“Of course.”

The halls were glutted with students after the final bell. He leaned in and said quietly, “It’s about F-F-Friday night.”

“Would you like to step—”

The boy seemed not to notice the attention they were drawing. “You know J-Jamal? It’s j-j-just that he s-s-said s-something weird at h-h-halftime. At the g-g-game.”

“In the locker room?”

“Y-yeah. H-h-he asked me if I had a c-c-condom.”

Clark blinked. She saw Benny’s eyes track a cluster of Bison players as they filed down the hall, their gym bags slapping their hips. Saw the way Garrett Mason, the team’s hulking defensive safety, caught Benny’s eye and held it for a long, charged second.

Clark frowned. This didn’t feel right. “Jamal asked you for a what?”

Benny nodded. “I d-d-didn’t have one, of c-course. B-b-but it’s w-weird, right?”

Before she could thank Benny for his time, the scrawny boy had slipped away to catch up with the bigger Bison who’d passed them earlier. He said something to Garrett Mason as they rounded a corner and Mason responded with a single, curt nod.

That nod bothered her. She’d always imagined that some foundation of discreet loyalty underpinned the team—an impression which her interviews with the players yesterday morning had only strengthened—but Benny didn’t look at all bothered by what he had just told her. Strange, she thought. To whom was that loyalty extended? To whom was it withheld?

Bethany Tanner was already seated in the interview room with Mayfield when Clark arrived.

“Sorry for the wait,” Clark said. They had decided on the way back from Galveston that she would take the lead with the girls this afternoon. Her interview with Kimbra Lott had been smooth, if uninformative. Kimbra had been weirdly inscrutable, clearly concerned about KT’s whereabouts, generous in her answers but seemingly unaware of anything that failed to occur outside her line of sight.

Bethany Tanner studied Clark with an elevated air, her face a perfect balance of grief and boredom. Something about the girl put Clark on edge.

“Thank you for coming, Bethany. I imagine this must be difficult for you.”

The girl gave her a sad little smile. “Of course.”

“We won’t keep you long. But firstly, wouldn’t you like an adult sitting with you? You are under eighteen, yes?”

“I’m eighteen next month,” Bethany said, as if that settled it.

“Sure. But this is a murder investigation. What you say here you might be called on to repeat in court. It’s customary for a minor to have—”

“I don’t have anything to hide.” The girl cut her off smoothly, toying with an expensive-looking silver bracelet on her wrist. “But I do have to get to practice.”

“You’ll be performing at halftime this Friday?” Mayfield asked.

“Of course. Dylan wouldn’t want us to stop. There’s still the championship to think about.”

“Alright, then,” Clark said, already anxious to get away from this girl. “To start, can you tell me if Dylan kept a lock on his cell phone?”

Bethany had clearly not expected this. “He used the thumbprint scanner. Why?”