Beth folded the paper, unable to stare at the words anymore, the photo of her murderous face. Everyone thought she had it together. Well, she may as well play the part. “I didn’t tell them anything because I don’t know anything.”
Ransom tutted. “You shouldn’t have talked to them without me. Always call your lawyer first, Beth. But it’s no matter. I’ll have whatever you said discredited so thoroughly no one will even be sure you said it in the first place. What can you tell me about the cops? Are we dealing with any level of competence?”
It hadn’t occurred to Beth that she would gain her own information from that interview. Maybe she should start thinking like a criminal. “Yes,” she said. “They’re both competent. Black is younger, but he has more authority somehow. He wouldn’t let the other one smoke during the interview.”
“Competent and righteous. A deadly combination. I’ll keep it in mind.”
“I don’t need you.” She didn’t need anyone. She couldn’t. Even now, with everything going to hell.
Ransom was unfazed. “Yes, you do. Where were you on the nights of the murders?”
“Home.”
“Was anyone with you?”
Beth shook her head.
“You were out just now, when I got here.”
“I was driving around.”
“Alone?”
“Yes.” She’d been searching. But she wasn’t going to tell Ransom that.
“We’ll work on it,” he said. “What to tell them. What to say. When to shut up, which is most of the time. Tell me everything they asked you, everything you said. Everything they told you.”
She did. She remembered every word so easily. It was the only thing she had thought about since she walked out of the police station.
Ransom listened, then gave his judgment: “It could be worse, and it could be better. You have me now. How much money do you have left of your parents’ inheritance?”
“Just about all of it.”
“Good, because I’ll need a retainer.” As if there was never a question of hiring anyone other than him. Because in all honesty, there wasn’t. “You can swim through this, Beth. But it’s a sensational case, and like it or not, you’re a sensational young woman. This is going to get ugly.”
“I know.” Two years. Two years she’d been doing—what? Drinking, spending time with the wrong people. Sleeping with her eyes open, thinking that after her mother’s death nothing in her life could get worse. Thinking that the worst of it was over.
All of this was her fault.
Her life, as she knew it, was over. There was some relief in that, because she hadn’t liked her life much. But what was waiting for her was not going to be any better.
“Did you tell the police about your mother?” Ransom asked. “About her history?”
The words gave her chills. It had been years since this topic had come up. “No, of course not.”
“I thought things were settled,” Ransom said, looking out over the ocean, “but perhaps I was wrong. I can make some inquiries.”
“Don’t bother,” Beth said.
Ransom looked pained, but he nodded. Years of history passed between them, unspoken.
Do you think I’m a murderer? Beth wanted to ask him. A moment of weakness. Just one moment. Say it. Say that you don’t think I killed those men. Please.
But he didn’t say that, and instead of asking, she said, “I can handle it.”