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Something cold touched his shoulder. A bottle of water.
Furiously, he snatched it from her hand and rinsed his mouth out.
“Satisfied?” he demanded.
“No,” she said sadly. “I’m sorry. I needed to see your reaction. I needed to know.”
Sam twisted his body, landing on his ass, his back against the tub. “So now you do. Please leave.”
She crouched a few feet away and he noticed the dark circles under her eyes. He shoved away the flash of compassion. Because she didn’t deserve it. She still didn’t believe him. Still didn’t trust him.
I should have listened to Laura and kept my mouth shut.
“You’ve been conveniently present for a lot of important revelations on this case,” she said.
“Not because I wanted to be,” he said through gritted teeth.
“I know.”
“No, you don’t,” he said bitterly. “Otherwise you never would have done that dog-and-pony show out there. Were you trying to prove something to your new partner or to yourself?” A shadow moved in the hallway. Her partner was there listening. Goddammit. Sam was sick and tired of being a suspect.
He shoved himself to his feet. “You know what? It doesn’t matter. I don’t care what you believe. Get out. You can call my lawyer. And you, Robinson, you can stop lurking in the hallway. You want to see my reaction, too? Come and look at it.”
The partner came into view, his expression still grim. But there was a softening around his eyes. He’d been suspicious before, but now? He looked more unsure.
And I don’t fucking care.
Kit rose slowly. “Okay, but first I need you to know that the killer on this recording wasn’t Colton Driscoll.”
“What?” Were they still playing with him? “Of course it was. I just saw him strangle Naomi Beckham. Thank you for that, by the way. It’s not like I don’t have enough shit in my head.”
She shook her head. “Driscoll’s face was faked. Deepfakes, they call them.”
Well, damn. Now he was interested again, despite his better judgment. “I’ve heard of that,” he said warily. “Saw it online. So who was it really?”
“We don’t know. Someone shorter than Driscoll, but still strong enough to carry a teenage girl out of the room over his shoulder. Did anything in the video look familiar to you? Like, did Driscoll say anything in session to make you think he’d been to this place?”
He went to the sink and splashed cold water on his face while he contemplated his answer. Or if he even should answer. He should make them talk to Laura.
But he wanted to help them. Help Kit.
He wanted this nightmare to end. For himself and for the girls.
He dried his face and turned to face her and the hulking detective who stood behind her, watching him.
“No. Unless they were watching Avondale on the TV before the clip started. That was the only thing he said.” He folded the towel and rehung it on the bar, trying to calm his mind and remember if there really was anything else. “He said that he watched her do her homework. Geometry, maybe? Yeah, I think it was geometry because that was the first thing that had me thinking he was abusing a minor. Geometry isn’t usually a college course.”
Detective Robinson flinched and Sam wondered if he’d seen a video of a girl studying geometry before she’d been killed, whichever girl it had been.
“You’re right,” Robinson murmured, his eyes growing haunted. “It’s usually a high school course.”
Robinson’s haunted look made Sam wonder what they’d seen. “Did you watch all of the murders?” Sam asked, feeling compassion that was, once again, unwelcome.
Because if they had, he couldn’t blame them for being upset. He could blame them for making him see it, too, but he knew what it was like to have to watch helplessly.
“Not all,” she said. “But enough. One working theory is that Colton somehow got cameras in the killer’s home and had been watching him. Spying on him.”
“And incorporating what he saw into the lies he told you,” Robinson added.
