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“No, never.” Now he looks me in the eye. “Not murder. But you were having trouble with him last night. And then that.” He nods at the bruises on my arm.
“You think he attacked me, and I shot him?”
“No one would fault you for that.”
A jury certainly would.
Shot him? Really? Couldn’t you just kick him in the balls or something?
“Do you have a gun?” he asks.
I consider lying, but instead, I nod. “It’s in the shed. Or it was. I saw Liam rooting around in there my first night, and later, it was gone. Oh, God. I hope it wasn’t that gun, because it’s legally registered to me.”
“Shit.”
“I absolutely did not kill him. I know I’ll be a suspect even if it wasn’t my gun. My footprints are all around his Rover. My fingerprints are on the door handle. My footprints are here. That’s why I want to report it now, while my story makes sense, while they can test my fingers for gunpowder or whatever it is they do. Because I didn’t kill him.”
He nods, head down.
I swallow. “My story won’t make sense, will it? Who walks back here at twilight? Who jogs back here ever? They won’t believe me.”
He says nothing.
“You don’t believe me,” I say.
He glances up. “No, I do. And you’re right that you need to report it. However, that is going to bring up another problem, isn’t it?” He looks me straight in the eye again. “How good is your ID, CeCe?”
