CHAPTER 89

GRANT

Attorney Paul Reachen was on the property within fifteen minutes of my call. He was in a 49ers jersey and jeans, two coffees in hand, and started lecturing me the minute he got me off to one side. We took a seat on the left side of the front porch, and I sipped the coffee and wondered when, if ever, I would get a chance to sleep.

"Okay, I got too much shit that doesn't make sense, so I'm going to need you to start talking." Detective Heinwright strode up the steps of the porch.

Paul stopped midsentence and turned to glare at him. "We're in the middle of something here, Hal."

"Yeah, and while I respect your process, I got just a few quick questions for Grant, and then I'll be out of your hair. It's up to you if you want him to answer them, but just let me spitball them over before we waste any more time licking our own assholes."

Paul smiled despite himself. "Okay ..." he said slowly. "Grant, don't answer any question until I approve it, understand?"

I nodded and the effort of just moving my head felt herculean at this point.

"Do you know how Perla's throat got cut? I don't mean tonight—I mean in the past?"

Whatever Paul was expecting Heinwright to ask, that wasn't it. He recoiled, then looked sharply at me. "You don't need to answer that, Grant."

"Yes," I said.

"Wait," Paul commanded. "Hal, let me talk to my client—"

"It's okay." I spoke over him. "Perla's real name is Jenny Folcrum. She had her name changed when she was a teenager, after the—"

"Holy shit," Heinwright swore. "You married Jenny Folcrum ? You're telling me that you married little Jenny fucking Folcrum? Lucy Wultz's brother? And no one knows about this? This stayed out of the press?"

Paul himself seemed speechless, and they both stared at me as if I had grown a third arm and won the Olympics. It was the first time anyone had reacted to the news—the first time anyone knew the truth other than Perla's adoptive parents and, more recently, Leewood Folcrum. Even my parents hadn't known Perla's true origins, and they would have certainly detested the connection if they had discovered it.

"Yes," I said.

"Holy shit," Heinwright repeated. "This is going to be a media shitstorm."

"I think she—Perla, Jenny—was trying to recreate the murders. I think that's why she freaked out when she got back into the room and discovered they weren't there. And that's what she meant when she said that she was finishing what had been started. That if she couldn't kill them, that she'd at least kill herself and finish what had been ... left open last time." I grimaced.

"Stop talking, Grant," Paul ordered, though I don't see how it hurt me to tie the strings together, just in case the detective missed them. "Just stop." He turned to Heinwright. "You got what you need, right? I need to get this guy to bed. He's got a funeral to plan and a young girl to break this news to."

"Sure—just one last thing." Heinwright lifted his chin at me, catching my attention.

"Nope," Paul said. "That's it."

"Are you keeping anything from me, Grant? Any other giant tidbits of information that could be holding up our investigation?"

"Don't answer that," Paul said sharply. "Come on, Hal. I'm getting him out of here." He stood between us and waved his arms like he was trying to flag down a plane.

I met Heinwright's eyes but didn't answer the question. I held his gaze for a long moment, then looked away, letting Paul push me off the porch and toward his SUV.