Chapter 19: Say It on the Tape

They put us in an interview room with a metal table and a camera in the corner.

A detective sat at the end.

Quincy stood against the wall.

I sat across from the man in the brown jacket.

He kept his hands flat on the table and did not look up.

"Say it for the tape," the detective said.

He cleared his throat.

"Five years ago, I was hired to take a woman from a garden party. I was told to keep her three days. I was told she'd be let go after."

"By whom?"

"A man who gave me an envelope. I found out later he works for Mr. Stockwell."

"And you did it."

"Me and two others." He wet his lips. "One of them is dead now. The other was picked up this morning, off an address somebody gave your people."

"Their names."

He gave them.

The detective wrote them down without a flicker.

"Mrs. Stockwell," he said, not looking up, "you're allowed to leave at any time."

"I know. I'm staying."

I realized I was holding the edge of the table with both hands.

"Mrs. Stockwell," the man said, and for the first time he looked at me.

I had never seen his face.

He was fifty, maybe, soft and ordinary, with a nick on his chin from shaving that morning.

It would have been easier if he'd looked like a monster.

"I'm sorry," he said.

"I don't want that."

"I know."

"I didn't come here for it."

I made my voice flat.

"I came for three things. Who paid you. Where the money went. And I want you to say, on this tape, what you did."

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