I go in the direction Preston went, down the hallway. I’ve never been back to his bedroom area, but I hear rustling and follow the noise. I enter the master bedroom, which is large and decorated in a sleek minimalistic fashion. Preston is bent over inside the closet. He doesn’t know I’m here, so I say his name. When I do, he spins to face me like I’ve shouted. And he stares at me without saying anything, his face contorted in a way I’ve never seen.

“What are you doing, Preston?” I ask.

He turns back to the closet and continues to rummage.

“Preston?”

He backs out of the closet, holding a duffel bag. He turns to me. “I’m going. Away.”

“The police are coming. You can’t leave now.”

“I’m going to anyway.”

“What about Kelly and the girls?” I ask. When I say this, he flinches a little. “Are you going to leave without saying anything to them?”

“I will. Eventually.”

“Did you pack that bag just now?”

He looks down like he’s never seen the bag before. “I’ve had this packed for over two years, since Sophia was killed. I always thought this day would come.” He looks at the bedroom door and back at me. “I started to let my guard down a little and think it might never come back at me.”

“The things we push away always come back, Preston. Believe me.”

“Connor, we both still have a chance here.” Preston speaks in his calmest voice, the one that tries to move everyone toward a consensus. In this case, he’s working on me alone. “You know my kids. And Kelly. You know the life we’ve built here. And the career I have. We can’t give all that up. We can’t have all this drama.”

“It’s the only thing you can do.”

He hefts the bag in his hand and then leaves the room quickly. I follow behind him.

Preston stops at the coffee table, duffel bag in one hand, and picks up the thick envelope containing the manuscript with the other.

“I’ll take this outside right now, Connor,” he says. “To the grill.”

“What exactly are you taking out there, Preston?”

“Evidence. You were dumb enough to bring it here. I’m smart enough to dispose of it.”

He makes his way to the back door, but before his hand grips the knob, I say, “Evidence that what I said about the murders is true.”

“That’s what you said is in here.”

“Are you sure it is?” I ask.

He drops the duffel bag and starts tearing open the envelope. He rips into it like a hungry animal. When he’s torn the envelope away he sees what’s inside.

“What is this, Connor?” he says, his voice snarling. “I thought this was the fucking book.”