Yes. Yes. Yes.

“You’ve convinced yourself that shunning him was the act that flicked the switch and turned a child into a sociopath. But Shane, you’ve got to acknowledge the wiring was already in place. He’s a morally bankrupt criminal. Some people are just born that way.”

“I know,” I said thickly. “But, Tim, he’s my cousin.”

Tim leaned across the console toward me. His eyebrows were a straight line. “You’re not like him,” he said. “You never were. You didn’t make him do what he did. But we can make him stop.”

TWENTY-EIGHT

It was Tim’s idea to go to Police Chief Harmison. He thought we should fill in local investigators on what was happening in the Thousand Islands, and the connection between our two cases. He said we could do it without revealing Bram was my cousin. For now.

We planned to stop at my parents’ place only long enough to get some food in our stomachs, but when we got there Doug was at the kitchen table, flipping through a high school yearbook.

“There you are,” my brother said, pushing aside the empty plate at his elbow. “And look, you brought a friend.”

I made introductions, then turkey sandwiches on sourdough for Tim and me. The second my back was turned, Doug pressed the yearbook into Tim’s hands.

“Some light entertainment while you eat. You can see how much Shana’s improved,” Doug said.

With the coffee brewing, I crossed the tile floor to deliver a shuto strike to his ribs.

“No fair, Chuck Norris. That shit hurts.”

At the table, Tim laughed.

“Ignore my brother. What year is this?” I reached for the book. The answer was embossed on its thick, forest-green cover: 2000. Doug and Crissy’s graduation year. I sat down and flipped to the individual photos of the grads. It was a miracle Crissy had managed to finish high school, but there she was in her cap and gown. I recognized several of their fellow grads as well, including Robbie. Blessed with those beautiful eyes, he’d been attractive when Crissy dated him, but in his senior year Robbie was scrawny. His awkward phase had started late. No wonder Crissy lost interest.

I should have stopped there, but I couldn’t help myself. I leafed through the pages until I found my eighth-grade class. In his photo, Abe was doing his best to de-emphasize the hack-job haircut and crooked teeth. He could almost pass for normal. Two years later, he’d leave me with a defect of my own.

Doug closed the book, nearly catching my fingers.

“We can’t pretend he never existed,” I said.

“Actually, we can. His disappearing act was the best thing that ever happened to our family. Abe’s dead to me,” Doug said, “and you of all people should feel the same way.”

I didn’t like the way the photo was affecting my brother. I said, “Don’t let him get to you.”

“Don’t let him get to me? He tried to kill you.”