Liars, Inc. (14 page)

My fingers are shaking. I want to kill everyone. I imagine leaping over the table and wrapping my hands around Gonzalez's throat. “Her hair is l-long in all these pictures,” I stutter. “She cut it at the end of summer, soon after we started dating. Unless you have some photos where she has shorter hair, then you don't have any proof they hooked up after Parvati and I were together.”

But Gonzalez can see that he's getting to me. He abruptly switches tactics. “Where's your car?”

Jeez, they didn't even find my car? I figured they would have combed the woods all around the Colonel's cabin. What a bunch of morons. I shrug.

“What is Preston's connection to Violet Cain?” Gonzalez asks. “We found the hard drive with her pictures. We know
you two searched for her online.”

“I told you that already,” I say. “The last time you questioned me. Preston said she was some chick he met on the internet.”

“Did you know she was twice his age?”

“Not until we found her profile.” We. Me and Parvati. I can't keep myself from looking at the pictures spread across the table, at the seductive smile on Parvati's face. At her hair. Her legs. At the way she's positioned on Preston in a manner that makes it seem like they've spent a lot of time naked together. If they lied about having a relationship, God only knows what else they lied about.

“Is it Violet Cain's body?” Gonzalez asks.

Did he say
body
? I look away from the photos. “What?”

“Don't play dumb. The firefighters pulled two bodies out of the house, burned almost beyond recognition. One of them was a woman. Was it Violet Cain?”

Wait. Did he say
two
bodies?

“Don't answer that.” Kathleen puts a hand on my arm. I almost forgot she was in the room.

I remember the certainty in my gut as I raced toward the flaming house. Preston was in there. I could feel it.

“You found bodies?” My voice raises in pitch. “Dead bodies?” The room goes fuzzy. This isn't happening. It can't be.

“Give it up,” Gonzalez says. “There's no point in lying.”

“What bodies?” I ask.

“Two bodies,” McGhee repeats slowly. “The body of Preston DeWitt, and an as-of-yet-unidentified female.”

My mind is spinning like a hamster wheel. If someone kidnapped Preston because of something political or because he owed them money, there would be no point in killing him.

“Preston can't be dead,” I say.

“I'm sorry, Max,” McGhee says. “His father made a positive identification.”

It takes a few seconds to sink in. Then I double over, my hands clutching at my gut as I feel stomach acid burning its way up my throat. My lawyer thrusts a trash can beneath my chin just in time. I throw up for so long my stomach practically turns itself inside out. I hang my head low for a few minutes afterward. A strand of saliva drips from the left corner of my mouth. Preston. Dead. Burned to death. All I can think about is how he might be alive right now if I hadn't lied for him.

“Is this yours?” Gonzalez asks.

I have to force myself to look up. Gonzo tosses a ziplock bag in my direction. Son of a bitch. My shark's tooth pendant is inside, blackened from the smoke but not destroyed. I don't know why I'm surprised. One more nail in my coffin.
I wipe my mouth on my sleeve and then bend over the trash can again.

“We have no comment,” Kathleen snaps. “I think we're done here for now.”

“It doesn't matter, Max,” Gonzalez says. “The forensics report on this and everything else from the fire will be back in a few days, and it's going to link you—irrefutably—to Violet Cain's house. And when it does, we're charging you with arson . . . and murder.”

I LEAN BACK AGAINST THE
wall of my cell and let my eyes fall shut. Tears push at my eyelids. It was bad enough when Preston was missing and someone was trying to set me up. But now Pres is dead and Parvati is a liar and maybe a cheater too. I have never felt so alone in my whole life, not even back when I was homeless. At least then I knew I was the only person I could count on. Whoever said it was better to have loved and lost was completely full of shit.

I haven't seen Parvati, and I don't expect to. After they were done grilling me, McGhee and Gonzalez informed me she was charged with aiding and abetting and then promptly bailed out by her parents, who filed a restraining order against me on her behalf. I don't even care anymore.
I'm glad she's not here. I wouldn't be able to look her in the face without thinking about those pictures of her and Preston.

She probably thinks she did me a favor by lying, that if I knew she and Pres had been together for years I'd be jealous all the time. But she had to know I would find out eventually. Unless she thinks I'm a complete idiot. She does tend to think most people are stupid. Preston is like that too.

I mean he
was
like that.

I should be pissed at him, too, for lying and for making those video recordings, but I just feel hollow. I kind of understand why
he
lied to me. To admit he liked her—that they used to be a couple—would be like admitting she preferred me to him. Preston was never any good at losing.

Also, it's hard to be mad at a dead guy.

My lawyer stops by to read me the riot act about talking to the feds in exchange for information about Parvati. She stands on the other side of the bars, ignoring the guy in the cell across from me who is hooting and making rude gestures with his fingers and tongue.

“Do you want to go to maximum security prison for life?” she asks, flipping Hooting Guy the bird without even turning around. “If not, you'd better start listening to me.”

“How can they charge me with Preston's murder? I'm innocent.”

“Prosecutors charge innocent people with murder all the time.” Kathleen plucks a piece of lint off the collar of her suit. “But remember, right now you've only been arraigned on obstruction, flight, and assault charges.”

“Oh, is that all?” I can't keep the sarcasm out of my voice. “Can you get rid of the assault charge? It's not like I was really going to shoot anybody.”

“Any time you threaten someone with bodily harm, it's assault,” she says. “You would have gotten charged with felony theft, too, but your girlfriend admitted that she took the car and gave you her dad's gun.”

“Great.” I sigh. I had actually managed not to think about Parvati for two whole minutes, but the images of her and Pres come rushing back.

“At least I got you bail,” Kathleen says hopefully, like she's trying to cheer me up. “I had to reference a ton of precedents to get that.”

“It's not like I'm going to get out of here, anyway. My parents don't have that kind of money.”

“They only have to come up with ten percent of it and a bail bondsman will get you out.”

“Oh, only twenty grand?” I cross my arms. “Still not happening.”

Her demeanor softens. “Look, Max. We'll talk privately later about everything that happened during the
questioning, okay? We're going to need to come up with a plan of action regarding the pictures and the shark's tooth.”

I nod, even though I have no idea what the two of us could possibly come up with to explain away a motive for murder and physical evidence linking me to the fire.

“CANTRELL.” THE UNIFORMED GUARD SAYS
my name uncertainly.

“What?” I ask. I'm sitting on my cot, my back leaning against the cinder-block wall. I've spent the last few hours trying to puzzle through everything that's happened. “Another visitor?” Darla has been here twice, a brave face and red eyes both times. I don't think I can handle seeing her again today.

“You're out.” The guard slips a key into the lock on my cell. The door slides open with a soft scratching sound.

“Out of what?”
Luck? Time?
“What are you talking about?”

“You made bail. Hurry it up. We got a line for this cell.”

“My parents are here?” I can't help but think it's some twisted joke thought up by Gonzalez to break me down even further. Like they're going to let me get all the way to the front door and then tackle me and say they made a mistake.

“No. Some guy who says he's your uncle.”

I pause for a second. Both Darla and Ben have brothers, but they live in different states, and I don't think either one of them would have twenty grand to spend on some kid they barely know. Still, I guess anything is possible.

The guard rattles his keys. “You sure don't seem anxious to leave. You and Clemens here bonding?”

Clemens is the guy in the cell across from me who made the lewd gestures at my lawyer.

“I'm coming,” I mutter.

The guard directs me toward a desk where a woman in uniform pulls out a handful of forms.

“Sign these,” she says crisply. She hands me a pen and turns back to her computer screen, where she's in the process of buying what looks like a throw pillow shaped like a Doberman.

I scribble my name on a pink form and a yellow form, not even really paying attention to what they say. Something about being treated humanely and having all of my belongings returned to me. The woman picks up her phone and
barks something into the receiver about my stuff. Another uniformed officer brings up a clear plastic bag with my wallet, my keys, and the prepaid cell phone I bought in Eagle's Pass. I'm surprised they're not keeping the phone as evidence, but I guess they can always subpoena the call records from the service provider.

I shove the stuff in my pocket and turn toward the door. There's only one guy standing in the lobby, and he sure as hell isn't my uncle. Not unless my uncle is black.

“Hello, Max,” the man says.

Go figure. There's something vaguely familiar about him, but if we've met before, I don't remember it. “What's up,
Uncle
?” I say. “Thanks for springing me.” The late-afternoon sun slams me in the face as I glide past him through the exit. I raise a hand up to block out the abrasive light so that I can make my way down the concrete steps in front of the police station.

A handful of people are waiting for a bus. One by one, they turn around to look at me with blank, cold faces. I wonder if they know about Preston's death already. Maybe the whole town thinks I'm guilty.

“Need a ride?” my fake uncle asks. He smoothes the lapels of what looks like a very expensive pinstriped suit.

I'm tempted to tell him I'd rather walk, but then my
curiosity gets the best of me. “Who are you?” I ask. “And why the hell did you post my bail?”

“Let me give you a ride home, and I'll explain everything.”

“Sure. Okay.” The bag of stuff buzzes in my hand. I stop at the bottom of the steps and yank out the phone. I have three voicemail messages. My chest feels heavy. I know they're going to be from Parvati, because she's the only one that has this number. I shouldn't listen to them. I should throw this phone in the trash can next to the curb. I line up like I'm going to take a free throw. Phone. Trash. Two points.

But I'm a masochist, so I don't do it. Instead, I play the messages while Uncle Expensive Suit looks on.

“Max. It's me. I'm at home. Look, there's something I have to tell you about Pres. Call me the second you get this.”

Now
Parvati has something to tell me? Maybe something about how she screwed Preston every which way from Sunday? In my hurry to delete the message, I stub my toe on the uneven sidewalk and nearly fall flat on my face. A sharp beep signals the beginning of the next message.

“Max. It's me—”

Delete. Next message.

“Max. I—”

Delete. Somehow, I feel a tiny bit better. I probably can't avoid her forever, but I don't have to talk to her when I'm
pissed. Forget pissed. I'm wrecked. I'm not even sure if I'll be able to tell her I know about her and Pres. I keep imagining the inevitable confrontation, but every time I open my mouth to speak, no words come out. How, exactly, do you tell the girl you were crazy about that she's a lying bitch?

“Messages from Ms. Amos?” Uncle Suit asks.

I nod without thinking. How does he know that?

“Gum?” He holds out a pack of spearmint sugarless.

“Sure.” I haven't had any water for hours. My mouth feels like crap.

As I unwrap the gum and pop it in my mouth, I motion for him to hang on a second and dial my home number. As the phone rings in my ear, I watch the cars pass both ways in front of the Vista Palisades Police Station and Municipal Jail. The babysitter answers and I hang up. I'll just go by the shop and let my parents know I'm out.

Uncle Suit gently removes the cell phone from my hand. “We're in a bit of a hurry,” he says.

“Well then, why did you offer to—” I stop short, just in front of the parking lot. There's a gray SUV with tinted windows parked in one of the first spots. It looks just like the car from the Ravens' Cliff parking lot. “Actually, I just remembered somewhere I need to be.” I spin around, but Uncle Suit grabs me.

“There is only one place you need to be,” he says, his voice as smooth as water, like he should be narrating a nature documentary. “And that's with me.” I feel the blunt tip of a gun poking into my side.

“WHOA,” I SAY. “THERE'S NO
need for that.”

He presses a button and the doors to the SUV unlock with a snap. There's another guy in the driver's seat, wearing all black. He's got pale blue eyes and close-cropped blond hair that's going gray at the edges. Uncle Suit nudges me with the gun.

“You guys sent the black guy to pretend to be my uncle?” I shouldn't be smarting off considering there's a gun pressed into my ribs, but I think it's my brain's way of not focusing on what's really happening—that I'm being abducted, maybe by the same guys who took Preston. The driver reaches back to grab my shoulders, and Uncle lifts me up and tosses me inside the vehicle like I'm a sack of potatoes.

He shrugs as he slides in beside me. “I only do the things that need to be done well. Besides, you've got Chinese sisters, right? Is it really that much of a stretch?”

“They're Korean,” I say, as the SUV's doors lock with an ominous click. “And if you know that much about my family then you know no one can afford to pay any ransom, so what exactly do you guys want with me? Are you going to kill me like you killed Preston?”

The driver glances back at me in the rearview mirror, his expression disturbingly neutral. He pulls the SUV out of the lot.

“We didn't kill Preston.” Uncle chuckles as he slides the gun back into his pocket. It looks a lot like the gun Parvati gave me. I wonder what happened to that, anyway. It was wrapped in my clothes in the backseat of her mom's car when we got arrested. I bet the feds have it. Gonzalez is probably testing it against the ballistics report of every unsolved crime on the books.

“I apologize for my impatience,” Uncle continues. “I just didn't want a large number of people to see us together.” He gives me a brief smile. It looks all wrong on his face. “We're not going to hurt you, Max. We just want to debrief you.”

“Debrief me?”

He nods. “We needed you out of jail so we could speak privately. My name is Langston, and that's Marcus.” He gestures
toward the driver. “We work for Senator DeWitt.”

I cough and nearly swallow my gum. “DeWitt paid my bail? Why would he do that?”

Langston doesn't answer, so I keep thinking out loud. “I've only spoken to Preston's dad twice in my life. He must really think I'm innocent.” Unless, of course, he really thinks I'm guilty and decided to hold his own trial, presided over by a couple of thugs with guns.

“The senator doesn't believe you're a killer.” Langston strokes his well-trimmed goatee. “And he's unconcerned about the money, since he'll get it back eventually. He
trusts
that you won't do anything foolish like try to run away again.”

I finish the thought in my head:
But we'll come find you if you do.
The SUV turns onto the main road that leads out of Vista Palisades. “Where are we going?” I ask. Langston doesn't answer. Houses and strip malls whiz by. People walk their dogs along the cracked sidewalks. Kids with giant backpacks head home from school.

Too bad no one can see me through the tinted glass.

“We're just going for a drive.” Marcus turns on the radio. Classical music has never sounded so creepy.

“I need my phone.” I tap one foot, rapidfire, against the SUV's floorboards. “My parents are going to worry.”

“We only need a little of your time. It's better if your parents think you're still in jail for the time being.”

“Yeah, that would work, except my mom's probably planning on visiting me two more times in the next hour,” I say. “At least. She's having a little trouble dealing with things.” It feels weird to call Darla my mom, but now doesn't seem like the time to explain my entire history to Langston.

He tosses the phone back to me. “Fine. Tell her you don't know who bailed you out, that you're with friends, and you'll be home later.”

Except I don't have any friends anymore. “Great,” I say, knowing that explanation won't be enough for Darla. Hopefully she's still at work. I dial my number again, expecting the babysitter. It goes straight to voicemail. Ji and Jo are probably doing their lethal tag-team screaming act. I leave a quick message assuring everyone I'm fine and that I'll explain everything when I see them. Luckily, Ben and Darla are about as low-tech as it gets and don't have caller ID. They won't be able to call me back and demand more information.

“So who are you guys?” I ask. “Like private investigators or something?”

“Sort of.” Langston crosses his legs at the ankles. He's wearing shiny black shoes with white wingtips, like something you might see on a golf course.

Marcus weaves his way through a neighboring suburb and turns onto the interstate. I lean against the window and watch the highway fly by. We're heading toward L.A. In
front of us, a dump truck spits occasional bursts of sand and gravel onto the road. My mind starts doing that hamster-wheel thing again. How bad would it look if word got out that Senator Remington DeWitt had bailed the leading suspect in his son's murder out of jail? He has to have an agenda. But what is it?

“What do you guys want to know?” I ask. “Where's Senator DeWitt?”

“The senator and his wife just returned from dealing with things in Las Vegas,” Langston says. “Due to the politically delicate nature of Preston's murder, the DeWitts have tasked Marcus and myself to follow up on some leads.”

“They think Preston's death was politically motivated?” I fiddle with my seat belt.

“Let's just say they know you aren't responsible.”

“I wish they'd tell the feds that.”

Langston smiles slightly. “The FBI means well.” He pauses. “But Senator DeWitt hasn't made them privy to all of the pertinent facts. Some of the relevant information is too classified.”

Something pings hard against the front windshield. I flinch, even though it was probably just a pebble from the truck in front of us. “So why am I here if I'm so innocent?”

“We need to make sure we know everything that
you
know. We're gathering information to track down the real killer.”

I nod. “What if I can't help, though? Are you going to toss me back in jail?”

Langston's smile widens. “You knew to go to Las Vegas. Tell me about that.”

There's something about him that makes me want to talk. Maybe it's because I don't feel like I can talk to Parvati anymore. Or because I'm so hurt by her lies that I finally care more about finding the real killer than about protecting her. I tell Langston about the cover story, how Pres and I pretended to go camping. And then about snatching Pres's hard drive. I don't tell him it was Parvati who took it. I'm not sure I could even bring myself to say her name right now.

“Did he ever mention Violet Cain to you before?”

“He mentioned a girl named Violet when he asked for the cover story. He said he played online poker with her. I thought it was weird, Preston meeting chicks on the internet. He could've dated almost any girl at school.”

“But didn't Preston despise most of his classmates?”

It was true. That was probably the main reason Pres and I stayed friends after he enrolled at Vista Palisades and basically took over the school. He might have excelled at playing Mr. Popularity, but beneath the surface he was a loner, just like me. Just like Parvati. A lot of kids think high school represents the best years of their lives, but others recognize that it's mostly irrelevant bullshit, and that life doesn't
even begin until afterward. All of us belonged to the second group, but Preston had always done an excellent job of pretending.

“How did you know that?” I ask. Then it hits me. This guy has already gotten to Parvati. That's probably why she tried to call me so many times.

Langston reads the expression on my face. “She's an interesting girl, Ms. Amos.”

“Yeah, she is. But I don't want to talk about her.”

“Fair enough.” Langston nods.

Marcus exits onto a different highway, and the SUV heads north, away from the city. The lanes opposite us are backed up, bumper to bumper with traffic.

“Did Preston ever tell you about his childhood?” Langston asks.

I blink hard. “I don't really know anything about him from before the day we met. Just that he grew up rich since his dad is in business and politics.”

Langston strokes his goatee. “I see.”

I don't see how any of this can possibly be relevant to Preston's murder. I also don't understand how DeWitt can be convinced of my innocence, unless he somehow knows who killed his son. But in that case, why would he need me? “Look,” I say. “I appreciate you getting me out of that
shithole. But what does any of this have to do with who killed Pres?”

“For several months the DeWitts have been blackmailed about their son.” Langston pops his gum. “I have been on retainer with them for years, so naturally they asked me to investigate. The blackmailer was exceptionally clever, and I never figured out who was behind it. Eventually the senator grew weary of being abused and decided to stop paying. That was a few weeks before Preston disappeared.”

“You said blackmailed
about
Preston?”

“I did, didn't I?” Langston's mouth tightens into a hard line. “Let's just say there are things about Preston that the senator needs to remain a secret.”

“What? Was he like a superhero or something?” I ask, only half kidding. Charismatic. Natural aptitude for everything. Invincible on the football field. The ability to fly or start fires with his eyes doesn't seem completely outside the realm of possibility.

“I'm not at liberty to discuss what Preston was or wasn't,” Langston says abruptly. “But you and Ms. Amos probably knew him the best. If anyone can help find his killer, it's one of you two.”

I nod. I need to find Preston's killer just as much as these guys do. If someone does want me to go down for this crime,
they're probably not finished framing me.

I take a deep breath and then tell him about the anonymous tip that claimed Pres and I were fighting, about the bloody phone showing up in my trunk. “Do you know why anyone would try to set me up?”

“Nothing comes to mind. Do you still have the phone?” Langston asks. “That could be helpful to me.”

“It got left at Colonel Amos's cabin, so I'm sure the FBI has it. But it didn't have anything on it—no files, no apps. Just a few calls from me and his parents.”

“Did you find anything else in your car?”

“No. Preston left some of his camping equipment, but that's all,” I say. “I hid my car about a mile away from the cabin in a nature preserve. Apparently, it hasn't been recovered.”

“Marcus and I will find the car and make sure it stays hidden from the feds. We'll tell you if we find anything of interest,” Langston says. “In the meantime you should go back to your normal life. Let us know if anyone approaches you about Preston, but otherwise stay out of it. These people are dangerous, Max. They won't hesitate to kill you if you get in their way.”

I nod, but my mind is still spinning. Langston seems all right (now that he's put his gun away), but I can't just sit back and rely on him and Marcus to find Preston's killer.
Parvati and I came
so
close to finding Pres. The fire in Vegas couldn't have been burning for very long if we beat the fire department to the scene. If only I was a few minutes quicker somewhere along the way. If only I had acted instead of reacted, my friend might still be alive.

I try to think about what I would have done next if I hadn't gotten arrested in Vegas. Probably go back to the hard drive. Which I can't do. So then . . .

“Can you get me inside Preston's room?” I ask. “Like you said—I know him best. I might see something helpful.”

Langston strokes his goatee again. “I went over the bedroom and basement myself after the FBI finished up, but I suppose it can't hurt for you to take another look.”

I nod. I'm not sure if there's anything in Pres's room that'll help me find his killer, but I don't know what else to do. My only other option is to call Parvati back, and every time I so much as think her name, I see her and Preston naked in his bed. I hear both of them telling me how they're just friends, have never been anything but friends. It's a shitty feeling when you realize the two people you trusted most in the world are liars.