Page 84 of Carbon

“So, our guy could have used a female accomplice to collect the sample for him.”

“You mean she slept with him, just so he could be framed later?”

“Precisely.”

Emmy was right—I did feel ill. Blood whooshed in my ears as I sat back and willed myself not to faint. “That’s insane.”

“But it happens. I can name three prominent figures who fell from grace after falling for the charms of the wrong woman.”

“Are you serious?”

“Deadly.”

“How do you know?”

“Because I know the woman.”

“But that’s insane! I mean, you should tell somebody. Those poor men, having their lives turned upside down like that.”

“One was a prominent anti-gay campaigner responsible for inciting riots that led to the deaths of three people and the misery of thousands more. He disappeared from radar after a sex tape of him with a younger man emerged, and the clincher? DNA evidence on the sheets.”

“Oh my goodness. You’re talking about Ryland Hughes?”

The story had been all over the news the year before last, and Angie had shown me the grainy tape on some dodgy internet site. At the time, Hughes had denied ever sleeping with another man. The evidence had been planted?

“No names. But don’t you think he deserved it?”

I recalled the arrogant, opinionated asswipe who’d dominated so many broadcasts with the hate he spewed. “I guess he did.”

“So, it goes to show the method works.”

“What’s the second way?”

“Did you use condoms when you slept with Beau?”

“Yes.”

“And what happened to them afterwards?”

“Surely you can’t think that I had something—”

“Not you, but what happened to them?”

“I don’t know. It’s not something I thought about. Wait, the last night in the pool house, Beau tied a knot in the end of one and dropped it on the floor. I guess he must have taken it with him because I don’t remember seeing it later, and the police didn’t find it.”

“If he threw them in the bin instead of flushing them, it’s possible somebody took one. We already know the guy had a key to Beau’s cottage.”

“But how did the bastard know to look...?” It hit me then, like being slammed into a brick wall by a professional wrestler. “He was watching us? Those nights I was with Beau, that sick freak was watching us?”

I clawed at the door handle, so desperate to get out that the speed of the car didn’t register.

“Hey! We’re doing fifty.”

“I’m going to throw up.”

Emmy did an emergency stop, slewing to a halt just as I got the door open, leaned out, and puked. The seatbelt cut across my stomach. She released me, then climbed out and came to the passenger side, stepping around the remains of the croutons and a few lettuce leaves I’d managed to force down earlier.

“Here, have a tissue.”

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