YUKI JAMMED THE CAR KEY into the key slot, heard the soft thwick as the locks opened.
Yuki, wait.
She turned again, one hand clutching the strap of her handbag, the other clenched around the handle of her briefcase.
I’ve got nothing to say to you, Jason. Go away.
Twilly scowled, his expression murderous, the look of a man who could go violently out of control.
You listen to me, little girl,” Twilly said. “Be glad that you lost, because Junie Moon didn’t kill Michael Campion. But I know who did.
What? What had he said
Look at me, Yuki. Look at me. Maybe it was me.
Yuki got behind the wheel and yanked the door shut in Twilly’s face. Twilly bent down, rapped on her window, bap-bap-bap, losing it, desperate, yelling through the glass, “We’ve got unfinished business, Yuki. Don’t drive away
Yuki threw the car into gear, jammed down the accelerator, and with tires squealing, she left the lot. She called Lindsay from the car, her voice shrill over the sound of traffic.
Jason Twilly just told me he knows who killed Michael Campion, Lindsay, but he wants me to think that he did it. That he killed Michael. Lindsay! Maybe he did.
Twilly’s rented Mercedes was in her rearview mirror as Yuki circled the block. She ran a red light, took a sudden turn into an alley - and when she was sure she was no longer being followed, she parked in a fire zone outside the Hall.
She flashed her ID at the security guard, ran through the metal detectors, then took the stairs to the squad room on the third floor. She was panting when she found Lindsay waiting for her at the gate.
Don’t worry,” Lindsay told her. “I’ve got your back.
