Page 116 of Feared

“And they went upstairs to John’s apartment, where Stretch killed him with a lamp base and then left by the fire escape.”

“No.” Machiavelli shook his head. “I didn’t do any of that. Neither did he.”

“Where was Stretch the night of the murder?”

“With me.”

“Where were you?”

“At the office. I was working. He stays until I go.”

“Were you with anyone else beside him, who could prove it?”

“No.”

“No security guards around?”

“Stretch is security. I was working late.”

“Any cameras?”

Machiavelli rolled his eyes. “I don’t surveil my own offices.”

“Then you have no proof, and no alibi.” Mary didn’t believea word Machiavelli said about his involvement in John’s murder, no matter whether Flavia did or not.

“Mary, I don’t know what to tell you.” Machiavelli looked at her evenly, his brown eyes frank. “I didn’t kill John Foxman. Neither did Stretch. I had nothing to do with it. I would never do that.”

“I don’t believe you.”

Suddenly Flavia moaned, and Machiavelli leaned over, putting his hand on her arm.

“Ma, are you all right?”

“Flavia, are you okay?” Mary asked, worried. She didn’t want to give Flavia a heart attack.

“I’m fine,” Flavia answered, clearing her throat. “Nicky, I believe you didn’t kill John. I believe Stretch didn’t kill John. I don’t think you could ever do a murder, but thatdoesn’t excuse the other terrible things you did.”

“I know, I’m sorry, Ma.”

“No, that’s not good enough. You have gone too far, for too long. I should have stepped in, years ago. Now, you have to make everything right.” Flavia turned to Mary, her face drained. “Mary, what can he do to make this right?Canhe make this right?”

Mary felt sick to her stomach. “John was killed, Flavia. How can you make murder right? Only by going to the police and confessing.”

“He didn’t do it.”

“I didn’t do it,” Machiavelli repeated.

Flavia touched Mary’s hand, squeezing it. “Mare, I know you’re sad about your friend, you miss him and you want to see his killer go to jail. But can you put that aside, for just a minute?”

“No, I can’tput it aside,” Mary answered, barely able to suppress her anger. She couldn’t stand to see Machiavelli slip through her fingers. She hadn’t come this far to come this far. “I don’t believe him, and it’s murder. You can’t put murderaside.”

“Just for a minute.” Flavia shook it off, jittery. “What about the cases you talked about? Did he commit crimes? Were they crimes?”

“No, they were civil wrongs.”

“So he doesn’t go to jail for them?”

“Not for them, no. But for murder, or conspiracy to murder, he sure does, and that’s what I want.” Mary’s chest tightened. “That crime matters more than everything, Flavia. To me, and to everybody else. And it should to you, too.”

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