“Finley,unlock the fuckin' car right now!”
Hewrestled to dip his hand into his pocket with shaking fingers. I watched himcarefully, making sure he didn't pull out a knife, as he retrieved the keys.Then, he pushed a button, and the car sounded as the doors were unlocked.
“Now,open the backdoor,” I commanded, stepping away from him to allow a sliver offreedom for him to grasp the handle and pull it open.
AsI peered into the backseat, I pictured the postmortem markings on Grace Allan'sthigh. The imprint of a jagged line, the roll of a car seat’s seam, and theobvious impression of a buckle. I looked at the tear in the cloth of Finley'sbackseat, and although I couldn't say for certain without having the picturesto compare it to, I knew in my gut that this was the seat to leave those markson her leg. This was where her body had been laid, making this the car thattook her body to the woods.
“Wasshe awake when ye killed her?”
Finleywhined and clapped a hand to his forehead. “Oh, God, Brodie, no, Ididnae…”
“Didye also kill Madison Lang?”
“Idinnaeken why ye'resayin'this! Idinnae—”
Ithrust a finger toward the backseat, pointing directly at the tear in the seat.“This!Thisis what gives ye away, Finley, and there's nogettin' around it now!”
Helooked in the direction of my finger and shook his head. “I-I have no—”
“Themark from this tear was on her thigh, Brian,” I said, lowering my voice,knowing there was no way he could talk himself out of this one. “This backseatwas where ye put her body, wasn’t it? Ye killed her, ye drove her to the woods,ye—”
“Oh,God. Oh, God, oh, God …” He shook his head, keeping his hand over his foreheadand chanting to a god that would never help a sinner like him.
“Yelaid her there and did what ye could to make it look like an accident, but yedidnaeplan on mequestionin'anythin'. Ye thought—”
“Brodie,no. No, no, no, no, yegottalisten to me.”
Iwrenched his arms behind his back and steered him in the direction of my car,as I said, “I'll listen when we get to the—”
“No!Brodie, it isn’t my car!”
Frozenon the spot, I asked, “What?”
“It’snot mine!” He pressed the back of his head to my shoulder. “Ah, Christ, itisn’t mine!”
“Whoseis it?Yerwife?” I demanded, hissing into his ear.
“No!Oh, God, no!” he cried out, desperate and wrung out. “It's Sharp's!”
Hewas sobbing now, crying unabashedly in the middle of the bustling touriststreet, and I just stood there, unable to believe that Finley and I had beenlooking at each other, and never at a man that had been right under our nosesthe whole time.
“I'ma fuckin' fool,” I muttered, releasing hisarmsandhurrying back toward my car.
“Whereare yegoin'?” Finley called, running after me.
“Tofind Sharp,” I grunted, as I climbed in, while praying to God he hadn’t foundRosie first.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
ROSIE
“So,Sharpsaid to go straight to the station?” Rick asked, as hepulled on his shoes and grabbed his coat.
“Yeah,”I replied, hoping I had heardall ofhis instructionsclearly. “Hesaid that Alec had Finley and wasinterrogating him. They want to getsome kind of statementfrom me—”
“HasAlec contacted ye?”
Ishook my head, watching as he slid his arms into his coat. “No, but I mean,he's probably been a little busy. When would he have had the chance to text orcall?”
