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interview. I’d suffered incremental awareness of what it was to be an orphan. The pain of losing them was cushioned by having my grandfather, Steve, raise me. Andrew Gates wasn’t so lucky. His loss had been delivered both barrels full in the face. I pitied the poor sod. Almost.
    â€˜What did the cops say?’
    â€˜Not a lot. They asked the same questions as you.’
    â€˜You were in the cop shop a long time,’ Crichlow said.
    It was the first time Crichlow had gotten in on the questioning. Maybe he saw the cracks forming in his boss.
    The cop shop question brought up a big point. They had to have been watching the police station to know that I was the one the police were questioning about Jason’s murder. Maybe they had someone on the inside feeding them information. If so, it certainly wasn’t Huston or O’Neal or anyone connected to the investigation or Gates would already know the answers to these questions.
    â€˜Are you a witness or something more?’ Crichlow asked.
    The question snapped Gates out of his sorrow. His body stiffened. I had to tread carefully around this point. The bloodlust was back in his eyes.
    â€˜They treated me like a suspect.’
    Gates’ words came out cold and hard. ‘Are you still one?’
    â€˜You’ll have to ask them.’
    â€˜I’m asking you.’
    â€˜They didn’t hold me and they didn’t tell me not to leave town.’
    Gates and Crichlow exchanged a look and Crichlow nodded. I didn’t know if it was one of approval or disapproval.
    â€˜Did they mention me?’
    â€˜No. Should they have?’
    â€˜Do they have any suspects?’
    â€˜Other than you,’ Crichlow chipped in.
    Snide remarks like that were going to get me killed. ‘They didn’t mention any, but I doubt they would.’
    No one said anything for a long while. Gates stared through me while he thought. Crichlow stood in sentry-like silence. Nothing could be heard except the harsh splat of rain pouring through a hole in the roof and striking the concrete floor in the far distance.
    â€˜Someone from the racing world killed my brother.’
    â€˜How do you know?’
    â€˜He was killed next to one of your trucks, wasn’t he? That’s why you’re going to find the killer for me.’
    I groaned inside. I should have seen this coming. ‘You don’t know that this had anything to do with motor racing. You said yourself that you’ve got a shady past. Jason’s murder could be the result of someone getting back at you.’
    Gates ground his teeth. That possibility had to be tearing him up. ‘Don’t you worry about that. I’ll be looking into that side of things myself. You look into your side of things.’
    â€˜I’m not the person for this. The cops are better equipped to look into this than I am.’
    â€˜I disagree. The cops will blunder their way through and we can’t investigate this without causing waves, but you can. You can hide in plain sight.’
    â€˜I know nothing about your brother.’
    â€˜You’ll learn. I’m not taking no for an answer. You will do this for me. And just as an incentive .?.?.’ Gates let his words hang for me to pluck from the air.
    â€˜Incentive?’
    Gates picked up the mallet. I flinched. He smiled.
    â€˜Calm yourself. Hurting you doesn’t help me. Hurting someone important
to
you, that is a real incentive. Refuse to help and I’ll take out my disappointment on that grandfather of yours.’
    Gates knew a lot about me – that I raced, that Steve was my grandfather, that the police had held me – and he’d found it out in a hurry. He had connections that stretched further than just having Crichlow as his muscle. That scared me more than the five-pound mallet.
    â€˜Have I made myself clear?’
    He had. I understood Gates’ need for revenge and justice. His brother hadn’t