The Witch Elm - Tana French Page 0,164

I believed him. I hadn’t believed Susanna, or not all the way, but every word of this rang true—this kind of self-indulgent emo shite was right up Leon’s alley. And I had finally, laboriously, figured out why that story had gone through me like ice. If the worst thing Leon had ever done was hurting specky Johan’s feelings, then clearly he hadn’t killed Dominic. Whatever was going on here, I had got it all wrong.

“What have you done?” Leon demanded. “This was your stupid idea to begin with, now you’re sitting there giving me shite because my ones aren’t dramatic enough for you— What’s yours?”

It hadn’t been Susanna, either. There was no way a skinny teenage girl could have hauled Dominic up that tree. Which meant the reason they were nudging the cops towards me—and they were, I knew they were, one of them? both? not just the hoodie but where else would that photo have come from, who else would have said I had problems with Dominic?—that wasn’t to save themselves. Malice, pure and simple? Could they really hate me that much, and I had never noticed? What could I possibly have done to either of them to make them think I deserved this?

I was on the verge of full stoner paranoia. The apartment windows were tick-tocking back and forth again, but it didn’t feel funny this time; it felt sinister, as if they were working up the momentum to rip free from the building altogether and come swooping down at us. I knew if I didn’t pull it together I was going to end up rocking and whimpering in some corner.

“Forget it,” Susanna said, on a yawn. She pulled herself up to sitting and knuckled one eye. “Let’s go home. Toby can make his confession next time.”

“No,” Leon said. “If I’m going to spill my guts, I want to hear his one.”

Melissa was looking at me with her head tilted, questioning and anxious. It was the sight of her that steadied me. After her story, there was no way I could let her down by coming out of this empty-handed; it was unthinkable. There was something here, even if I had been wrong about what it was, and I needed it.

I closed my eyes and took a couple of deep breaths. When I opened them again the windows stayed still, more or less. I smiled at Melissa and gave her a little nod: Don’t worry, baby, everything’s going according to plan.

Susanna was poking Leon with her foot, trying to make him move. “I’m in tatters. If we don’t head, I’m going to crash out right here. How strong did you roll those?”

“Get a drink of water or something. I want to hear Toby’s.”

“You go home if you want,” I said to Susanna. Actually, I liked that idea; Leon would be easier to wrangle without her there. “Zach’s probably tied Tom up and set him on fire by now.”

“Leon. Come on. We can split a taxi.”

“No.”

Both of us knew the mulish set of his chin: he was going nowhere. Susanna rolled her eyes and flopped back onto the terrace, but she kept watching us.

“OK,” I said. “You need to swear you won’t tell anyone.”

“Oh for heaven’s sake,” Susanna said. “Mutually assured destruction. You think I want people finding out about me and Dr. Mengele?”

“No, I mean it. I could get into serious trouble.”

She gave me an eye-roll and held up her little finger. “Pinky swear.”

“Whatever,” Leon said. “Spill.”

“OK,” I said, and took a breath. “So this spring, right? we had this show going on at the gallery?”

I fumbled and stammered my way through it—which didn’t take much acting; this wasn’t a story I had wanted to tell Melissa, ever. I kept one eye on her (not happy, clearly: upset, disappointed? angry? what?) and the other on Leon: slouched back against the wall giving me an increasingly disgusted stare, occasionally taking an ostentatiously large swig of G and T when some detail was just too much for him.

“So,” I said, finally, on another very deep breath. “There’s mine.”

I had deliberately picked something relatively innocuous, something that would give Leon every excuse to come after me, especially after the way I’d gone after him. And sure enough: “Oh. My. God,” he said, lip curling. “You’re trying to claim that’s the worst thing you’ve ever done? That?”

“Listen,” I said, rubbing at my nose, properly shamefaced. “That could have scuppered the whole show. These kids, that was their one chance to make a

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