“He also gave me a name.”
“A name?”
“Landon Keene,” I said. “He said to start with that and see if I found anything.”
“Name doesn’t sound familiar,” she said. “I’ll run it and see if it pops.”
“I honestly don’t think he wants off death row,” I said. “He didn’t talk specifically about killing anyone, but he seemed at ease with what he’d done and where he is now.”
She nodded. We kept walking.
“I met a cop who doesn’t want him off, either,” I said.
She raised an eyebrow in question. I told her about Kenney and what Miranda had told me.
She didn’t seem surprised. “If he thinks Simington killed his nephew, it’s a wonder he didn’t just kill Simington himself.”
“Yep.”
“So that makes two then,” Liz said. “Two what?”
The breeze off the water ruffled through her hair. She pushed it away from her face.
“Two people who don’t want Russell Simington leaving San Quentin,” she said. “That cop and whoever killed Darcy Gill.”
SIXTEEN
We’d arrived at my place just as Carter came barreling down the boardwalk on an old beach cruiser. He hit the brakes and skidded to a halt next to the wall.
He looked at the house, then me. “They find the meth lab?”
“Yeah. The jig is up.”
Liz rolled her eyes. Carter smiled at her. They tolerated each other because of me. Being in the middle of them wasn’t always easy, but I was learning to manage it a little better than in the past.
“I’ll leave you two to … do whatever you do,” Liz said. She put a hand on my shoulder. “I’ll see you later.”
“What the hell is all this?” Carter asked after she walked away.
“Remember the girl who came to see me?”
“Yeah.”
“Dead. Inside.”
He looked at me for a moment like he was trying to figure out if I was kidding. When he realized I wasn’t, he said, “You didn’t do it, did you?”
“Uh, no.”
“Where were you?”
I hesitated. “San Francisco.”
He frowned. “Why?”
“Went to meet the guy she said was my father.” “He lives up there?”
I took a deep breath. Telling Carter the whole truth would be a welcome relief; I could have used his help carrying this burden. I should’ve told him right away.
“He’s a resident of San Quentin,” I said.
“You serious?”
“Unfortunately. He’s on death row.”
He dropped his bike to the sidewalk and sat down on the wall next to me. “Oh, man.”
I told him about my trip, and the end to any uncertainty that I was related to Russell Simington. I told him who Darcy was and why she’d come to see me. Something entered his expression halfway through my explanation, and I was pretty sure it was hurt. I was too chicken to address it.
“And now she’s dead?” he asked when I’d finished.
“Yeah.”
“Probably not a coincidence.”
“No.”
Out on the water, a couple of surfers were trying to make the small waves last a bit longer, bouncing and pivoting against the white water.
“How long have we been friends?” Carter asked. “A long time.”
“There’s not much I’ve ever not told you,” he said. “There’ve been some things you didn’t want to know, but other than that, I think you know more about me than any other person on the planet.”
I knew where he was heading, and I couldn’t hide from it.
