Page 83 of Holding On

“Interesting,” says Carlson with a glance to Jackson.

My thoughts race ahead of the conversation. How did he know about the bottles? There has to be someone in the department, a pipeline.

“This is offensive enough. But the human trafficking charge—are you out of your fucking mind?”

Carlson says nothing. This time, the cop starts to turn Barr around.

“It’s all coming out in discovery, but we have photos of a catalog with dates, photographs of young girls, and a running ledger. Oh, well.” The cuffs snap on. Despite his relaxed air, Carlson couldn’t help himself. He had to spill some of what we had. The moment I hear the double clicks of cuffs catching, I relax.

It’s done.

For the moment.

Barr speaks slowly, as if to a child. “Against my better judgment, and to defend my client, I’m going to invoke attorney-client privilege. The ledger you refer to was given to me.”

“It’s not going to work, Barr.”

“You got those pictures illegally.”

“Whatever you say.”

“The evidence has no proper chain of custody. No—”

“You have the right to remain silent . . .”

“At least let me get my phone from my car,” says Barr.

“I don’t think so,” says Carlson. “And what about that intern that went missing two days ago?”

For the first time, Barr goes silent.

“You know that’s not really a missing person’s case, right? You should thank Travis Russo that you’re not facing another murder charge.” He pauses and calls over his shoulder, “Maya!”

I don’t know what I thought I’d feel when I saw his face as he sees her again, but I must have anticipated something like out of the movies: surprise, anger, fury. There’s nothing. Barr’s face is smooth, not even a flinch or a flash of fear.

Then I get it. He’s a sociopath—rules don’t apply to him.

Carlson walks Burr toward a squad car. Two more cruisers pull up as Maya slides on the sunglasses, probably to cut the lights.

“That’s your big reveal? I told everyone she was drunk. She left on another boat. How much did you pay her to say I did something to her? That’s how this is going to go, Jack. And your unimportant, grotesque little career will be over. Over.”

Carlson shoves Barr into the back of the car, snaps the seat belt on the guy, and then looks over at me. “Travis. You have one minute.”

I promised my sisters I’d remember every detail of this minute. I lean down into the back seat of the cruiser, one hand on the door.

For the first time, Barr looks scared. I realize it’s not because he understands justice is being served and he’s in deep shit.

No.

He’s scared because I’m Black, and he knows that I know he killed our parents and might, therefore, beat the shit out of him. I kind of want him to think this. Feel it. Let him be the one intimidated for once in his fucking life.

As he starts to swing his head around to yell for Carlson, I clear my throat.

“I want you to tell me how my mother died.”

“What?” He’s actually breathing hard. What an asshole.

“You were there at the rocks when she died. What did she say? What did she do?”

“I know you don’t fucking believe me, but I don’t remember. Why are you here?”

I lower my voice so my words will only reach his ears. “You know what I think? She died, or maybe she hadn’t quite—” I have to swallow hard. I try to channel my dad, George, Finn, Nic, Jackman—men in my life who are steady—in order for me to continue. I take a breath. “She wasn’t dead yet. And maybe, just maybe, you helped with a beer bottle. Better her dead than to have a witness.”

Barr’s face instantly goes white. His lips are thin blueish strips on his face.

“You are a monstrous person. Get out! How dare you. You’ll never prove such a horrible thing. You’ll never find a jury to convict. This is ludicrous conjecture.”

All the tension drains from my body. Without any drama, without anything but the truth behind my words, I leave him with this: “Whether or not it’s true doesn’t matter. I don’t have to prove anything. My mother will.”