Page 70 of The Villains We Make

“Second to last. The person who killed him was the last.”

“Well, you can understand, given their history, we were still keen to talk to Mr. Cruz.”

“The shit you people get away with,” Nigella says, shaking her head. She turns to me. “Let’s go.”

I stand up, glare at Wells. “Detective,” I say and turn to follow Nigella out.

“Can we maybe not do this again anytime soon? It’s fucking early, Silas.”

“Trust me, I’d rather have been pretty much anywhere else than here.” We get to Nigella’s car, and she tosses me her keys. I take them, get into the driver’s seat. “Tell me what you know.”

Once we’re in the car, she opens her briefcase and takes out a folder. Before I pull out of the parking spot, I glance at the pictures she has acquired of the crime scene.

“Jesus.” I hate Sullivan Fox. He was a piece of shit. But when I see him lying in a circle of his own piss on the floor of his office, eyes open, a bullet hole in his forehead, it doesn’t make me feel good. The opposite. The look in his eyes, eyes that used to look like mine, is vacant. Is that how mine will look when I’m dead?

“Call Ophelia, will you?” I say and she does.

“Hello?” Ophelia answers over the car speakers.

“O. It’s me.”

“Silas!” I can hear the relief in her voice. “Where are you? What’s happening?”

“I’m on my way to the house. Time of death was two hours after I left so they had to release me.”

“Thank God.”

“Thank Nigella,” I correct. “You okay?”

“I’m fine.”

“Is Hamish there?”

“Yes, he’s here. And you should know, Ethan stopped by.”

“What?”

“Let’s talk when you’re back. I’m going to go have a shower. It’s been a really long morning.”

“You let him into the house?”

“Silas, please.”

“Fine. You be ready to talk when I’m back.”

She disconnects and I drive back a little faster than I maybe should. Once we get to the house, I thank Nigella. She leaves as I climb the stairs to the front door.

“Where is my wife?” I ask Hamish once I’m inside.

He gestures up the stairs and I go up to our bedroom. Ophelia is walking out of the bathroom with a towel wrapped around herself. Her hair is clipped up and dry. I’m angry that she let Ethan in, but when I see her, and when I see how she stops and looks at me, I just take her in my arms and hold her to me. We don’t talk for a long time. I just hold her, and she clings to me.

“I hate this,” she says. “I hate that they can just take you away like that.”

I draw back. “It’s okay. It’s over. Are you okay?”

“You’re asking me if I’m okay when you’re the one they dragged off in handcuffs.”

“Are you? Seeing Ethan couldn’t have been easy.” I hear the edge in my voice.

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