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“And that Jenner really looks like Ross?”
“Well, if the quality of the cameras isn’t the best, yes. He’s gone into a lot of trouble to look like Ross, move like Ross. And he has dyed his hair the exact same color, given it the same haircut...”
“Ugh. Creepy.”
Oh yeah.
“So on the cameras you see someone who looks just like Ross, they have that pendant of his from the crime scene, and Ross has no alibi?” Merc sounds more like he’s summarizing the evidence for himself but I reply anyway.
“I don’t know about the alibi. I don’t even know when this robbery is supposed to have taken place.”
“Maybe it’s on the news.” Gigi is on her phone, typing. “Wait, here it is. Armed bank robbery late this morning. Suspect arrested in Destiny. Thousands of dollars stolen.”
“Shit. If he’s convicted, he could get five years or more in prison.”
“Unless Ross has an alibi for the time of the robbery, this isn’t looking good at all,” Gigi mutters, then lifts her chin at Merc who’s rolling his eyes. “What? I watch Law and Order.”
“What about Jenner? People must know he looks like Ross. What if we take him to the station?”
“It seems he left town, same as the other guys who bullied him,” I inform them.
“Damn.”
“I think,” Matt says, stroking his short beard, “that it’s time to talk to John Elba ourselves.”
Chapter Thirty-Six
Ross
I’ve been locked up in an airless claustrophobic room for what feels like endless hours, and the burly cop across from me insists I should confess to the robbery, and maybe even the masterminding of it. He’s a buddy of the sheriff, I’ve seen them talking before, heads bent together. He wants me to admit to something I haven’t done.
I don’t even know what exactly happened, and of course they won’t tell me, because they want me to crack and tell them in my own words.
A robbery, the sheriff said. Armed robbery. I asked if anyone was hurt but was met with stony silence.
Joy.
I mean, what the fuck. I may have always been a pain in the ass, but I’ve never stolen a single penny from anyone. Even assholes have their rules.
“Where did you get the gun you used during the robbery?” The burly cop asks me.
“I didn’t. I didn’t rob no bank, didn’t use a gun.”
“Someone gave it to you, then?”
“Nobody gave me no gun. I didn’t do it, man.”
“Who did it then?”
“Ed,” I say for the hundredth time. “Edward. I’d bet my right kidney it was Ed. He mentioned something to me days ago. Weeks? Not sure when it was. Something about getting cash to escape this town, go to the big city. He said I should follow him.”
“And you did
.”
“No, goddammit.” I draw a calming breath. “I told you, I refused.”
“You want me to believe that.”
