“You told us you broke up with her last December,” says Frankie. “But when was the last time you had sex with her?”

That question, asked by a woman his mother’s age, makes him flush. He looks at Mac, as if hoping another man will rescue him from this predicament, but Mac merely stares back, stone faced. “I don’t remember,” Liam mumbles. “Like I said, we broke up over Christmas.”

“And the last time you had sex?”

“Um, around then. I think.”

“You don’t sound sure.”

“Why does it matter?”

“Trust me, it matters. And we want the truth, Liam. You’re a smart boy, and you’re headed to law school. So you know what happens when you lie to a police officer.”

At last he seems to register the gravity of the situation. When he finally answers, his voice is barely audible. “Maybe it was, um, January.”

“When in January?”

“Right after we got back from Christmas break.”

“At which time you already had your new girlfriend, didn’t you? Libby’s her name?”

He glances at the bookcase, where there is a framed photo of a stunning brunette, her lips pursed seductively for the camera. Quickly he averts his gaze, as if ashamed to even look at it. “I didn’t mean to sleep with her,” he says.

“What, did Taryn force you?”

“I felt sorry for her.”

“So it was a pity fuck,” says Mac.

“I guess it was, in a way. She showed up here one night, out of the blue. We’d already broken up, and I wasn’t planning to sleep with her.”

“Because you and Libby were already involved.”

His head droops, and he looks down at his own shoes. Pricey athletic shoes, a brand a doctor’s kid would own. “You don’t know what Taryn was like. She was relentless. No matter how many times I told her we were through, she didn’t believe me. She wouldn’t stop texting me, harassing me. Following me around. It went on for weeks.”

“Did she know you were seeing someone else?” Frankie asks.

“Not at first. I didn’t tell her about Libby because I knew she’d go ballistic. She probably thought she could still get me back, and that’s why she showed up here that day.” At last his gaze rises to meet Frankie’s. “She walked in and just took off her blouse. Stripped off all her clothes. Unbuckled my belt. I didn’t want to do it, but she was so needy.”

His message is obvious: I’m the victim here. No doubt that is what he truly believes, that Taryn overpowered him. That he was too weak willed to resist her advances. Weakness comes in many forms, and Frankie can now see that weakness in this young man’s face.

“When did you find out Taryn was pregnant?” Mac asks.

Liam’s chin snaps up. “What?”

“When did she tell you?”

“She was pregnant?”

“You’re saying you didn’t know about it?”

“No! I had no idea!” The boy looks back and forth at Frankie and Mac. “Are you serious?”

“Tell us again when you last had sex with Taryn,” says Frankie. “And remember, it’s never good to lie to a cop. When we get back that pathology report, we’re going to know the truth.”

“I’m not lying!”

“You lied to us before, about when you last had sex with her.”

“Because it looked bad. I was with Libby, and—”

“And a pregnant ex-girlfriend would present quite the problem for you, wouldn’t it?” says Mac. “I imagine your hot new girlfriend wouldn’t be happy about it. In fact, Libby would probably be so pissed off, she’d drop-kick you out of her life.”

“I didn’t know,” Liam murmurs. “I swear I didn’t.”

“And what a bummer, having to be a father at your age. You’re only twenty-two, right? How can you go to law school when you’ve got a kid to support? It would blow up all your wonderful career plans.”

Liam is silent, stunned by the nightmarish scenario Mac is painting.

“Did you offer to pay for an abortion? That’s how other young men would probably handle it, young men who want to have a real future. Is that why you went to her apartment Friday night? To talk her into getting rid of the baby?”

“I didn’t.”

“I’m guessing she said no. I’m guessing she wanted to keep it.”

“I didn’t know about any baby!”

“She was about to ruin your life, Liam, not to mention your new romance. Goodbye, Libby. Goodbye, Stanford Law School,” Mac continues relentlessly. “Taryn stood between you and your future. She was never going to go away. She was gonna keep her claws buried in you ’cause you were her golden ticket in life. I get it, son. I know exactly why you did it. Any guy would understand.”

Liam jumps to his feet. “I didn’t do anything wrong, and you’re trying to make it sound like I did! I’m going to call my dad.”

“Why don’t you just sit back down and tell us the truth?”

“I know my rights. And I don’t have to say another word.” Liam stalks into the bedroom and slams the door.

“Did you really think he was going to confess?” says Frankie.

Mac shrugs. “A cop can always hope.”

Through the closed bedroom door, they can hear Liam talking to his father. “It’s nothing but bullshit, Dad. No, I didn’t say anything incriminating. That’s why I’m calling you. I need to know if I should call a lawyer.”

Mac looks at Frankie. “That’s it. Now he’s not gonna tell us anything.”

Of course he won’t, she thinks. With a rich dad and the best lawyers you can buy, pretty boy just might skate away. But not if she can help it.

When Liam emerges from the bedroom, his face is flushed and his lips are tightly pressed together. “I’m going to ask you to leave,” he says.

“Make it easy on yourself, son,” says Mac. “Just tell us what happened.”

“Am I under arrest?”

Mac sighs. “No.”

“Then I don’t have to tell you anything. Now, I’m waiting for a call from a lawyer. Please leave.”

They have no choice. They both stand up and head to the door. But there Mac pauses and turns.

“If that’s your baby, Liam, you know we’ll be back.”

“It’s not mine! It—it can’t be.”

“Then whose is it?”

“I don’t know!” He lets out a breath that’s almost a sob. “Maybe—maybe that fat kid knows who it is. He was always around her.”

“Tell us his name.”

“I don’t know his name. Maybe he’s on her Facebook page or something.”

“We’ve already looked at her Facebook page,” says Frankie. “She had dozens of friends on there. Help us narrow it down.”

Liam scrapes his hand through his hair. “Maybe . . . wait.” He pulls out his phone and scrolls through his calls. “After I blocked her, Taryn used someone else’s cell phone to call me. The number should still be on the log. Here.” He hands the phone to Frankie. “That’s the number she called me from. It could be that kid’s phone.”

Frankie pulls out her own phone and dials the number on Liam’s screen.

It rings three times, and then a male voice answers: “Hello?”

“I’m Detective Frances Loomis, Boston PD. May I ask who I’m speaking to?”

“Um, w-what?”

“I need to know your name, sir.”

There is a long silence followed by a broken sigh. “Cody. My name is Cody Atwood.”

CHAPTER 27

FRANKIE

Although he’s managed to pull himself together for this interview, it’s clear that Cody Atwood has been crying. His eyes are swollen, and his cheeks are bright pink, like a baby who’s just had his face slapped, and in the wastebasket nearby is a mound of wadded-up tissues. He slouches on his sofa, a misshapen lump among the puffy throw cushions, and he says nothing as Mac scrolls through the messages on the boy’s iPhone. The handover of the phone was a willing surrender, with no warrant necessary, which makes Frankie think the boy is either innocent or completely clueless. Or perhaps he’s just too distraught to think straight. Certainly he’s not stupid; he’s intelligent enough to make it to his senior year at Commonwealth, and Frankie takes note of the English lit and calculus textbooks on his desk.

His apartment is larger and considerably nicer than Taryn Moore’s. It has a new stainless steel refrigerator, freshly painted walls, and on the bookshelf is a Canon camera with a missile-size telephoto lens. Money must not be an issue for Cody Atwood’s family. Despite his obvious trappings of privilege, the boy himself radiates neediness. Cody hugs himself, as though trying to make himself shrink from view, but when you’re as large as this boy, there’s no way to hide your size.

“You and Taryn sure did exchange a lot of text messages,” Mac says.

Cody nods. Wipes a hand across his nose.

“You two were pretty close, huh?”

A barely audible, “Yeah.”

“Like, boyfriend-and-girlfriend close?”

Cody’s head droops. “No.”

“What was your relationship?”

“We hung out.”

“What does that mean?”

“We studied together. Went to some of the same classes. And sometimes, I’d do things for her.”

“Things?”

“Like take notes for her when she couldn’t make it to class. Lend her money when she came up short. She was on a pretty tight budget, and I wanted to help.”