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"That's why the police took Vincent in," he says. "I told them I saw Vincent near Dickinson when Bill was shot."

"You're the one who ran," I say under my breath.

Slush sprays the undercarriage of the car as the suspension dances over a pothole.

"You lied to them."

"Paul" I get out of the car, trying to keep my voice at a whisper.

"You're the one who ran," I say under my breath.

"Paul" I get out of the car, trying to keep my voice at a whisper.

A light in the neighboring house comes on, but Paul pays no attention. He paces up to Taft's front porch and puts his ear to the door, gently rapping.

I'm waiting for Gil to react, but he keeps his eyes on the road. Staring at the back of Paul's head, I have the strange sensation of looking at myself from behind, of being inside my father's car again.

"Threatening you with the letter?"

"We can't do this," I say as I walk toward them, trying for some authority.

But Paul is already inside, scanning the first floor. Without a word, he's deep into the house.

"He's still at the police station," Paul says, almost to himself. "The lights are off."

Gil doesn't even hear us. Shaken by the sight of Taft's house, he lightens pressure on the brakes, letting us roll in neutral, prepared to go back. Just as his foot begins to engage the clutch, though, Paul yanks the door handle and stumbles out onto the curb.

The wind hisses around the door as he opens it, muffling his words. I can see Paul mouth something to us, pointing at the house. He begins hiking toward it in the snow.

"You lied to them."

The houses before us are fashioned in white clapboard. At Taft's address, all windows are unlit. Just beyond them stands the tree line of the Institute woods, its canopy tinseled in white.

Gil doesn't even hear us. Shaken by the sight of Taft's house, he lightens pressure on the brakes, letting us roll in neutral, prepared to go back. Just as his foot begins to engage the clutch, though, Paul yanks the door handle and stumbles out onto the curb.

"You're the one who ran," I say under my breath.

"I'm the one who called the police too," he says.

I can hear it in his voice, the accusation sneaking in. Everything returns to the moment I pushed Taft.

"I'm the one who called the police too," he says.

"You're the one who ran," I say under my breath.

"What do we do?" Gil says, beside him.

"It's the only other place he could've hidden it."

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