Page 120 of The Killing Plains

“I was scared.”

“Of—?”

“Of the all-white police force, what do you think? I figured it was safer to keep my mouth shut—at the time.”

“Oh, come on.”

Niall smiled grimly. “You don’t get it. Nobody knew us in Crescent Bluff, and I was a fatherless Black adolescent—the most suspicious demographic in America to the average white cop.”

“Avery says everyone admired you.”

“In high school, sure. Other kids hung around me because their parents told them not to. I was the bad boy, if you can believe it.Me.” He laughed sourly.

“You were scared to report finding Adam because you’re Black—you’re sticking to that?” Colly asked.

“I was also grieving and confused.” Niall’s eyes flashed with the first sign of anger. “Is it that hard to believe? Jesus, I thought maybe you were different.”

“Right, I’m the bad guy. What’s your excuse with Denny and Willis? You weren’t a teenager whentheydied.”

Niall stared at her blankly. “Denny and Willis?”

Colly picked up a hare’s mask. “Police never released this detail to the public. You’re the only person who knew.”

Niall frowned. “Are you saying hares’ masks were found with Denny and Willis, also?”

“Don’t play dumb.”

“I had no idea—I promise you.” He held up his hands, palms outward.

Colly reached for the gun. “Don’t move.”

“Sorry—you caught me off guard.” Niall returned his hands to the armrests. “Look, I pulled Adam out of the pond and put the mask in his hand—but that’s all. I never met Willis, and I was at a conference seven hundred miles from here when Denny died.”

He looked so genuinely bewildered that Colly felt a stirring of doubt. “Why would you leave a rabbit face on a little boy’s corpse? That’s pretty sick.”

“They’re used to make flies. If you’ll let me up, I’ll show you.” He nodded towards a tackle box by the wall.

“Stay there.” Keeping her eyes on him, Colly carried the gun with her as she fetched the box and set it on the workbench. She opened the lid. Inside, in divided compartments, were dozens of tiny barbed tufts of fuzz. She looked inquiringly at Niall.

“See the brown and gray ones on the bottom left?” he said. “They’re dry flies made with turkey tail feathers and fur from an English hare. The pink wings come from strands of chenille ribbon. My own invention—the ‘AnNiallator.’”

“AnNiallator?”

“Dumb, I know. I was twelve when I named it. I’ve caught some great trophy trout with those.” Even in the stress of the current moment, there was a note of pride in his voice.

“There aren’t any English hares in Texas.”

Niall blinked in surprise. “I don’t kill and skin the things myself. Sporting-goods stores carry hares’ masks—at least up north, they do. But I got mine online. They’re perfect for dry-fly tyingbecause they have so many types of fur on them—guard hairs, underfur, whiskers, hackles.”

Colly squinted at him, deliberating. “Your waders are size ten, just like the footprints by Denny’s body.”

“I told you, I was in Phoenix. Take the waders, run any tests you want.”

“What about this rolling case?” Colly gestured towards the black box by the workbench. “Why is it locked?”

“My custom fly-rods are in there. They’re worth more than my Jeep. You’ve got my keys—see for yourself.”

Colly did as he suggested. “Okay, okay.” She sat back down. “Let’s say I buy your story. I still don’t understand why you’d leave one of these masks on Adam’s body. Were you trying to mess with the cops?”

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