“I started to call the police,” he said. “Show you what it felt like to be unjustly accused. But my brother reminded me of what happened last time. He reminded me that the APD still carries a grudge for me. And he was right. Because here you are, vindictive as ever.”
“I’m here to see that justice is served.”
“Really? Me too. How coincidental.” He blinked rapidly, but he didn’t break eye contact. “So. About that. What were you doing at ten o’clock on Friday night?”
Trey’s voice was monotone. “I was asleep.”
“Let me guess. Not alone.” Nick said this with a knowing look in my direction. “The irony of it all, you telling me you couldn’t have done it because the woman you were sleeping with says you were with her. What did you call it four years ago, when I said the exact same thing?”
“A soft alibi.”
Nick’s smile twitched, but did not fade. “Right.”
It suddenly occurred to me that perhaps Finn had misinterpreted this entire setup and that I’d let Trey get drawn into a booby trap. I stood up and went to his side, but he didn’t look at me. He kept his attention on Nick, and I knew this was the moment he’d been waiting for.
“Mr. Talbot,” he said. “Did you kill your wife?”
Nick sighed. “Seriously? After everything that came out, you still think I did it?”
“I do.”
“You’re wrong.”
“Then say it.”
“Say what?”
Trey’s expression never wavered. “Say you didn’t kill her.”
Nick returned the stare. “I didn’t kill Jessica.”
Trey froze. “Say it again.”
“Why?”
“Just do it.”
Nick’s voice grew more adamant. “I did not kill my wife. And I don’t know who did.”
Trey went pale. Before I could speak, he turned and pushed open the door. He took the steps two at a time, then hit the ground and started pacing. Not the thoughtful kind of pacing. The kind that happened when he was trying to bleed off a bunch of frustration before he exploded and took out a few square miles of humanity.
I quick-stepped down the stairs after him. “Trey—”
“He’s telling the truth.”
“I guessed as much.”
He pressed his thumb between his eyebrows, still pacing. This was not what he’d expected. He’d expected that Nick Talbot would lie, and then he’d catch it, and then the march toward justice and retribution would begin. Except for the inconvenient fact that Nick was innocent.
“Trey—”
“All the evidence. Every piece of it. I’m not…I can’t…”
I put myself into his path. “Stop pacing and look at me.”
He did both, and I breathed a silent sigh of relief. Good. He was listening and following instructions. I could work with that.
I placed one hand against his stomach. “Deep breath. All the way in.”
He inhaled, and I felt his diaphragm expand. I placed my other hand against the center of his chest, and his heart galloped against my palm. People came and went in streams around us, talking on cell phones, eyes on clipboards.
“Now count with me,” I said. “You know the drill.”
He swallowed, drew in a shaky breath. “One.”
He’d talked me down in exactly this same manner many, many times, his hands grounding and calming, his voice like a clear white light I could follow out of the dark. I took him by the hand and led him to a folding chair next to the steps. He sat, elbows to knees, still counting on the inhales and exhales.
I knelt in front of him. “Look. You came here with an idea. It was an idea based on evidence and experience, but it was an idea you made a long time ago.”
Trey was breathing more steadily now. “Go on.”
“Things have changed. You now know he didn’t do it. Which means you gotta let go of the idea that this is the day you finally bring Nick Talbot to justice.”
He drew in a deep breath, let it halfway out, a sniper’s trick. “Yes. You’re right, of course.” Then he squared his shoulders, stood, and started back into the trailer.
I grabbed his elbow. “Whoa, whoa! What are you doing?”
He had one foot on the ground and one on the step. “I need to talk to him some more.”
“Why?”
Trey looked perplexed. “Because he didn’t kill his wife.”
I should have seen it coming. We’d discovered that the man he’d decided was guilty beyond a shadow of a doubt, the man whose freedom irritated him like a splinter, was, in fact, innocent. Trey was still in the justice game, only now he had a different goal.
I didn’t let go of his arm. “You sure this is a good idea?”
“No. Do you have a better one?”
“Not right this second.”
“Okay then.” He disengaged himself from my grasp. “We’ll continue with this one.”
Chapter Seventeen
So we went back in the trailer. Nick had a cigarette going, and the air inside was bluish with tobacco smoke. My throat caught at the scent, and my fingertips itched. Nick jumped when he saw us, then blew a narrow stream of smoke in our direction.
“You’re back.”
Trey cocked his head. “You didn’t kill her.”
“Of course I didn’t! That’s the whole point!” He tapped ash into an empty coffee mug and returned to the stylist chair. “Look, I sat through your testimony at the indictment, and I know what it looked like. Hell, if I hadn’t had Addison keeping me straight, I might have started thinking I did it too. But I didn’t kill Jessica. I loved her.”
“Then why were you having an affair?”
“Because Jessica didn’t love me.” He sucked at the cigarette, let the smoke wallow in his mouth. “She wanted a divorce.”
“But you didn’t,” I said.
“No, I was fine with a divorce. Not so fine with the money she wanted.” He examined the smoldering tip of the cigarette, and behind the softness I
