Page 109 of Sinister Legacy
The right side of his mouth lifts. “This is Blackwoods. Rumors fly.”
“Rumors are mere hearsay,” Riveiro points out, reaching for her cold takeout coffee.
“Aren’t you trying to pin the murders on me based on hearsay?”
“Fingerprints aren’t hearsay, boy.”
“They are when they’re absent from the actual crime scene.”
Riveiro takes a sip, puts her cup back down, and levels him with a serious look. “Look, your fingerprints weren’t absent from the crime scene. We found them in Keira’s ro—”
“Did you find any of my DNA on the head? Any fingerprints at all in or around the car?”
“That means nothing,” she grits out, losing her patience. “Despite the blood, the crime scene in the car was immaculate. The killer knew how to cover his tracks.”
“So… I litter Keira’s bedroom with my fingerprints but keep the head and the car immaculately clean? Wouldn’t it be more reasonable to fuck Keira and leave as little evidence as possible of me entering her bedroom in the first place? At least that way, I’d avoid being here now, listening to your farfetched bullshit.”
Beside me, Riveiro crosses her arms and huffs a breath through her nose. She opens her mouth to retort, but the door flies open and a man in a gray suit walks inside. He throws a brown folder down on top of mine, puts his leather satchel on the steel desk, and starts to unzip it. “The name is Mr. Morton, and I’m representing Mr. Knight. My client will not answer any further questions.”
Blowing out a sigh, I scrub a hand over my face. Time’s up, and we have nothing. “There’s enough evidence to keep him overnight,” I say, scooting my chair back and sliding my folder out from underneath his.
“The fuck there is!” King blurts, but his attorney shoots him a stern look.
“Your client’s fingerprints were found in Miss Hill’s bedroom on the day of the homicides of two of my colleagues.”
“Because we fuck,” King emphasizes, his eyes wild and angry. “I didn’t kill anyone.”
His attorney ignores his outburst, sliding his hands into his pockets. To me, he says, “Circumstantial at best and won’t lead to a conviction.”
Riveiro grabs her cup and walks out of the room. I was hoping to coax a confession out of him without all this hassle, but it looks like I have no choice but to pull out the big guns.
I open my thick folder and slip out a handful of printed photographs—a small selection from the disturbingly large collection we unearthed on King’s phone.
King’s eyes pop wide open when I place them down in front of him.
“What the hell?” he breathes out.
I point to the picture on top—a photograph of Liam and Keira having sex in Liam’s bed—and say, “Did you or did you not spy on her through Liam’s window?”
“Where did you get this?”
“One of Liam’s friends handed in your phone to the police after he was reported missing.” I let the words sink in before adding, “What we found on it was disturbing, to say the least. You’ve had an obsession with Keira for quite some time. Years even.”
“That’s enough,” King’s attorney barks, motioning for King to stand. “We’re done here, Mr. Wells. I need to speak to my client in private.”
“That’s fine.” I swipe up the photographs before addressing King. “I’ll be seeing you again soon. I’m glad you have good representation, son. You’ll need it.”
Staring blindly at my open window, I wait up for King all night. I don’t even care about the freezing cold turning my fingers numb or the possibility of the killer climbing inside. All I care about is King.
I check my phone, but of course there’s nothing from King. His phone is still missing.
Seated on the settee in her gown, Mom drinks wine in front of the TV when I finally emerge from my bedroom the next morning on the hunt for something to eat.
We resemble each other now.
Living ghosts.
As I step deeper into the living room, my eyes skate to the TV. Mom is watching her and Allen’s wedding video.
