“She'sdead,” Rosie spoke, her voice rasped, scraping against her throat, and soundingas though speaking hurt.
Jamesturned to her abruptly, eyes growing wider still. “No,” he said, raising hisvoice. “She, she can’t—”
“It'sthe truth, lad,” I said. “She was found just the other day, and it seems youwere the last person to see her alive. So, I'd appreciate it if ye'd answer afew—”
Therewas more to say to James Eddington, with plenty of questions to ask and cluesto find. But before I was able to finish my sentence, it occurred to him thathe was my key suspect. The only suspect, in fact, and without a second thought,without a single word spoken, he turned and ran out the backdoor of therestaurant.
“Fuckin'bastard,” I groaned, wrapping my hand around theknifeand taking off after him.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
ALEC
Jamesran quickly through the back alleys behind the restaurant and onto the road, hisarms pumping and the rubber soles of his tennis shoes slapping noisily againstthe asphalt. I followed closely, with my lungs burning and reminding me of howlong it’d been since I ran after a panicked suspect.
“James!”I shouted over the honking of cars, as I dodged an elderly woman walking herdog. “Stoprunnin’!”
Heignored my orders, as he continued down the road and turned down the dirt pathleading to the very woods where Grace was discovered. Approaching the ominousthicket of darkened trees, a flash of memory washed over me, clouding my visionof the frantic man before me.
A-A-A-Alec!Theytaunted, their voices traveling through the pitch-black night, blending withthe chatter of rustling leaves.Are-are-are ye s-s-s-scared, A-A-A-Alec?
Achill trickled down my spine, the bony fingers of the dead past tickling withevery inch, and I firmly pressed the memory down as I ran on, reminding myselfof what I was doing and why. I had fallen behind a few steps, James was nowfurther out of my reach, and I urged my body to move faster and harder. Ineeded to close in on the bastard before he breachedCoilleFeannagand had the protection of the trees.
“Leaveme the fuck alone!” Jamescried,his voice shrill.
“Ijustwannatalk to ye, man!”
Christ,my lungs ached and threatened to collapse with every tortured breath, and mylegs screamed for relief. But he was slowing down now. He was so close, and allI needed was to run just a little faster, just get a little closer, and I’dhave him in my grasp.
“Ididnaedoanythin’! I swearon my mother’s life, Ididnaedo a fuckin’ thing tothat girl—oof!”
Ijumped on his back, tackling him to the ground, just outside the forest’sentrance. The opening in the trees stood beside me, gaping and hungry, ready toswallow me whole. With a shiver, I focused my full attention on the man pinnedbetween the ground and my chest.
“Getoff me!” he cried out, fingers clawing at the soil and grass.
Thrustingthe knife into the ground, I wrapped both arms around his chest and held tightas he struggled for freedom. “Tell me what happened with Grace, and—ah!”I exclaimed, as he managed to kick the heel of his shoe against my shin.
Ignoringthe pain in my leg, I moved quickly, grappling for his wrists, and yanking themdown to pin behind his back. He cried out at the forceful pull of his arms.
“Ye’rehurtin’ me!”
“Idon’twannahurt ye, mate. Just tell me—”
“Iknownothin’! Please, I swear it. Ididnaedoanythin’.” His voiceyielded strength, but his struggling subsided, as he began to shamelessly weepinto the dirt beneath his cheek.
“Comeon, now. What happened to Grace?” I asked, speaking calmly and steadily,despite the strain in my lungs.
“Idinnaeken!” he shouted, crying against the ground.“I have no fuckin’ clue what happened to her, man. I s-swear!”
Sensetold me he was telling the truth. His tears were too real, his fear and defeatwere too genuine, but history has shown that great killers are often greatactors. I couldn’t let him go, not yet, but I did ease my hold on his wrists, akindness and a lapse of judgment, and the bastard took advantage. He slippedfrom my grasp and rolled, throwing me to the ground. I thought he’d attack, andI feared he’d grab the knife, standing erect from the earth. But he didn’t.Instead, he ran, straight into the gaping gullet of the forest.
“Yefuckin’ arsehole, Brodie,” I muttered angrily, before taking off after him onceagain.
Butluckily, I didn’t have to run for long.
Immediately,I found him, leaning against the trunk of an old oak, heaving with sobs.
“I-Ididnaedoanythin’ to her,”he cried, gasping into his palm.
