Page 93 of Coram House

“Don’t quote Faulkner at me,” I spit. “You shouldn’t have brought me here if you wanted it to stay past.”

I open the front door and walk into the gray winter day, leaving it wide open behind me.

Two blocks from Stedsan’s house, I have to pull over. Rage courses through me. It started out as anger at Stedsan—for lying to me about what he knows. For hiring me because he thought I’d do a shit job. For being a smug old man who thinks money and powerful friends means he can buy whatever legacy he wants. But it’s beyond that now. The anger is crushing. It’s intoxicating. I could open my veins and bleed molten lava. I lay my head against the cool of the steering wheel and will myself not to cry. Crying when you’re angry feels so pathetic.

Instead, I call Parker, without letting myself think about how I’m mad at him too. He picks up on the first ring. “Hey,” he says. He sounds wary.

“I just met with Stedsan,” I say. “He confirmed what I told you. Bill Campbell wanted the case settled. So he paid people off—including Fred Rooney. Alan knew what was going on and, on top of that, he knew Bill was trying to discredit Sarah Dale’s story. And he used it all, Parker. He used Tommy’s murder to negotiate the settlement.”

There’s a moment of silence on the other end. I wonder if Parker is as stunned as I am. Or if he’s about to tell me it’s not relevant to the case. To go home and stay out of it. That might kill me.

“Does he have proof?” he asks finally.

“Not that he’s going to share, trust me.”

“That’s what a subpoena is for,” Parker says, his voice hard.

It feels good to hear my anger mirrored in his voice.

“Attorney-client privilege,” I say. “Bill was his client. They were all his clients.” I lean my head back against the seat. “But you knew this already. I—I don’t know why I’m calling.”

Except I do. I take a deep breath.

“Parker, what if Bill Campbell killed Rooney? What if Rooney had been blackmailing him all this time and that’s what the deposits were? Maybe he’d—I don’t know—he’d had enough.”

“Fred was blackmailing Bill for payinghima bribe? That’s pretty ballsy.”

I laugh. “Did you meet Fred Rooney?”

It’s exactly something he would do, and Parker knows it.

“And how does Jeannette Leroy fit into this theory?” He sounds curious.

“I don’t know,” I admit. Bill had access to the canoe, but the rest—Bill crouching in the woods, smashing Sister Cecile’s head in with a rock—without a motive, it’s hard to imagine.

“There’s something else, Alex.” His tone makes me sit up straight.

“We’re starting to get some press interest in this. Local reporters, mostly. But there have been a few calls to the station.”

“Do they know about the history—about the connection to Coram House?”

He pauses. “No.”

But I hear what he doesn’t say:not yet. My throat feels like someone is squeezing it. Time. I need more time.

“Alex, I need you to sit on this. Not forever. Just for a day or two. We’re getting the rest of the financials from Rooney’s accounts. And we’ll know more then. It will all be over soon.”

“I’m not good at sitting on things.”

“I know. That’s why I’m asking.”

I glance at the dashboard and see it’s past one o’clock. I’m supposed to be at Xander’s for ice sailing at two. “Shit,” I say.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” I sigh. “I’m just— I’m late for something.”

“I should go too.”

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