Work Text:
Stuart and I observed as Mike McCaffrey gave his statement to Superintendent Tate, my frustration rising as he got detail after detail of my night with Julia Oborne incorrect.
“That’s wrong again.”
“What?”
“We didn’t sit at the bar, and I don’t have a penthouse.” I looked Stuart in the eye, “Is it possible the DNA on that glove wasn’t his at all?”
“Possible but unlikely, I mean if it’s not his it’s a close relative.”
My blood became ice-water as the implication of his words hit me like a punch to the gut. Without saying a word, I turned and rushed to my car.
Conrad had killed Justin.
Conrad had killed Julia.
Conrad had killed Christine.
Barbara was with Conrad.
However unwittingly, I had delivered my best friend into the hands of a killer.
