Cards of Love: The Devil (Devil's Playground #1)(48)

Cain





Past…


“I’m sorry, what?” Under the table, I wipe my sweaty palms on my pants. “What does that mean?”

It’s been a little over forty-eight hours since the fire, and early this morning I received a phone call asking me to come down to the local precinct. I wasn’t nervous…until now.

Detective Trejo steeples his hands and places them on the table. He went to high school with my dad and they stayed friends throughout the years, so I know the loss is hitting him hard. Unfortunately for me, it means he’s personally invested in the case.

“Son,” he says slowly, like I’m a goddamn idiot. “When people perish in a fire, there are certain things you expect to find in regards to the body. Your father, for instance, had soot in his throat and lungs. He was also found crouched on the floor of his bedroom facing the door, which indicates he was trying to escape when he passed.”

My expression changes to one of anguish. “Why didn’t he jump out the window?” I rub my forehead, forcing myself to breathe. “I’m sorry. I didn’t…it’s just…”

He holds up a hand. “It’s all right. Anger is part of grieving. And to answer your question, it’s most likely because the house was already engulfed in flames by the time he woke up, making it impossible to see a path to safety.” He frowns. “The autopsy report showed traces of an over the counter sleeping pill. Not enough to cause damage, but more than the standard amount recommended. That combined with the fire would result in him being highly disoriented.”

Blowing out a breath, I look up at the ceiling. “He mentioned he was stressed with work and having trouble sleeping during dinner that night. I didn’t think anything of it at the time, but if I did maybe he’d still be here.”

He holds up a hand. “Your father wouldn’t want you to blame yourself. There’s no way you could have known what was going to happen.”

Gripping the back of my neck, I look down at the table. “Right.” My brows furrow. “Sorry, you were trying to tell me something important about my brother before. What was it?”

“Ah, yes.” He folds his hands on the table again. “The autopsy determined your father was killed during the fire. Caleb’s death, however, is a different story.”

I blink. “How so?”

“There were no traces of soot in his throat or lungs, and his carbon dioxide levels were inconsistent with those who die in fires. Also, the position he was found in was…abnormal given the nature of the situation.”

My palms begin to sweat again. “Abnormal how?”

“He was found lying in a supine position on his bed. Granted, your brother’s room was farthest from where the fire started in the kitchen, but he still suffered some exterior burns.” He gives me a solemn look. “Cain, what I’m about to tell you is serious.”

My heart is pounding so fast I’m surprised he can’t hear it from where he’s sitting. “I’m listening.”

He puts down his pen. “Given the unusual findings, the medical examiner is confident your brother did not die in the fire…but before it. There were signs—for instance, his bloodshot eyes—that give him reason to believe Caleb was intentionally suffocated and the fire was staged as a coverup.”

“Wait, you’re saying someone killed my brother?”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying. And the only way we’re going to get to the bottom of this is if you’re completely honest with me. Understand?”

I nod.

He places his notepad in front of him. “Does Caleb have any enemies? Someone he doesn’t get along with?”

My mouth goes dry. “No, none that I can think of. Everyone loved him. He was awesome.”

“Cain.”

“Yes?”

“I know it’s hard, but I really need you to think.”

“I’m telling you the truth, Detective. Caleb didn’t have any enemies.”

He runs his finger over his lips. “What about you?”

“What about me?”

“He’s your identical twin. Perhaps someone holding a grudge against you thought he was you.”

“I thought you said he was in his bedroom? We have separate bedrooms. Why would someone think he was me?”

He shrugs. “Maybe someone broke in without knowing the layout of the house.”

“Wouldn’t that be risky?” I take a shallow breath. “Not to be disrespectful, but if someone is going to commit such a heinous act, you would assume they’d take the proper measures to ensure they wouldn’t get caught.”

His eyes narrow. “I’ve been working homicide for over fifteen years, Cain. Trust me when I tell you…every murderer leaves a clue behind. And it’s up to people like me to find it.” He sits up straight. “Can you think of anyone who might want to harm you?”

“No. I don’t have any enemies either. I mean, my ex-girlfriend isn’t too fond of me right now, but she’d never harm me. Plus, she knows exactly where my bedroom is, so she’d never mistake me—” My eyes widen. “Shit.”

The detective practically hops over the table. “What?”

“Nothing.” I close my eyes. “It’s nothing.”