Page 51

A lightning flash, hiss and whirr of the camera.

Placard gripped in Jet’s left hand.

Name: Margaret Mason

‘Stop looking down at the slate. Look over here at the camera, please.’

She did, blinded by the white light, erasing everything: the room, the booking officer, even Jet, leaving only that unending ache behind her eye.

‘Turn to the side.’

Another flash.

Time slipping, her mind skipping between snapshots, the ache taking up too much space.

Cuffed to a bench.

Another pat-down search.

‘Do you have any weapons on you?’

‘No,’ she said for the second time.

The bench again.

‘Place your hand on the glass scanner, fingers apart.’

Green light under the glass, a bright line moving up and down, Jet’s fingerprints appearing on the computer screen. Black ink, like four dark hooded figures seen from a distance, the crosshatch lines and swirls hidden in her skin.

‘Right hand.’

‘I can’t lift it.’

‘Right hand!’

Pushed into another chair: metal, small. Inside the interview room, the same one Jet had been in before, that digital clock hanging above her, ticking down, close to the end now. Red flickering numbers, the color of blood, a slow trickle through her brain, the color of fire, roaring at her heels.

Jet was cuffed again, the metal imprinting in her wrists. Her working arm tied to her dead arm, dragging both up, elbows on the table.

‘Stop looking at the clock, look at me,’ said the chief, sitting across from her, Sergeant Jack Finney beside him. A dance they’d all danced before, except Jet couldn’t leave this time, locks and chains.

‘I already told you, I did not fucking burn down Mason Construction,’ she growled, her voice strange and flat, now the hope was all gone. ‘It wasn’t me.’

‘This is a very serious offense,’ the chief said. ‘A class B felony. You understand that, right, Jet?’

‘Yes. And do you understand that I have about thirty-six hours to live because someone murdered me a week ago?’ Voice even stranger, flatter. Jet looked at Jack instead, his eyes kinder, more familiar; not quite Billy’s, but the closest she’d find in here. ‘You have to let me go.’

‘I’m afraid we can’t do that,’ the chief cut in.

‘I’m dying!’ Jet smacked her left fist on the table, a flash behind her eyes, that fiery edge of hell inside her head now, almost falling in.

‘That doesn’t make a difference,’ he sniffed. ‘The law is the law. We have enough evidence to place you at the –’

‘– What evidence?’

The chief sighed, reaching for the file, the file sighing too, against the table.

‘You told us you were at Billy Finney’s apartment all night on Wednesday, November fifth.’

‘Yes, I was.’

‘We know that’s a lie, Jet,’ Jack said, like it hurt to do it, avoiding her eyes.

The chief removed something from the file, a photograph printed on paper. He slid it across and turned it around so Jet could see.

It was a picture of her truck, taken from behind. The world dark around it, lit only by the moon and the flash of the camera. It was parked up on the side of the road, near the entrance to Mason Construction.

Jet didn’t react, pushed the photo away. ‘It’s my dad’s company, I’ve been there a lot. This could be any time, doesn’t prove anything.’

The chief’s chair creaked as he shifted forward. ‘The metadata tells us that this photograph was taken right by the driveway into Mason Construction, at 11:22 p.m. on Wednesday evening.’

Fuck.

Jet didn’t blink.

‘The smoke alarm inside the building was triggered at 11:17 p.m., and the fire department arrived at 11:31 p.m. So, Jet.’ He steepled his fingers. ‘Why was your truck parked outside during the time of the fire, if you were at Billy’s apartment all night?’

Jet pressed her lips together. Fuck, they had her. Jet needed to get out of here, now – what could she say to make that happen? But another question forced its way in front of that, another glance at the photograph.

‘Who took that photo?’ She asked it. Because who the fuck was there, taking photos, at 11:22 p.m., while Jet and Billy were almost burning to death inside? She kept that part of the question to herself.

The chief coughed into his fist. ‘A witness.’

‘What witness?’ She sat up.

‘I can’t tell you that.’

‘Why not?’

‘Because I can’t.’

Jet leaned forward, pressed one finger against the photo, dragging her right hand with it, the chain on the handcuffs clattering against the table.

‘You didn’t think that if this witness was at the scene around the time of the fire, maybe they could be your suspect instead?’

The chief shook his head.

‘This witness had a legitimate reason to be there at that time. You, however, did n –’

‘– What legitimate reason? Who is the witness?’

Her chest tightened around her phantom heart.

Jet knew she didn’t set the fire, so if someone else was there at the same time, this witness , it was probably the person who really did it – who tried to kill her the second time.

And maybe the first time too. Was this how it ended, how Jet solved her own murder, sitting here in cuffs, accused of something she didn’t do?

She just needed the name. ‘Who?!’

The chief dipped his head. ‘I can’t give you the name, but they aren’t a suspect. It was someone who got an alert when the alarm was triggered, went to the scene to investigate. Saw your truck outside and knew it was important to get a photo.’

Jet shook her head. ‘What are you talking about? Got an alert from … do you mean my dad?’

The chief didn’t answer, didn’t move.

That was answer enough, Jet’s mind ticking, turning over, working around the ache.

‘No.’ She sniffed. ‘You mean Luke, don’t you? Luke was at the scene before the fire department?’

‘The witness saw your truck outside at 11:22 p.m. after the fire started, and took a photo because –’

‘– It was Luke.’ Jet almost laughed, the sound hollow in her chest. ‘The alarm went off at 11:17 and Luke told you he got all the way over to Mason Construction from his house in five minutes to take that photo? Bullshit. He was already there.’

And there was only one reason Luke could have been there already, the last piece sliding into place, held together with metal screws and wire mesh, like the rest of Jet’s head.

‘Luke handed this photo in to you, did he?’ Jet asked, showing half her teeth, a one-sided grimace. ‘Must have felt real guilty about that, handing you a piece of evidence that pointed to his little sister. What a helpful little witness. ’

The rage dripped down her spine to her gut, caught fire. Jet kicked out, feet catching the table leg, a growl at the back of her throat.

Jack flinched, picked his hands up from the table as it shuddered.

‘That fucker,’ Jet hissed. ‘It was him. Luke set the fire. And he’s trying to fucking pin it on me.’

And the other thing Jet couldn’t say. That Luke saw her truck, must have known Jet was inside when he doused the place with gas and set it on fire.

Her brother tried to kill her, or didn’t care if she burned to death with the building.

And now he’d gotten her arrested, when he knew she had no time left.

That was almost worse. Jet was going to kill him.

‘Jet,’ Jack said, voice firm but calm, ‘I know this is a stressful situation for you –’

‘– Oh, you think?’

‘But we need you to tell us what you were doing there.’

What was she doing there? She couldn’t tell them the truth – that she was the one who’d taped up the security cameras, that had disabled the alarm. How would that look? Think. Think.

‘You know the code to the gate and the key safe,’ the chief said, hardening his gaze, moving in for the kill. ‘That’s how you got in.’

‘Don’t know what you’re talking about.’

‘You put tape on the cameras, so they wouldn’t record you being there.’

True, but not to fucking burn it down.

‘Someone taped the cameras?’ Jet asked.

‘You knew the code to disable the security alarm.’

‘Are you asking a question or …?’

‘It’ll be easier if you just confess,’ the chief said.

‘Will it?’ She shifted, handcuffs rattling.

‘Is that a burn on your hand?’ The chief pointed to it.

‘I did that cooking.’

‘What did you cook?’

‘Pasta.’

‘Look, Jet, I get it,’ the chief sighed.

‘Do you?’

‘Something awful happened to you, and you’re mad.

Maybe you thought you’d use the time you had left to take your anger out on someone else.

Maybe you’re mad at your dad, at your brother, that they weren’t there to help you when JJ attacked you.

Thought you’d teach them a lesson, burn down the company.

Is that it? Talk to us, Jet. We’re here to help. ’

‘Like when you solved my murder?’ she asked.

‘Jet,’ Jack said softly.

‘I. Did. Not. Burn. That. Building. Down.’

The chief banged the table. ‘Then. What. Were. You. Doing. There?’

‘I was in the truck. I just parked there. It’s a quiet road.’

‘Were you alone?’

Jet swallowed. Alone didn’t count as an alibi. But she would not let any of this fall back on Billy, not that. He was the one who had to live.

‘No, I was with someone,’ she said.

‘Who?’

‘I can’t tell you that,’ she parroted him.

‘Billy?’ Jack said quietly, dipped up as a question, but not really.

There was no other answer.

Jet didn’t say anything.

‘And what were you and Billy doing in your truck, on that road, at that time of night?’ the chief said, sitting back, like he’d won.

‘What do you think?’ Jet scoffed, actually just trying to give herself time to think.

‘You tell me.’

A flash of memory: Billy, his pale eyes wide and troubled, worrying that passersby would spot the truck from the road. Jet telling him not to worry, giving him a reason, actually just trying to make him laugh.

Jet smiled, reused those exact same words now.

‘We were screwing, like teenagers.’

Jack dropped his eyes to the floor, chair creaking, drawing attention to him just when he was trying to hide from it.