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“Something went down. Ain’t your concern. But Marty told my boss that your dad found out about their arrangement. He threatened to report him. Marty claimed your dad stole some money from him that could be connected to us. Your dad was going to squeal.”
“And?” I ask with a bite of impatience.
“He asked us to get the money and to talk some sense into your father.” Zach hangs his head, staring at his hand while he scratches a pattern over and over against the table with his fingernail.
Finally, he continues. “He said your mother and you kids wouldn’t be home. It was just supposed to be your dad.” His voice lowers to a whisper. Almost as if he’s capable of regret. “It didn’t make a lot of sense to me at the time. But I wasn’t thinking clearly—”
“Were you on drugs?”
He still won’t look at me. “Yeah.”
After a few more beats of silence, he continues. “Marty didn’t like to be questioned. He was really freaked out about your father ratting on him. Insistent that I go convince him to keep his mouth shut.”
If my father was really going to turn Marty in, he must’ve had a compelling reason. “Why didn’t you try to pay my dad off? Like you did with Marty?”
“Marty said he’d never take a bribe. Said I could try, though.”
Relief unfurls in my chest. The weight of hating my father for getting himself and my mother killed lifting off my conscience. He wasn’t the criminal.
My breath catches.
In fact, my father wanted to do the right thing. He and Marty had been friends for years—since before I was born. Finding out he was taking bribes must’ve killed my dad. But he was still going to turn him in. It had to be a decision he struggled with.
If I can believe a word that comes out of this murderer’s mouth.
Am I just a gullible daughter who needs to believe her father was a good man? Does it really matter?
“Emily?” Zach’s low voice puts the brake on my runaway thoughts.
“I’m listening.”
He shakes his head and stares at his hands as if he’s trying to remember where he left off. “I brought my friend Joey for backup. Forgot he was a fucking moron.” He clenches his jaw with irritation. At himself, I think. For choosing the wrong partner to commit crimes with. Boo-fucking-hoo.
“Not a brilliant mastermind like you, huh?” I ask.
“No, he wasn’t.” He ignores my sarcasm or just doesn’t get it.
“And?”
“You really want the whole story?”
No, I want to strangle you. “That’s why I’m here, isn’t it? For your truth?”
“You’re right. This is only my version.” He finally meets my glare. “It’s all I’ve got.”
“So, tell me.” I wave my hand impatiently.
He strokes his hand over his chin and stares at the ceiling like he wants to get every detail right. “We worked the front door open. Thought we’d find your dad asleep. Wanted to catch him off guard.”
“My father was never off guard.”
“Yeah. No shit.” He smiles, like we’re sharing a fond memory. When I don’t reciprocate the warm fuzzies, he clears his throat and flattens his expression.
“Your parents were in the living room. Watching a movie, I think. Your father saw us first. Put himself between us and your mother right away.”
That sounds like my dad.
Zach scrubs his hand over his face. “Your mom…She was fierce. We didn’t scare her at all.” He shakes his head. “No. She must’ve been afraid we were going to hurt your sister. She pulled a gun outta nowhere. Got off a shot. Put a hole in Joey.” Zach stares into my eyes. “He shot back.”
Blood-soaked images assault my memory and I struggle to take a breath.
“Everything spun out of control so fast. Your father shot Joey. Then fired at me. He clipped my arm.” Zach rolls up his sleeve to show me a small round scar.
My jaw tightens. If only my father had aimed a few inches to the left. “Good,” I whisper.
He nods once. “I shot your father.”
I don’t think I ever knew exactly how everything happened. The actual sequence of events. Who fired the shots that ended my parents’ lives. Maybe it was in a report somewhere. More than likely, my aunt kept the gory details away from me.
It didn’t matter how they died. They were gone. Libby and I were orphans. Who cared which gun the bullets came from?
“I shot him in self-defense,” Zach says, pulling me back to the awful present. “It was never the plan.”
“It’s not ‘self-defense’ when you break into someone’s home,” I say with a bitter edge.
His eyes widen. Had that really never occurred to him?
“Yeah. That’s true.” He spreads his hands as far as the restraints allow, palms up toward the ceiling like he’s some sort of prison jumpsuit Jesus. “That’s it. I freaked out. Didn’t try looking for the money or anything. Just hauled ass out of there.”
