled to be with Mrs. DiLaurentis?
It was all so surreal and unthinkable. Spencer was certain that within minutes, she’d wake up in her bed, discovering it was just a dream. But another minute passed. And another, and she was still here, living her worst nightmare.
All of a sudden, she realized something. When her mother begged her dad to admit the truth, he’d blurted, I didn’t know about the kids until later. He’d said kids, not kid. Was that a mistake . . . or a slip? Was Jason her father’s child—and Spencer’s half brother—too?
They passed downtown Rosewood, a quaint, brick-paved shopping district full of chic furniture stores, antique shops, and homemade-ice cream parlors. Spencer plunged her hand into her gold Kate Spade satchel and found her Sidekick at the bottom. Amazingly, there were no new texts from A. She called her house. The phone rang and rang, but there was no answer. Then, she typed CNN’s Web address on the keypad. Officer Tight Lips might not tell her anything, but the news would.
Sure enough, the top story was about how there had been a new arrest in the Alison DiLaurentis murder case. Pretty Little Liars Exonerated, the subhead added. Spencer quickly clicked on a live video feed. A dark-haired reporter was standing in front of the Ali shrine, the collection of photos, candles, flowers, and stuffed animals on the curb of the DiLaurentises’ old house. Police lights blinked behind her. Her eyes were red-rimmed, as if she’d been crying.
