The 17th Suspect (Women's Murder Club #17)(63)

“Why?”

“You have a problem speaking on the record, Marc?”

“I guess not. But why do you want to do it?”

“I want to ask you some questions about Paul Yates,” Yuki said. “I’ve seen his death certificate. It’s official. Suicide by hanging. Do you have any idea why he killed himself?”

Marc’s defiance withered, and it looked like tears were about to spring out of his eyes. Yuki really didn’t care.

Marc cleared his throat a couple of times and said, “I just heard. It’s horrible. I haven’t spoken with Paul since, I don’t know. A week. I don’t know what to say.”

Yuki asked him again. “Marc. Do you have any thoughts why he would have hanged himself?”

“You’re asking if it’s about what happened during the trial?”

Yuki didn’t answer, just kept her eyes on Marc.

Marc said, “Maybe you’re right. Oh, man. He’s a pretty sensitive guy. Was. I shouldn’t have even told you about him. You would never have even heard his name if it weren’t for me. Oh, my God. I don’t know what to do or say. I want it all to stop.”

“Did you know that when Paul was in college, he was arrested for trying to blackmail a professor?”

Marc looked at her as if she were pointing a gun at him.

He said, “No. Of course not.”

Yuki slapped her desk. “Stop lying to me.”

He recoiled, then said, “Okay, okay, Paul told me about what he did in college. I don’t see what that has to do with anything. It was harmless. Look. Yuki. I want you to drop the charges against Briana. This has gotten out of hand. Can we just draw this whole thing to a close?”

“Drop the charges? You mean I should tell the judge what, Marc? The prosecution changed its mind?”

“Can you do that?”

“Tell me what happened with you, Paul, and Briana,” she said.

“What more is there to tell?” he asked her.

“Plenty. Feel free to fill in the blanks.”

Yuki took a sheet of paper out of a folder on her desk and flashed it at Marc.

“This is Paul’s suicide note.”

“No. Please. Please don’t read it to me.”

“I’ll skip around,” Yuki said. “Paul said that he’s sorry. He didn’t mean to lie about Briana. He wishes he’d never met you, Marc. He wishes he’d aimed higher when he shot you, at your request.”

Marc was saying, “Oh, God. Oh, God,” and crying now, hands over his eyes. Compared with the tears he had shed on the witness stand, this was a very ugly cry.

Yuki went on. “Here’s a quote: ‘Please tell Briana I know what I did was wrong and I am more sorry than she can ever know or believe for hurting her. I hope one day she can forgive me.’ That’s about it, Marc. And he wrote an apology to his girlfriend and his parents for taking his life.”

She gave the criminal liar sitting across from her direct eye contact. “Marc. Was this accusation that Briana Hill raped you a lie?”

He nodded.

“Speak up, Marc. Is that a yes?” Yuki asked.

“Yes. It was what she said it was. A game.”

“You and Paul cooked this up together? To frame her for rape and blackmail her?”

“It was my idea,” Marc said, his voice just barely audible. “Paul helped me.”

“Helped you plan?” Yuki asked.

“Yes.”

“And he shot you?”

“I asked him to do it.”

“But you were going to cut him in?”

“Yes to all of that,” Marc told Yuki. He looked broken, and Yuki felt that he was finally telling the truth.

“Why, Marc? Why did you do this?”

He grabbed the arms of the chair and lunged toward her, shouting, “Can’t you see what a ballbuster she is?”

There it was—his anger and his venom. His dark side that he’d used to bring down Briana Hill. It would now fuel his own reversal of fortune.

Yuki drew back and said, “Oh, my God.”

Marc sagged in the chair. His voice was breaking when he asked, “What’s going to happen to me?”

“I’ll let you know. Stay here.”

Marc said, “I’m going to be sick.”

“That makes two of us.”

Yuki reached under her desk, pulled out the trash can, and walked it over to where Marc was slumped over his knees. She handed him the wastebasket and said, “You’re despicable.”

She picked her phone up off the desk, left the room, and walked down the hall to Red Dog’s office.

He was waiting for her.





CHAPTER 94


YUKI PARKED HER car on Clayton Street in front of the pretty, shingled condo building where Briana Hill lived.

She grabbed her car keys and stepped out onto the tree-shaded residential block, walked up stone steps and under a trellis. She paused for a moment, checking her anxiety level, and then rang the doorbell.

She heard footsteps, the click of the peephole, followed by the clack of the lock. And there was Briana in her pink-and-blue-striped pajamas, smelling of liquor at three in the afternoon.

“What are you doing here?” Briana asked her.