Chapter 18: Dillon's Price

Dillon sat on the low stone wall under Vaughn's awning with a paper cup of coffee gone cold beside him.

He had slept in his car.

I could see it in the creases down his face.

Vaughn stayed on the step behind me, a pace back, hands in his pockets.

"I'm not here to ask you for anything," Dillon said before I spoke.

"Good."

"I'm here to show you."

He held up his phone.

The screen was open to his bank.

Under Scheduled Transfers there was a single line, in his name, to an account I did not know.

Nine thousand dollars. The first of every month. Five years.

"That's Chloe," he said.

"I know what it is."

"It's the one I never told you about. The rest were cash, favors, the car lease, her rent. This one was automatic."

He pressed his thumb to the screen.

Cancel this transfer?

He pressed Yes.

The line went grey, and then it was gone.

"There," Dillon said. His voice was a whisper. "It's done."

"Why now?"

"Because you stood in front of the cameras and didn't flinch. And I knelt in front of them and I couldn't even look at you."

"That's not a reason."

"It's the only one I have."

I studied his face for a long moment.

"Don't do it for me," I said.

"I'm not."

"Do it for the two people on Lake Shore Road."

His mouth worked.

"They had names," he said.

He pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes.

"I've said 'the crash' for eleven years," he said. "I never once said Mr. and Mrs. Danvers out loud."

A black town car had stopped at the curb with its hazard lights on.

The back door swung open, and Sylvia got out in a fur-collared coat, with Dillon's father behind her.

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