“Meet her? Fat chance. They guard those girls better than they guard us in here. I never got closer than fifty yards from Suzanne Bonanno. Never touched her.” He licks his thin lips. “Except in my luscious wet dreams.”

That does it. Garrett’s bruises are beginning to throb. He shifts in his seat, ready to stand up. “Right. Okay. Thanks for wasting my time.”

“You know what?” says DeMarco. “You suck as a journalist.”

“Why is that?”

“Because you don’t seem to be after the truth.”

Garrett is irritated. His patience is drained. “Sorry, I’m not following.”

DeMarco lowers his voice and says in a near whisper, “You asked me if I killed Suzanne Bonanno. I said no.” He looks from side to side. “You never asked me if I know who did.”

CHAPTER
35

What kind of game is DeMarco playing? Garrett thinks, then asks, “You know who killed Suzanne Bonanno?”

“That’s right. And I also know where her body is buried.”

“Why should I believe you?”

DeMarco smiles again. “Integrity Gone. Stolen Honor.”

Garrett feels a weird tingle. This creep knows his books?

“Don’t look so surprised, Wilson. I’ve got nothing but time in here. I read a lot, nonfiction mostly. I recognized your name when I saw it on the visitor request. Figured somebody with your skills might be able to help me.”

“Help you how?”

“Help me get out of here.”

“And why would I do that?”

“’Cause I think you’re working on another book, and I can help you finish it.”

“Sorry. I already have a collaborator.”

“I’m gonna give you another one. I got a PI in Boston working on evidence to get some of my convictions thrown out. Cut some years off my time. Maybe spring me altogether. You work with him, get me some relief, and I’ll give you what you need.”

From his time at the Globe following cops around for years, Garrett knows every PI from Charlestown to Fenway Park, good and bad. “Who is it?” he asks. “Who do you have working for you?”

“Seymour Washington,” says DeMarco.

That’s the last name Garrett wants to hear.

CHAPTER
36

Seabrook, New Hampshire

Felicia Bonanno’s double-wide looks even smaller than it did the first time I was here. I can smell Lestoil and Pledge, evidence that she tidied up when I called to say I was coming. I wanted to get here early, before she heard the news about Amber. I’m not about to tell her anything that the guy who confessed said, not until I get some kind of confirmation from Garrett.

Felicia puts a basket of muffins on the coffee table, then sits down across from me with two mugs—tea for her, black coffee for me.

“Felicia, have the police called you this morning?”

“No.” Then she goes white. She puts down her mug, her hand trembling. “Why? Did they find something? About Suzanne?”