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Mark looked at Jacks curiously.
“Yes, we were just talking,” Jacks said.
“Is that it? And you didn’t do, hear, or see anything else?” Sylvester asked.
“Yes, that’s it.” Sylvester eyed him warily. Jacks cleared his throat.
“Will someone please tell me what’s going on?”
Mark and Kris exchanged a look.
“They found . . .” Mark paused. “They found severed wings.”
Very slowly, Jacks looked up at his stepfather.
“Whose?” he asked quietly.
“We don’t know yet,” Sylvester said, “But the wings were left on Theodore Godson?
?s star.”
“An Archangel,” Jacks murmured, the enormity settling in. Mark and Sylvester exchanged a look.
“And you knew nothing about this?” Sylvester asked.
“Of course he didn’t!” Mark exclaimed.
“I’m asking Jackson, not you,” Sylvester said calmly.
Jacks shook his head honestly. “I’m telling the truth. I left the party, went to the diner, came here.”
Jackson’s stepfather turned to the detective. “We’re doing this as a courtesy because even the faintest notion that Jackson could be involved with something like this is so absurd, I thought it best to get it over with. But if you want to continue this ridiculous questioning, I’m afraid there will have to be a lawyer present.”
Sylvester narrowed his eyes. “Fine. We’ll see. For your sake, I hope it all checks out. Otherwise we’ll be coming back and won’t be as polite.” Sylvester stood up. “And Jacks? Next time an officer of the Angel City Police Department asks to speak to you, please listen.” He turned to Mark. “Thanks for your time.”
“Let me see you out,” Kris said. Sylvester got up from the couch and walked to the door. Sergeant Garcia lingered in the living room, smiling sheepishly at Jacks.
“Excuse me, Jackson, um, do you think I could get an autograph for my daughter?” he said.
“Garcia,” Sylvester said stiffly, “let’s go.” Garcia hurried outside without his autograph. Mark shut the door, then turned to Jacks.
“I don’t want you to worry about this, Jacks. I’m going to address the issue with the rest of the Archangels tomorrow, and we’ll more than likely be putting our own team on the investigation. You can’t expect too much from the police.”
Jacks nodded. He pushed his hand through his hair. Severed wings. It was horrific to think about.
“You’ve got a big week coming up,” Mark continued. “What’s important is that you don’t lose focus. Now why don’t you go upstairs and get some sleep.”
“Okay,” Jacks said, feeling himself sliding helplessly into the same pattern he’d followed his whole life—following Mark’s suggestions, which were actually not suggestions at all. He turned to walk up the stairs, then stopped. “That man at the diner. What did he want after we left?”
Mark paused, then looked at Jacks evenly. “Oh. Him? He was just angry at the damage to the restaurant. I told him we would cover it.”
“Why’d he mention Maddy to you? I heard him say her name. What’s she got to do with anything?”
“Maddy? Who’s that?” Mark asked.
“The girl. The waitress.”
Mark shrugged. “I have no idea. Like I said, don’t worry about this. Leave the police, this alleged incident, that restaurant, all of it to me.”
