Instead, I focused on the crux of what he had just said and made a demand. “What kind of evidence? Surely not the hairs you said they found at the Wentworth scene.”

“I can’t say, Row.”

“Well, whatever it is, it’s bullshit and you know it. She didn’t kill anyone.”

“I…she…crap…” he muttered.

“Dammit, Ben, think about it! If she killed Wentworth and Hobbes, then why didn’t she kill that character she picked up at the club?”

“I dunno. You tell me. For all you know she might’ve if things had gone different.”

“No, she wouldn’t have and here’s why-because she didn’t kill any of them. I told you what was going on. She was possessed by a Lwa that night.”

“Dammit, Row, that’s not gonna fly an’ you know it. Not with my superiors and sure as fuck not with a court.”

“It’s still the truth.”

“Yeah. Maybe.”

“Maybe?” I snipped. “So now you don’t believe me either?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Yeah, well from where I’m standing you haven’t said much, period.”

He didn’t reply. He just kept working on the knotted muscle in his shoulder.

“So, what’s this hard evidence?” I pressed, returning to my original query. “Tell me.”

“I’ve already said more than I should.”

“Damn you, Ben,” I growled.

He sucked in a quick breath and pulled his hand from his shoulder, stiffly jabbing his index finger toward me. His eyes glowered as his face hardened once again, and his mouth opened in preparation to deliver some manner of angry ripost. However, no sound issued from him even though his jaw slowly worked at forming the words.