Page 146 of Fifty-Fifty

Nothing. The word of some coked-up short order cook isn’t enough. You’ve got

nothing.’

‘We’ve got this,’ said Tyler as he pulled something shiny from Sofia’s coat pocket.

A gold crucifix on a cheap gold chain. There were bloodstains still on the cross. Harper’s blood. At least, they had still been there when I planted the chain in Sofia’s pocket thirty seconds ago.

‘No,’ she said, when she saw the chain in Tyler’s hand.

Soames kept his distance. He was happy for his younger partner to do most of the physical parts of the job. He turned to me and said, ‘Thank you.’

‘No need,’ I said. ‘Just do as you promised, and everything will be fine. Also, the van outside. There’s some packing boxes in the back, but there’s something

else too. A black motorcycle.’

Tyler took a step back, and put his other hand into his coat pocket, searching for an evidence bag into which he would place the chain.

Soames turned to me to say something, his mouth opened, but before he could speak there was a terrible crack.

It didn’t sound like any kind of gunshot, or even a gas tank going up. It sounded wet and hollow.

Tyler had turned toward us, his back now to Sofia. And his face had almost gone. Something splashed on my cheek. Something hot, that burned.

Sofia dropped the handle of the bun flask. It was all that remained of the coffee pot. The rest of the glass was in Tyler’s face. While she dropped the handle, she fell to her knees, pulled at Tyler’s jacket and then crawled, fast, around the other side of the dining table.

I turned to Soames who was wiping frantically at his face. He must’ve caught more of the splash of hot liquid than I did.

Another sound, and this time it was a gunshot.

Soames fell back. I ducked, put my head down. The first thing I saw was a gun hitting the floor, followed by Soames. He’d taken one in the stomach and he was bleeding badly. He’d tried to draw his gun but had dropped it. Too far away for me to reach.

Footsteps.

I looked up and saw Sofia holding Tyler’s gun. It was pointed at me.

‘Alexa, play my song,’ she said.

A sibilant voice erupted from somewhere in the kitchen, electronic, and cold.

‘Playing “She” by Elvis Costello.’

The music started up, and Sofia smiled.

FIFTY-FOUR

SHE

Sofia glanced toward Soames. He was bleeding out. Dark blood was already pooling beneath him, his stomach awash with it. Sofia could smell something bad too – maybe the bullet had ruptured part of his gut and bile was leaking into the wound. Soames wouldn’t last long. No need to worry.

Still keeping the gun on Eddie, she looked at Tyler. A long shard of glass was in his cheek, another in his neck. He was spasming on the floor.

Eddie Flynn was on his back, on the floor, under the gaze of the .45 in her hand.

‘You almost got clear, Sofia. If you hadn’t killed Hal Cohen we wouldn’t have connected you to the pharmacy murders. Why did he have to die?’

She cocked her head. Smiled. Flynn was far too smart for his own good. She needed a lawyer like him. He was one of the best in the city, and he only defended those he believed to be innocent. He had been perfect for her. She relied on him figuring out the journal had been forged. Sofia had been careful to copy Frank’s handwriting, but not perfectly. Enough to throw some doubt on who wrote it. Including hidden inaccuracies in the journal was a risk, but one she needed to take. It was the only way to prove the journal was written by the real murderer. Only someone who was guilty would write a fake journal framing someone else for their crime. It had been the killer piece of evidence in the trial.

One that she was still proud of.