“. . . is infinitesimally small.” He drove another half block before saying, “Still, does this help?”

“Does it make it easier, you mean?” I closed the notebook, my forefinger still marking the page. “Little steps, you know? Along a continuum. At one end, my parents are sadistic monsters who deserve to rot in jail. At the other, they’re innocent victims of a cruel miscarriage of justice. Finding out that they didn’t kill Jan and Peter took them a step away from the monster end. Learning they killed only four people, who were likely murderers themselves? Short of innocence, it’s the best I could have hoped for. The Huntsman was right—I wanted simple. Black or white. This isn’t anywhere near either.”

“No, it isn’t.”

I flipped open the notebook. “Still, it’s only a theory. As you’ve told me many times, I can’t get too attached to it. We have work to do.”

“True. But . . .” He idled at the light. “It’s a solid theory. Very solid. I think you should prepare yourself to accept that this is the answer. Of all the ones you could find, there’s only one better,” he said. “And we knew innocence was unlikely. This is good.”

“I know.”

“If I can prove the Tysons killed the first victims, it will throw the case wide open. With that, I should be able to set your parents free.” He met my gaze. “Is that what you want?”

“It is.”

—

We needed answers, and the quickest way to get them was to go straight to the source: my parents. Yes, that’s what they were to me. My parents. They had been for a while, even if I hadn’t realized the shift. That didn’t change what I felt for my adoptive parents. They were still Mum and Dad. But those were names for a child, and I was no longer a child. The Larsens were Todd and Pamela. My father and my mother.

My first choice was Todd. It had been when I was a child, whether I’d skinned my knee or drawn a picture—he was the one I went to. Gabriel called the prison and bullied some poor desk clerk, but Todd was still off limits. That left Pamela. Which meant this would be tougher.

I asked Gabriel to stay out this time. He agreed without hesitation. I needed to win her confidence, and I wouldn’t do that with Gabriel in tow.

In the past, when I’ve wanted something from Pamela—which is, admittedly, every time I’ve visited—I’ve gotten straight down to business. Stick before carrot. Be straight with me and then we can be mother and daughter for a while. Now I reversed the process. I talked about my life. I had a new job as a research assistant. A crappy but comfortable apartment. A cat. And a boyfriend. I was most honest about Ricky, because that’s where I could light up, let her see how happy I was, and even if “biker MBA student” wasn’t her idea of son-in-law material, she focused on the student part of that, proof that the biker half was a young man trapped in his family business, working his way out.

In my openness, I manipulated her. I accept responsibility for that.

“I know about the spina bifida,” I said finally.

She jerked back as if I’d slapped her, and I wish I could say I felt guilty. But I only leaned across the table and lowered my voice. “I know about the deal with the Cwn Annwn, and if you deny it, I’m going to walk out.”

She went very still.

“I need to ask something I don’t know. Something I only suspect. Please listen until I’m done, okay? I know this isn’t easy for you.” I locked gazes with her. “But it’s not easy for me, either.”

She pressed her lips together, as if to ensure she wouldn’t interrupt.

“I think you didn’t kill Amanda Mays and Ken Perkins. I think it was the Tysons. The Cwn Annwn needed lives as part of the deal they offered you. They chose the Tysons. They also chose Stacey Pasolini and Eddie Hilton—I don’t know why, but I’m presuming it was a similar reason. The Cwn Annwn could justify their deaths, and so you could justify their deaths. Am I correct in those assumptions?”

She said nothing. I inched forward, close enough to earn the attention of a guard before I eased back.

“I know you aren’t innocent. The fact I’m not in a wheelchair proves that. So either you stopped killers, or you murdered innocents. Which would you have me believe?”

I could see the struggle in her eyes, the muscles in her cheeks twitching. I pushed my chair back.

“Then I’ll speak to my father.”

She shot up so fast I jumped. So did the guard. Pamela froze. Then she sank back into her chair. After a deep breath, she reached out, her hand going over mine.

“Have you seen him?” she asked.

“Yes, but he doesn’t have anything to do with what I discovered. I hit the medical lead when I went searching for my records. Things kept piling up until I made the connection. Someone from the Tylwyth Teg confirmed that spina bifida is a common condition among those with their blood. Someone from the Cwn Annwn confirmed the deal they made, and then they set me on the Tysons’ trail. My father had nothing to do with any of that.”

A lie, but I could tell I pulled it off.

“He would admit to it. He wants—” She looked up. “He needs you to believe in him, Eden. He needs you to believe he’s not a killer. At heart, he isn’t. He’s just a man who would have done anything to help his little girl. Those two things collided—the gentle man and the devoted father—and one had to give. It was never going to be the father. Never.”