The Lies I Told(41)

He clicked the remote, and the lights of a black, unmarked Crown Vic flashed. “I’ve no idea.”

I shook my head. He was the kind of guy who knew more than he let on. “You know.”

He opened the door, paused for a moment, and then shook his head. “I don’t.”

“They were left outside my apartment door along with my accident report.”

“Don’t know what you’re talking about.” Calmly, he shrugged off his jacket, opened the back door, and slid it onto a waiting hanger. Slamming the door, he settled behind the wheel, turned on the engine, and rolled down the window.

I glanced around, making sure no one was watching. “Of the people you talked to, who do you think was lying to you?”

A humorless smile lifted the corners of his mouth as he pressed his foot on the brake and started the engine with a push of the button. “Everyone lies to cops. It’s a knee-jerk reaction. Even if it’s about something small that has nothing to do with the case, they lie.”

“You think the people you interviewed about Clare’s case were lying.”

“Like I said, everyone lies about something. Even you.” When I didn’t respond, he clicked his seat belt in place. “What were you doing the night Clare died?”

They are all lying.

I could’ve asked him about the email, but he’d deny it just as he had the files. “It had nothing to do with her death.”

“Didn’t it?”

“I’m sure of it.”

“Then why didn’t you tell me the truth?”

“Who’s to say I didn’t?”

“Right.”

I gripped the strap of my purse. “It’s always complicated.”

“Murder is generally not complicated, Marisa. Revenge. Lust. Greed. When it’s all said and done, the underlying motivation is one of those three.”

I stepped closer to the car, making it impossible for him to close the door. “Of the three, which one do you think it was?”

“The autopsy proved she’d had sex, but there was no vaginal bruising.”

“We know she was sleeping with Kurt. And he had a solid alibi.”

“As I’ve said before, your straight-arrow sister was dressed like you that night. She has sex with Kurt, but what if she ran into someone else who thought she was you? Maybe she resisted and was killed for it.”

I drew in a breath. “The killer thought she was me.”

“I don’t know. But just the possibility is why it’s important I know where you were that night.”

“I never went to the party. I went to see Jack Dutton. We did drugs and had sex.”

He held my gaze. “Brit’s boyfriend at the time.”

“They were having trouble. I was mad at her and acting like an immature sixteen-year-old.”

Interest honed his attention. “Why were you mad at Brit?”

“We’d had a fight that day. I caught her going through my dresser drawers. I hated it when she snooped.”

“Could Brit have figured out what you’d done with Jack?”

“That was our first and only night.”

“You were together all night?”

“Yes. I think so.”

“What does that mean?”

“I passed out right after and didn’t wake up until morning. He was in the shower when I came to.”

His gaze sharpened. “You can’t confirm he was with you all night?”

“No.”

He regarded me for a long moment. “Did he ever show interest in you before?”

“I caught him looking a few times, but he never made a move.”

“Would his interest have pissed off Brit?”

“Sure.”

“Clare was dressed like you. It was dark. Mistakes happen. Even to sisters.”

I knew my sister had issues with me, but would she really want to kill me? “Brit was surprised to see me the morning after the New Year’s party.”

“Really?” he asked. “She didn’t know you were out?”

“She said she’d been sick and lost track of time. She asked about Clare. When I told her I didn’t know, she got really worried. But she always worried.”

“After you passed out, Jack could’ve left and gone to the party, correct?”

“He said he stayed at the house and did business.”

Richards didn’t need the blanks filled in. “But he could also have left you.”

“I wouldn’t have known one way or the other.”

Richards gripped the wheel. “Nice guy.”

“I know it sounds harsh. But I was a willing participant. And when I spoke to him yesterday, he said he’d given me new, untested pills that were stronger than he thought.”

“He gave a sixteen-year-old illegal drugs,” Richards pointed out. “And he’d noticed you before. Whose idea was it for you to come by his place?”

“His. He said it would be more private.”

Richards shook his head. “You were set up, Marisa.”

I’d never felt manipulated. I’d blamed the entire night on my string of bad choices. The idea that Jack had set me up was unsettling enough to pivot the conversation in a new direction. “What about greed?”