Page 75 of Girl, Fractured

‘Right, and thissomeoneleaving Frank’s house – what did he look like?’

Nicholls gulped air like a drowning man breaching the surface.‘Don’t know.He was wearing all black.Had a hood over his face.That’s why I knew something bad was going down.’

The lie detector in Ripley’s brain pinged above baseline but below outright fabrication.A partial truth, then.

‘He?Are you sure about that?’

‘No.’

‘Then what?’

‘Then I went home.The next day I heard Frank had been killed, and…’

Ripley leaned back on the desk.‘So you decided to confess to a murder you didn’t commit.What the fuck is wrong with you?’

‘Because I was worried he’d come for me next!’Nicholls shouted.The outburst propelled him a few inches off his chair.It was the first display of realism she’d seen since he kicked her in the head.

‘What, you think the killer saw you?’

‘Yes.The GPS screen was on in my car.It was bright.Easy to see my face.And when you arrived at my café, I panicked, because I suddenly knew how this would look.Strange guy shows up using a fake name, obsessing over the case, then Frank turns up dead?I was going to be the perfect fall guy.’

‘So you ran.’

‘Wouldn’t you?I figured jail was coming either way.Either the real killer gets me, or the justice system does.At least in here, I’ve got four walls and people with guns protecting me.’

Clarity crashed over Ripley like ice water.‘You’d rather take credit for murder than risk being the killer’s next victim.And you wanted to wait here in safety until we caught the actual killer?’

Nicholls said nothing, but his silence spoke volumes.She took a second to take in the whole thing in a linear fashion.Ripley had to admit that Nicholls played a good game of 4D chess here.He’d assigned himself witness protection without his protectors even being aware of it.

‘Nicholls, if I didn’t care about my pension, this is the part where I’d smack you in the face.Again.’

‘It was wrong.I know.I’m sorry.’

Ripley pulled out her cell and texted Ella.Nicholls is innocent, confirmed.She hoped her partner was having more luck finding a solid connection over at Thomas Webb’s house.

‘Why didn’t you just tell the police what you saw?’

Josiah Nicholls laughed.‘I know how the police work.I saw you fumble my mom’s murder case in real time.As if you guys would give me any protection that was worth a damn.’

She had to hand it to him.For once, Nicholls had a point.Thirty years in the Bureau had given her a front-row seat to the spectacular failures of witness protection.

‘Doesn’t make what you did any less stupid,’ she added.‘You realize while we’ve been chasing our tails with you, this psycho has nailed a man to his chair?’

‘Jesus.I’m so sorry.I was just scared.’

Ripley mentally ran through everything again, every discrepancy she’d been questioning since she first heard Josiah Nicholls’ name, and there was only one thing she didn’t have an answer for.

‘What about the Marlowe police report in your apartment?And the stones?You had a pile of them?’

‘So?’

Ripley paused.That was his response?Not denial, not another convoluted explanation, just -so?It was the blankness of someone who didn’t grasp the significance of what she was asking.

And in that blankness, another piece clicked into place.

At no point in any of their interactions, not even during his initial false confession, had Josiah Nicholls ever mentioned stones being placed in Frank Sullivan’s eyes.

‘Nicholls… what do you think happened to Frank?’