No one spoke for two long breaths.

“Did you hurt Zoe Finch?” Jackson shot questions at him rapid-fire. “What did you do with her, Conor? Is she still alive?”

“I didn’t hurt anybody. The blood on my shirt is from the kid who attacked me.”

“How do you know Riki LaSanta?”

“I didn’t.” Conor leaned forward to press the pads of his fingertips to his throbbing eyes. “Louisa told me about her today. That’s the first time I heard her name.”

“Why were you at the museum three weeks ago?”

Conor lifted his head.

Jackson’s smile was predatory. “We spotted you on the surveillance videos at the museum.”

“I’d read that Louisa had taken a job there. I thought about asking for her, but I changed my mind.” Conor scrubbed his face with both hands. He wouldn’t buy his own lame story.

“Why?” Jackson leaned in.

“I don’t know,” Conor answered flatly. That was the honest truth.

“How did you know Dr. Hancock had been hired by the museum? I doubt an assistant curator made the Lifestyle section of the Inquirer.”

Conor sighed. “I googled her.”

“How often did you perform Internet searches on Dr. Hancock?”

“A few times since I met her last spring.” Conor answered.

“Why?”

Conor chose his words carefully. I couldn’t get her out of my head made him sound like a stalker. “I was curious.”

“That’s it?”

“Yes.” Conor was not admitting he had a thing for Louisa. The cops would no doubt turn his attraction for her into something perverted.

“I’m surprised. You have nice, neat answers for everything else.” Jackson gestured with his cup. “Almost like you planned every detail.”

Conor groaned.

“Detective, my client has answered every question you’ve asked him.” Damian pressed his forefinger into the table. “Are you prepared to charge him with a crime?”

Jackson scowled but didn’t answer his question. Instead, he reached into his file and slid a photo onto the table. For the first few seconds, Conor’s eyes and brain refused to register what he was seeing. But the image clarified all too quickly: a charred body. Conor closed his eyes, but it was too late. He couldn’t unsee the horror on the stainless-steel table that had once been a young girl. It took all his strength not to hurl everything he’d eaten in the past three weeks onto the floor.

Louisa had mentioned the picture at the bar earlier. He knew it was going to be disturbing, and he was even sorrier that she had seen it.

“What the hell?” Damian’s palms hit the table. “Was that really necessary?”

Conor rested his head in his hands. Damian pushed the water cup at him, but Conor shook his head.

“That’s it. My client is done answering questions. Unless you’re prepared to charge him with a crime, we’re leaving.”