Page 185 of Chameleon Killer

His jaw tightened. “The fact I know about the toxicology doesn't mean he didn't supply it to you.”

“No.” I could absolutely agree with that sentiment.

“Then we're back where we started.”

“Not quite.” But not that one.

I let the silence hang. He hated that. I could tell.

“Where are we now, then?” he asked.

I glanced around the room.

Alisha.

Flint.

Ortiz.

Two other detectives.

Three federal agents.

Recorder.

Cameras.

All those witnesses.

Then back to Brewster.

“Now,” I explained to him what he’d revealed. “I know you already knew.”

Silence. He didn't ask what. Smart. But that was information too.

Alisha rested one hand on my forearm in warning. I ignored it. Maybe because I was tired. Maybe because Brewster had been pushing me for days. Maybe because once I found a loose thread I had an unhealthy compulsion to tug until the entire sweater came apart.

“That's what this is about, isn't it?”

Brewster's expression didn't change. “What?”

“You're not trying to find out what he told me.”

“Yes, I am.”

“No,” I countered even as his gaze hardened. I leaned forward. “You're trying to find out what he knows.”

Flint went completely still beside me. Ortiz looked from Brewster to me. Alisha muttered, “Mallory.”

But Brewster answered. “Those are the same question.”

“No.” I shook my head slowly. “They're really not.”

His mask held. Almost. “You're parsing semantics.”

“Specificity.” The word slipped out.

Brewster's pupils changed, it was a tiny motion but present nonetheless. He recognized it. Not the word, but the source of it.