Flynn was questioned for eleven hours.
He was released.
For three days, I heard nothing from him.
Then he called.
I watched his name appear on my replacement phone.
I almost ignored it.
Instead, I answered.
“What?”
He sounded wrecked.
“Sloan.”
I said nothing.
“I didn’t know.”
“I know.”
“You believe me?”
“I believe you didn’t know about the murders.”
He breathed.
“What about everything else?”
“You knew your mother pushed me.”
Silence.
“You stepped over me.”
“Sloan—”
“You shut off my phone.”
“I panicked.”
“No.
You calculated.”
“I was scared.”
“You threatened my medical insurance.”
“I didn’t mean—”
“You brought divorce papers into my hospital room.”
His voice cracked.
“I’m sorry.”
I looked across the lake.
The evening sun painted gold across the water.
“Do you know what the worst part is?”
He began crying softly.
“I thought finding out your mother was a murderer would make me hate you less.”
