Page 78 of Love Again

Chapter Nineteen

Devon

I have to think of this like it’s fire. The interrogation must stay contained, the perimeters enforced, and once the goal’s accomplished, I need an efficient exit strategy.

“What part of this were you responsible for?” I ask, slipping a towel off the device and setting it down on the table.

That smirk fades, and for the first time, Kevin doesn’t look quite so cocky.

“Where’d you get that?”

“It’s been in the barn since last summer, when Andy Pratchett fired you because he found this up against the house.”

“Wait, what?”

“What part of this are you responsible for?” It’s better to stay the course and let him think I’m not interested in the details.

“None of it. I don’t even know what that is. What is it?”

“Your fingerprints are all over it.” There’s a knock on the glass. Carlson thinks I’ve gone too far. He’s right. I’m not supposed to make stuff up. I plunge on. “There’s a piece missing. Was that your job? Were you supposed to provide a timer?”

“I need a lawyer. I’m not talking to you assholes.”

“You’re not charged with anything yet. Carlson’s fishing right now.”

Three sharp raps hit the window.

“You can go,” I say.

“What?”

“Just go. We have enough.”

Right about now, Jim Whitehead will be positioned to come in so the two young men can see each other. The idea is to get one to throw the other under the bus.

Kevin Barr slowly gets up from the chair as if he doesn’t believe me. Or he wants to stay to see what’s going to happen next.

That’s part of Finn’s plan. We want Kevin to see and hear—just enough.

“Go, Kevin. Now.”

He shuffles out, and the door hasn’t even closed before Jim Whitehead steps in. Unlike Kevin, he’s in cuffs. Kevin seems to note this. Perfect.

Jimmy Whitehead is the asshole that broke Chloe’s heart in high school. He was a good-looking kid, about six feet tall with a boyish grin and a dopey, I’ll-do-any-dare attitude.

Now, he’s a huge man with unkempt stubble, a T-shirt that doesn’t quite cover his belly, and tennis shoes with holes. I always thought his tongue seemed too big for his mouth. His black hair is nearly all shaved off, and he reeks of pot.

I’ve never liked him. There were a few sweet guys on the football team, but four in the upper echelons were jerks. I’m not sure what went on with Chloe, and we’ve never spoken about it, but I get the sneaking suspicion Jim Whitehead escorted Chloe to a party where she was roofied. The only person that helped her home that night was Owen Curtis, a redheaded kid that always had a crush on her. He works at the fish market now.

Jim Whitehead took Chloe to a party where another kid had to bring her home.

In short, Jim Whitehead is an ass, so he’s easy to forget but hard to ignore. I have one job to do in here, and I can’t let anything personal get in the way.

“Listen, Carlson told me what’s going on. I don’t have nuthin’ to do with no fires, Devon. Shit. You know me.”

I make my voice as even as possible. “They think you’re responsible for at least eleven others.”

This catches him off guard, and then his face becomes set.