In the Woods полностью

"And that wasn't some stranger, Jonathan, that wasn't someone with a stake in the motorway and a grudge against you. That was someone who had daily access to Katy, someone she trusted. But by this spring, when she got a second chance at ballet school, that trust was starting to wear a little thin. She refused to keep taking the stuff. Probably she threatened to tell. And just a few months later"-a sharp slap to one of the piteous post-mortem shots-"Katy's dead."

"Were you covering for your wife, Mr. Devlin?" I asked gently. I could hardly breathe. "When a child's poisoned, it's usually the mother. If you were just trying to keep your family together, we can help you with that. We can get Mrs. Devlin the help she needs."

"Margaret loves our girls," Jonathan said. His voice was taut, over-tightened. "She would never-"

"Never what?" inquired Cassie. "She'd never make Katy sick, or she'd never kill her?"

"Never do anything to hurt her. Ever."

"Then who does that leave?" Cassie asked. She was leaning against the wall, fingering the post-mortem photo and watching him, cool as a girl in a painting. "Rosalind and Jessica both have a rock-solid alibi for the night Katy died. Who's left?"

"Don't you dare even suggest I hurt my daughter," he said, a low, warning rumble. "Don't you dare."

"We've got three murdered children, Mr. Devlin, all murdered in the same place, all very probably murdered to cover up other crimes. And we've got one guy smack bang in the middle of each case: you. If you've got a good explanation for that, we need to hear it now."

"This is unbefuckinglievable," Jonathan said. His voice was rising dangerously. "Katy's-someone's after killing my daughter and you want me to give you an explanation? That's your bloody job. You're the ones should be giving me explanations, not accusing me of-"

I was on my feet almost before I knew it. I threw down my notebook with a flat smack and pitched myself forward on my hands, leaning across the table into his face. "A local guy, Jonathan, thirty-five or over, been living in Knocknaree more than twenty years. A guy with no solid alibi. A guy who knew Peter and Jamie, had daily access to Katy, and had a strong motive to kill all of them. Who the fuck does that sound like to you? You name me one other man who fits that description, and I swear to God you can walk out that door and we'll never hassle you again. Come on, Jonathan. Name one. Just one."

"Then arrest me!" he roared. He slammed out his fists at me, palms up, wrists pressed together. "Come on, if you're so bloody sure, all your evidence-Arrest me! Come on!"

I cannot tell you, I wonder if you can imagine, how badly I wanted to do it. My whole life was shooting through my mind as a drowning man's is said to-tear-sodden nights in a chilly dorm and bikes zigzagging look-Ma-no-hands, pocket-warm butter-and-sugar sandwiches, the detectives' voices yammering endlessly at my ears-and I knew we didn't have enough, it would never stick, in twelve hours he would walk out that door free as a bird and guilty as sin. I had never been so sure of anything in my life. "Fuck this," I said, shoving up my shirt cuffs. "No, Devlin. No. You've been sitting here bullshitting us all evening, and I've had enough."

"Arrest me or-"

I lunged at him. He leaped backwards, sending the chair clattering, finding a corner and throwing up his fists in the same reflexive movement. Cassie was on me already, grabbing my raised arm with both hands. "Jesus, Ryan! Stop!"

We had done it so many times. It's our last resort, when we know a suspect is guilty but we need a confession and he won't talk. After the lunge and grab I slowly relax, shake off Cassie's loosening hands, still glaring at the suspect; finally roll my shoulders and stretch out my neck and sprawl in my chair, drumming my fingers restlessly, while she goes back to questioning him with a watchful eye on me for any sign of renewed ferocity. A few minutes later she starts, checks her mobile, says, "Dammit, I have to take this. Ryan…just stay cool, OK? Remember what happened last time," and leaves us alone together. It works; mostly I don't even have to stand up again. Ten times we'd done it, twelve? We had it as smoothly choreographed as any screen stunt.

But this wasn't the same, this was the real thing for which all the other times and all the other cases had been nothing but practice, and it infuriated me even more that Cassie didn't realize this. I tried to jerk my arm away; she was stronger than I expected, wrists like steel, and I heard a seam rip somewhere in my sleeve. We swayed in a thick, clumsy struggle. "Get off me-"

"Rob, no-"