Page 69 of The Death Row Club
“I didn’t do it,” I repeat. “I was so wasted that night, I don’t even remember catching him in my room. How could I have single-handedly disposed of a body in that condition? Besides…” I swallow. “That’s not who I am. I’m not a murderer.”
“I know,” Greer says.
“I don’t.” Connor. He steps closer to Greer, rests his hand on her shoulder. “I know you want to believe the best of her, but we need to look at the facts.”
“We don’t know the facts—”
“We know enough to be cautious, and part of being cautious is making sure everyone has the ability to make informed decisions. I have to do what I think is right here.”
She shifts backward, and his hand slides away. “What are you saying?”
“I’m saying I’m going to tell them about the photos, with or without your approval.”
For a moment, she stands there in unblinking shock. Then, when she’s finally able to form words again, she sputters out, “But we had an agreement. Weagreed—”
“I know,” he says. “I know, but I just don’t think it’d be right to withhold this information. She’ll have the opportunity to defend herself—”
“Fuck that,I’mdefending her.”
He raises his eyebrows; now, he’s the one who’s surprised. “Okay, fine, you can defend her. But the club members get to decide if she’ll stay.”
“Wait,” I say. “What do you mean, they’ll get to decide if I stay? What happens if they say no? Where am I supposed to go?”
“You’re staying right here,” Greer says, at the same time he answers, “We’ll find other accommodations.”
Other accommodations? What other accommodations? We’re in the middle of nowhere. He marches out the door, negatives in hand, and we have no choice but to follow. “He’s out of his mind,” I whisper, my shoulder bumping into hers as we descend the staircase. “He’s going to make me sleep in the woods? Forget the murderer in our midst; I’ll die of exposure first.”
“Calm down. There’s no compelling evidence here, and even if there were, you have one of the nation’s best defense attorneys working for you. You’re not sleeping outside tonight.”
I want to feel as confident as she does, but the truth is, those photosarecompelling evidence. The way I’m lunging at the camera terrifies me.
It reminds me of my father.
“Hey!” Connor calls when we reach the den. “Can we get everyone in here for a minute?”
I watch while the others file in and assume their seats. Connor lays the negatives on the coffee table. “Some new information has come to light.”
“What are those?” Kemy asks.
“They’re from a disposable camera Zach brought to the retreat.”
Ros shifts her eyes to the ceiling, slumps lower on the couch. “Of course he did.”
“We developed the images and, after reviewing them, decided you have the right to see them. Be careful, though; they’re evidence.”
Curiosity hums around the room like an electric current. Greer feels it, the same as me, and steps forward. “Before you look at those pictures—”
Kemy raises a hand to stop her. “Let us see them for ourselves first, before you go spinning things.”
Greer seems momentarily caught off guard. I have the feeling she’s not used to anyone addressing her like that, especially not in the courtroom, and regardless of the cozy quilts and throw pillows, this has indeed become a courtroom. She drifts back to my side, and I wonder if she’s only now starting to realize just how fucked we are.
Connor passes the negatives to Imogen, whose eyes widen when she reaches the end. The others don’t match her level of restraint. “Oh my god,” Ros gasps when she reaches the final frame. “Look at that, it’s like she’s possessed.”
“It’s a negative, Ros,” Greer argues. “Everyone looks possessed in a negative.”
She points at my frenzied expression. “Not everyone looks likethat.”
Kemy leans back in her chair. “So, Nicola walked in while he was taking photos and, when she realized what he was doing, murdered him.”
