Page 130 of Dissection of a Murder
Clear as day. Walking out of Innocence. She’s alone.
I brake hard, and we both jolt forward.
“Jesus!” Kit shouts.
“I know her,” I say out loud, god knows why. I don’t know what I expect Kit to do about it or why he should care. But I can’t drag my eyes away from her. She sashays down the street in that carefree, confident way she’s always had about her. But there’s something different tonight, something only I would notice because I know her so well. Better than anyone, really. Her walk is quicker than usual, herhead lowered slightly. She’s trying not to stand out, but in doing so, she does, at least to me.
I know she doesn’t want to be seen.
Her long, honey-blonde hair looks disheveled. She wears a red, midi-length, floaty summer dress, the kind of thing you’d wear to the shops, not a trendy bar on a Friday night.
“Have you seen her before, Kit?” I ask, pointing at her before she goes out of view.
“Yeah,” he says casually, not understanding the gravity of my question. “She comes every Friday. Never see her in the bar having a drink or with anyone, though. Always meets up with Jack. I think she’s a manager or something.”
“Jack? Who’s Jack?” I ask urgently.
“Head of security. He’s the one who’s been training me.”
“Weight training?”
“Yeah! I usually go into work an hour early and we lift stuff in his apartment. He lives above the club. Dumbbells, kettlebells, all that…”
And with that, he goes back to burying his head in his phone. Only, he’s wrong. Very wrong. She’s certainly not a manager at Innocence.
I smile as she hurries into the shadows.
Rule #8.
Looks like patience really is everything.
65
Witness X
Delilah
My father lovedTom Jones. Played him all day long. It used to drive me mad.
His songs were the soundtrack to my childhood. Sounds innocent when you say it like that, doesn’t it? But mine was no ordinary childhood. Even now, when I hear his voice, I can still smell the overbearing scent of cheap corner shop–bought lager and cigarettes. I continue to hear the muffled sounds of raised voices screaming at each other through the bedroom wall, occasionally interrupted by a thump on soft flesh or the sound of breaking glass.
I will forever hate that man’s music. Even when no song was playing, my name served as a constant reminder of the past I’d left behind.Delilah.
But I had to honorRule #5:Be a Good Liar.
And always base your lies on truth.
I knew I couldn’t stray too far from my real name. I needed to make sure that, if I ever did slip, it was easy enough to cover up with the truth. It was just a matter of finding the perfect variation. Something that sounded classier, more elegant.
Delilah.
Lilah.
Leila.
That was it. I knew it was perfect the moment I wrote it down.
The day Leila Reynolds was born, I’d never felt so free.
