Chapter 21
21
Grey
Libby Johnston matched her voice. Grey had a picture of her in his file with photos and basic info on the La Marcas and their acquaintances. In it, Libby’s face was round and smiling. He had taken the photo as she walked out of court, hand in hand with Skinner, high on his third acquittal (and probably from the drugs he’d been acquitted of distributing). Her hair had been styled into blonde springs of ringlet curls, her eyes framed in black liner and lips swollen with whatever it was lip fillers were made from.
The woman in the prison visiting area was the remaining dregs of tomato sauce in the full bottle that used to be Libby Johnston. Her face was gaunt, with deep holes in her cheeks like she was constantly biting them down. The blonde hair had evidently been fake, oily strings of light brown now tucked behind her ears – more prominent now because she’d lost weight. The fillers were gone and she now smiled at Grey through a thin mouth stitched with cold-sore scabs. ‘Hello, gorgeous.’
What happened to white trash ?
‘Ms Johnston, a pleasure.’ He held out his hand but she ignored it, her milky blue eyes fixed on Max.
‘What the fuck’s this about, Conrad?’ Things to add to Johnston’s file: she pronounced t as d and licked her cracked lips at the end of every sentence. ‘You do the deed already? Who’s the Chad?’
The deed? As in, stop the murder? Something about Libby’s words twisted inside Grey. He tried to catch Max’s eye, but a curtain of hair had fallen across the side of her face, blocking him out. He experienced a moment of insanity where he considered reaching over and tucking it behind her ear so he could infiltrate the meaning of her expression.
‘He drove me here. Works for the Barbaranis.’
‘Ah.’ Libby turned back to him, laser-beam eyes cataloguing every inch of him. They stopped and held on his groin area. ‘That explains a lot.’
‘What exactly does it explain?’ Grey had to remind himself who this woman was. She’d worked with Skinner, she’d plotted against the Barbaranis. She might have known about the bomb all along.
As though she could sense his disintegrating thoughts, Max put a hand on his knee, so far below the table Libby couldn’t see. She squeezed like she was trying to pry kneecap from cartilage.
Libby licked her lips again, probably making the cold sores worse. ‘See, the Barbaranis like their help how they like their wine. Pretty but nothing much going on inside.’
‘Are you saying I taste bad?’ Grey decided to play along.
Libby raised a thin tattooed eyebrow. Her cracked lips quirked. How had Grey fallen so far from grace that he was fake-flirting with Kaine Skinner’s prison girlfriend?
‘I don’t taste bad.’ He leant forward, holding Johnston’s horny (or murderous, he wasn’t quite sure) gaze. Max’s hand left his knee and the lack of pressure felt like he’d been kicked off a cliff.
Libby flicked her gaze to Max. ‘Shame.’
What was a shame?
‘How you been, Lib?’ Max’s concern sounded real. Of course it did. These were the people she cared most about – criminals.
‘Earth’s barely moved round its stick since you told me goodbye, Conrad. You gone stupid or something? Think this place is any different than the past three-hundred and sixty-five days? You have news for me ’bout Skinner or not?’
‘I’m almost there, just need to work a few things out.’
Almost where? Grey hated this feeling of not being in control. He opened his mouth, but Max’s hand was back again, nails piercing, and he almost completely forgot where he was.
‘Esme convinced you to get a tattoo yet?’ she asked.
Libby snorted. ‘That crazy-arse hippie couldn’t convince me to take a knife out of me own chest!’
Grey refrained from pointing out that, actually, first aid regulations advised you to leave foreign objects in your body until paramedics arrived. He understood what Max was doing. It was that cop thing he didn’t have time for, making people feel comfortable before you tipped them upside down and tried to shake their secrets out.
He understood it, but he didn’t like it.
‘Esme?’ he asked.
‘Another old housemate,’ Max said. ‘Three counts of manslaughter. Head of the prison knitting group.’
‘Ugly as a stomped toad,’ Libby added.
‘Lib.’ Grey’s insides clenched at Max’s use of Johnston’s nickname. ‘That’s cruel. She was badly burned in that fire.’
‘Nah, Conrad, you just say that ’cause you feel guilty about being so pretty. Ain’t that right?’
The silence stretched too long before Grey realised Libby had addressed the last part to him. He cleared his throat. ‘We think Skinner tried to bomb the Barbaranis.’
Libby’s eyes widened. ‘A bomb? Doesn’t sound like Skinner.’
Were the crinkly crow’s feet real surprise? ‘That’s what I said,’ Grey blurted out, like a kid who’d had his answer stolen in class. Max shot him a glare.
‘Good for you, bub.’ Libby winked. ‘I heard about them kids that got poisoned by the wine. Ain’t that just tragic? Right before the Big Barbarani Bonanza. Boo.’ She pouted.
Bile coursed up Grey’s throat. ‘Kid,’ Grey said. ‘One girl – Poppy Raven.’ He filed away Libby’s slip-up for later.
‘Is Kaine behind that too, Libby?’ Max asked, her voice level – straight back into cop mode. Of course she was, this was a job to her, a way to get her career back. He had to keep reminding himself of that. She didn’t care about Poppy Raven or the wine or the Barbaranis.
Libby’s eyes tracked back to Grey. ‘That’s more Skinner’s style, innit?’
Grey realised he was supposed to answer. ‘Ah, well, I suppose.’
Libby held his gaze. ‘Skinner is a rat.’
‘And you’ve always protected that rat. Forgive me, Ms Johnston, if I don’t buy this I want to turn on Kaine Skinner charade.’
Libby’s mouth made a perfect ‘O’. ‘I see.’ Her eyes narrowed at Max. ‘You haven’t told him?’
‘I—’ The curtain of hair was gone, Max’s green eyes looking everywhere but at him as he tried to trap them with his own.
He should have known. He had known. But he should have been more prepared. He clenched his fists, straightening his legs under the table so Max’s hand fell. ‘Maxella is running this show, Ms Johnston,’ Grey managed. ‘I’m sure you’ve worked that out by now. I’m just along for the ride.’
Never in his most explicit, Stephen King–inspired nightmares would he have believed, when he finally got the chance to speak with Libby Johnston, that he would not be leading the conversation. That he would be on the outer.
‘Oh, baby.’ Libby blinked at him. ‘Don’t take it too hard. She’s never been good with sharing. You learn that pretty fast here.’
Grey said nothing. If he said what he wanted, how he wanted, Alexandra would have no choice but to drag him out.
Libby leant back. ‘I don’t wanna turn on Kaine, Mr Barbarani Man.’ She paused.
Grey focused on a spot behind her head as the room blurred around him.
‘I want him in a cage just like me, except his cage is gonna be six feet under the earth.’
Grey knew from the way Max didn’t move, this was only a shock to one of them. ‘You’ve refused to turn on him at every opportunity, and now you’re saying you want him dead? Forgive me for believing you’ve had a complete personality transplant overnight.’
‘Is he slow?’ Libby asked Max before turning back to Grey and smiling. ‘I turn on Skinner, imma get skinnered. I’m a dead woman if I do that. But when Maxella takes him out and gets her fancy badge back for saving the Barbaranis, she’s gonna assist me with my release. Isn’t that right, girl?’
Grey looked at Max. It was like someone was carving out his stomach. How could he have been so ...
She flicked back her long dark hair. It smelled like his shampoo. He’d never paid much attention to it in his own hair. He was pretty sure Nella had bought it. But he hadn’t realised it was apple scented until now. Something cinnamon as well, the overall effect being apple pie – like the kind Concetta would bake him and his dad in their cottage oven. He’d never been so enraged by a scent before.
‘Is that right, Conrad?’ He smiled for Libby’s sake. For Alexandra’s sake, even though she couldn’t hear through the door. Hell, for his own sake. Because if he wasn’t smiling ... if he wasn’t smiling ...
They’ll trick you boy, women like that. It’s all an illusion. Every smart woman knows how to use her beauty like a weapon. The not-so-smart ones use it as a shield – you’ll be safe with them.
Max shifted in her seat. ‘That’s what we discussed, Lib.’
Ha. She wasn’t even going to defend herself? It should make him feel morally superior, righteous even. But it made him feel nauseous.
‘So, you’re going to kill Skinner.’ Grey spoke like they were discussing a plan to divide up the aisles they went down in a grocery shop. ‘And save the Barbaranis, single-handedly, of course.’ Yes, it was childish of him to bring up his promise that she could take all the credit for stopping the murder, but to hell with maturity. He was the only one who’d been playing by the rules of this tentative alliance, and look where it had got him.
Max shrugged. ‘If we take out Skinner before he makes his move, hopefully that will mean no one gets killed.’
‘And what if Skinner isn’t the one planning to kill the Barbaranis?’ Grey asked.
‘You questioning my information, Mr Barbarani Man?’ Libby folded her arms, her forearm muscles two sharp rods.
‘Yes.’ He held her gaze. ‘That’s my job.’
‘Your job .’ She looked at Max like they were both in on a joke. They were, Grey realised. ‘That what you call what you do?’
Grey was getting increasingly uncomfortable with how much Libby Johnston seemed to know about him.
‘Kaine’s gonna be there, at that gala,’ she said.
‘How do you know?’ Grey asked.
‘He’s still my husband, in’ he?’
‘You just said you wanted to kill him.’
She scoffed. ‘Like you haven’t killed for those bastards.’
‘I haven’t.’ He could feel Max’s gaze on him. He shook it off.
Something about his answer struck Libby in a way he didn’t understand. She straightened in her seat, taller than he’d thought, all slumped over and overly comfortable. Now she was staring at him as though something had just occurred to her. ‘Like I said, Skinner’s gonna go down for murder tomorrow night.’
‘You keep saying both of those things together, but you’re not actually saying who he’s going to kill or why.’
‘Everything I’ve told Maxella is the truth. Do what you think is right.’ Libby rolled her shoulders like she was warming up for a Pilates class.
Fuck this. Grey hadn’t driven for hours with the lying criminal to have her Harley Quinn sidekick talk to him in riddles. ‘I think you just like the sound of your own voice,’ he said. ‘You’re lonely and sad and you don’t give two shits about the Barbaranis, so why would you care if they died?’
‘I don’t wanna owe nobody shit, Mr Barbarani Man. When I get outta here, I’m gonna be a ghost. I don’t want nobody’s debt hanging over me. The La Marcas want the Barbaranis dead, so they send Skinner. I want Skinner underground, so I gotta compromise, don’t I? Can’t have everything we want in this life. Just ask Maxella here, she knows all about—’
‘Lib, that’s enough.’
‘Don’t you start getting all cop on my arse, Conrad.’ Libby’s eyes froze to icicles as they glazed over Max. ‘Remember who you are. Remember what you did.’
‘Don’t.’ Max’s voice was steel. Grey wanted Libby to keep going, but at the same time he felt a strange urge to kick her chair over.
Libby leant forward. ‘You’re not a good girl, Conrad. Don’t you get soft on me.’
‘I’m not getting soft. I’m trying to work out how you expect me to stop a murder when you can’t even tell me if it is Skinner who’s going to be pulling the trigger. Not to mention how he’s going to get onto the Barbarani property with all the security.’
Libby waved a hand lazily. ‘He’ll be coming in with the La Marcas.’
‘He won’t,’ Max said. ‘That would be like wearing a neon sign and a giant name tag plastered across his whole body.’
Libby shrugged. ‘Just make sure you got your Plan A and Plan B, Conrad. ’Cause Skinner will have both of those, then some. You remember what I told you ’bout Plan Bs?’
‘Your Plan B is better than your Plan A,’ Max said, like a kid repeating the batshit indoctrinations of a cult, ‘because if you really believed in Plan A—’
‘—you wouldn’t need a Plan B,’ Libby finished, satisfied.
‘I should have asked you before I left,’ Max said quietly, eyes on Libby. ‘I should have asked you why you need me to do this. The truth.’
But she’d been too desperate to get her life back, Grey thought. He’d known she was trouble – he’d known she was shoot first, ask questions never. But he’d let her in. He’d done it again.
‘We don’t ask “why” here. Fuck, girl, you remember nothing I told ya?’
‘Well, I’m not in here anymore.’ Max said it like she was trying to convince herself.
‘You free , are you, Conrad?’ Libby flashed her teeth.
Max shifted in her seat again.
‘Didn’t think so.’
‘Is it because of Rocky? You said Skinner gave him the drugs that night ...’
A storm churned across Libby’s face. Heavy clouds concealing crackling thunder beneath. When she spoke, her voice was deep and husky. ‘You were really listenin’ then, were you? You always were a goody goody. It’s about me. But yeah, parts of it are about Rocky.’ Her words didn’t match her eyes.
Rocky ... Ah. A hazy puzzle piece fell into Grey’s mind. Rocky-Road Johnston, Libby’s son. Grey couldn’t remember much about him except that he was dead.
‘You want Skinner dead because he killed your son?’ Grey asked. Max looked at him in surprise. He couldn’t bring himself to give a shit about what that look meant. He could still smell the fucking apple and cinnamon and would quite happily sacrifice his sense of smell for all of eternity to be rid of this wicked enchantment.
The storm was still shadowed across Libby’s face but she managed to crack a smile – a sliver of pale, watery sunlight seeping through. ‘Somethin’ like that.’
‘This is a waste of time.’ Grey stood. The sound of his plastic chair grated too loud in the unnatural silence of the visitors’ room.
‘Maybe if you just listened’—Libby clicked her tongue— ‘you’ll think different.’
‘Libby, if there’s anything you’re not telling us, anything you’re keeping to yourself because you’re afraid ...’ Max’s concern for this woman did something strange and uncomfortable in Grey’s stomach. A toxic mix of annoyance and awe.
‘Told ya more than I should’ve.’ Libby lifted her chin, sore spotted lips closed like nothing more was coming out.
‘Thank you for your time.’ Grey had never meant anything less in his life.
Libby signalled for Alexandra. When the guard was beside her, and Max had wandered towards the door, the smell of apples and cinnamon far enough away that Grey could breathe properly again, Libby turned to him.
‘Don’t you forget, Mr Barbarani Man. The fucker who killed my son’s gonna get what’s coming to him tomorrow night. You remember I’m the one who told you that.’
That confirmed it: this was a colossal waste of time. Actually, no, he decided, as he followed Alexandra and Max back down the corridor. No, it hadn’t been a waste of time. Because if he hadn’t come here, he might have given in to that weak part of him that was clutching to the smell of shampoo like it was the last drop of water on a desert island. If he hadn’t come here, he wouldn’t have found out the truth, the truth that he’d always known. The truth that his father had beaten into him every goddamn day. Why was it so hard to remember that one lesson?
No, it wasn’t a waste. Because now he had his confirmation – Max Conrad was a liar. A beautiful, intoxicating, intelligent liar.