Page 35 of Thicker Than Water
“She told her son that Jason’s a suspect. And the little punk harassed Aiden about it.”
“Jesus,” Wyatt says—and I like that, how quickly he agrees it’s a fucked-up thing to do.
During his slow intake of breath, behind which I can hear the swish of cars, I pace the room, lapping between the stiff couches, almost banging my leg on an end table.
“I’ll let the chief know,” he says, “and he’ll talk to her.”
“Talkto her? Suspend her is more like it.”
“Well. We’ll see what happens. But yeah, of course—she shouldn’t have done that. Is Aiden okay?”
“No, he shoved the kid into a locker.”
“Aidendid?” Wyatt says—and I like that, too. He knows my nephew is not the type to willingly harm another person. I can picture Wyatt shaking his head, massaging the space between his eyes. “I’m so sorry this happened, Si. That’s the last thing you all need right now.”
I don’t respond. I’m too busy rubbing my sternum, where an ache has sprung. It’s a specific pain I’ve felt before, one that only seems to waken at the sound of Wyatt’s voice, and right now, my fingers dig into it, intent on burying it beneath the bone.
“How’s everything else going?” Wyatt asks. “Can I do anything for you—besides take care of this Hyde thing?”
I stop in my tracks, my hand dropping from my chest as my mind leaps back to the warehouse. Before Julia and I sped off to Aiden’s school, I snapped pictures of it all: the money, the gutter machine, the pages in the notebook, all those prices and dates and names.
“Actually, yes. I could use some professional advice. Jules and I found some evidence that I think the police will be interested in, but I’m not sure how to bring it to their attention.”
In Wyatt’s hesitation, I hear the honk of a horn, a gust of wind. “What kind of evidence?”
I relay the story of our morning, beginning with Beck’s warrant—which he admits he already knows about—and ending with Maeve’s conclusion about Gavin’s boxes of cash.
“She’s refusing to turn it over to the cops. She’s worried they’ll think she has something to do with it—which ticked me off at first, but you know what, maybe she’s right, given how your department likes to put all their resources toward investigating innocent people. But they need to know about this, right?”
“Sienna, no,” Wyatt says, quick and clipped. “Whatever you saw in that warehouse—you need to forget about it.”
“Forget about it? Someone might havekilledhim for it!”
“You don’t know that.” There’s an edge of anger in his voice that surprises me. “And you really shouldn’t have investigated on your own.”
I punch out a grunt. “You sound like our lawyer. Can’t I call in an anonymous tip?”
“Did you use gloves when you handled it? The money, the equipment.”
“What? No.”
“Then your prints are all over it. Not exactly anonymous. Andyou get how that would look, right? That the suspect’s sister has touched it?”
I pause at that. It never occurred to me to be so careful, to snap on latex gloves like a detective, to protect the evidence—and protect myself, my brother, against it.
“And not just touched it,” Wyatt adds. “Planted it, maybe.”
“You think Iplantedboxes of cash?”
“Not me. But they might. They could see it as you trying to stir up suspicion elsewhere, sending them on a wild goose chase away from Jason.”
“That’s ridiculous! And anyway, it’s not like my prints are in the system. I’ve never been arrested or anything.”
“Doesn’t matter. It’s too big a risk. Just—forget you found it, okay?”
“Are you fucking serious? This is a lead! I know it is! It’s—”
“Hold on— Yeah?” He responds to someone who’s called out to him. Their words burble through the phone, swift and indecipherable. “Got it, be right there,” he says after a moment, and when he returns to me, his voice is low but firm. “Si, I have to go. But promise me you’ll stop digging. Figure out where Jason was on Friday night, followhismovements,hisactions, but stay away from warehouses and anywhere else associated with Gavin. Do you understand?”
