Graham’s eyebrows perked up. Ugh. God.

“I had a break in the case.”

More eyebrows. Barf.

“I talked to John Cole’s ex-wife.”

This was a lie, but I was going somewhere with it.

“Fiona,” Graham said.

What Graham didn’t know was that I had hacked his Facebook account and found an exchange from a few years back between him and John Cole’s ex-wife, Fiona, in which she was searching for answers and Graham turned things sexual rather quickly, prompting Fiona to run away. I also noticed that they talked about phone calls a few times, meaning they had offline conversations, and it seemed like those offline conversations were about the night the students were killed.

I figured it could be a soft spot with Graham.

I was right.

“Fiona told me that you two had some very intense conversations about that night and what happened. She told me that you didn’t do anything, but that you were there. You saw it happen, but John did it,” I explained.

Graham’s face flexed. My bait had worked. I figured Graham would get touchy about me implying that he wasn’t man enough to do something, or that John was better at something than him, more his leader.

“That’s bullshit, well, most of it,” Graham muttered after a long pull of straight whiskey.

“Most of it? What part is true?”

“I didn’t see it happen, but I was there. It was too dark.”

I felt the words burn my ears, I was so excited Graham was following my trail and pissing his guilt all over it.

“Too dark?”

“I couldn’t see what the hell was going on,” Graham said, so drunk he couldn’t keep his eyes open. “But there was a lot of work going on.”