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“Yeah, get JT up here,” Ash said and pulled another pair of gloves from the pocket of his Lost County Sheriff’s Department jacket. “It will save me the trouble of tracking him down to arrest him.”
Mark shook his head, a small smile playing at the corners of his lips. “I’m afraid you’re mistaken, Sheriff. I had nothing to do with Darcy’s murder.”
Donovan suddenly had a flash of the younger Mark wearing sunglasses, even though it was dark, and layered polos—light blue and pink—with the collars popped and a tie knotted loosely around his neck. He’d been drunk and obnoxious and had flipped a card table full of red Solo cups after losing a round of beer pong. He’d hit on Darcy as she stormed away. She’d ignored him…
...and then he’d followed her into the woods.
Donovan remembered it so clearly now and played it over in his head like a movie on repeat. He remembered Darcy scowling at the tiny diamond in his grandmother’s ring and slapping him when he said she was acting like a bitch. He could almost still feel the sting of the slap on his left cheek. He remembered watching her run off into the woods and seeing Mark follow after her with JT chasing close behind. He remembered bitterly thinking Mark and Darcy deserved each other before turning away and downing his beer.
He stared at Mark across the desk and wanted to put a fist through his conceited face. His fingers curled at his sides. “You followed her. What did you do to her, you bastard?”
Mark’s face twisted in anger, and he stood up from his desk. “I didn’t do anything to her. You killed her, you piece of shit trailer trash, and everyone knows it.”
“Then why did you follow her?” Donovan pressed, taking a step forward.
“I don’t have to answer that,” Mark said.
“Well...” Cal said, drawing the word out. “Yeah, technically, you don’t. Fifth Amendment and all that. But you’re under suspicion for murder, and I try to tell my clients to avoid pleading the fifth when they can. It always makes you look guilty.”
Mark clenched his jaw, then slowly sat back down at his desk. “Fine. I followed her because she was acting weird. I thought she might be sneaking off to do drugs or something.”
“And did you find her doing drugs?” Ash asked.
Mark shook his head. “Nope. I couldn’t find her, so I went home.”
Donovan’s blood started a low boil. “You’re lying. Darcy watched her mom die of an overdose. She didn’t do drugs.”
“But she sold them. And more,” Mark added, his greasy smile slithering back into place. “Ah, I see you didn’t know she’d been whoring herself at the truck stop when she wasn’t spreading her legs for you. She was a slut. You ask me, she got what she deserved.”
Donovan felt like he’d been punched in the chest. “She wouldn’t...” He trailed off because, as much as it hurt, he heard the ring of truth in Mark’s words.
More than anything, Darcy had wanted to escape, but she needed money to do it. How often had she complained that The Grove didn’t pay enough? She was so afraid she’d be stuck in Steam Valley forever that she absolutely would have turned to selling drugs or even her body if it meant she could leave sooner.
He squeezed his eyes shut, his heart aching for the girl he’d once loved to distraction. “You killed her.” He knew it without a doubt.
Mark chuckled and spread his hands. “Even if I did, you can’t prove I was there that night.”
“Watch me,” Ash said, his voice low and dangerous. “Zak, check his computer. We’re looking for any files related to Darcy Cantrell.”
“Wait, I have a better idea,” Cal said and pulled out his phone. He scrolled for a moment and then grinned like the cat who ate the canary and held up the phone so everyone could see the screen. “Look at that. Someone forgot to set their Facebook to private. And, oops, also forgot to go back and delete all of their embarrassing party pictures. If I’m not mistaken, that douchebag playing beer pong on Hidden Beach on October 26, 2007, is you, Mark. And that…” He pinched his fingers on the screen, zooming in on the girl in the background of the photo. “…is Darcy Cantrell.”
“So what if I was there? Doesn’t mean I killed—” His eyes popped wide as Zak pulled a decorative box off the bookshelf and flipped the lid.
Zak stared down into it for a moment, then looked up, his face grim. “Ash.”
Ash crossed to him, looked into the box, and grabbed his handcuffs. “Mark Salas, you’re under arrest for the murder of Darcy Cantrell.”
Donovan held his breath and crossed the room in three long strides. He didn’t want to see what had put that grim horror on his friends’ faces, but he knew he’d never find peace if he didn’t look.
In the box, under a dirty red canvas shoe, was a handful of photos that had obviously been printed at home by a LaserJet printer. They were sloppily cut and yellowed around the edges, but they clearly showed a girl on her knees, her clothes torn off. Her hands were tied behind her back with the tie Mark had been wearing that night. One of her eyes was swollen shut, but the other brimmed with tears as she pleaded with the person behind the camera.
Donovan strode across the office, yanked Mark out of his chair, and slammed a fist into his face until he had two black eyes to match the one Darcy sported in the picture. Then he let the asshole drop to his feet and walked away.
“I didn’t see that,” Cal singsonged and deliberately looked up at the ceiling.
“No?” Zak said, his voice cold. “Because I did. He was clearly resisting arrest and getting violent with a deputy. Right, Ash?”
“That’s exactly what I saw,” the by-the-book sheriff said without a flicker of hesitation and clicked the handcuffs around Mark’s wrists.
