I glanced at him, then slowly shifted my gaze to the phone screen.
A five-minute video showed a frame paused on a man I didn’t recognize, slumped in a chair, looking defeated. He was in a plain white room, across from a cop who was clearly taking a statement.
No doubt about it—it looked like footage straight from an interrogation room.
“Who’s he?” I asked, pretty sure I’d never seen the guy before.
Henry didn’t answer—just gave me a look that told me to hit play and see for myself.
I tapped it, and the video rolled. The man began to speak. His voice came out from the phone, low and clear. He talked, sentence by sentence, about how he’d taken a million to run someone over near a police station, then how he’d gone into hiding and eventually settled in an island.
When the
