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Marlow leaned forward. His cologne was cheap, aggressive. “Here’s what I think. I think you’re a very good liar. But good liars leave no trail. You left a perfect one. Which means either you’re innocent — or you wanted me to find exactly this.”

You waited until the door clicked shut. Until his footsteps faded down the linoleum hall. Bad Liar

“You were there,” he said.

Then you smiled.

Because the truth — the real, messy, unphotographable truth — was this: you’d never lied to him at all. You’d just let him believe you were lying. And that was the oldest trick in the book. Marlow leaned forward

“Detective,” you said, and let your voice soften at the edges — just enough to seem human. “I’m a bad liar. That’s why I’m still here.” I think you’re a very good liar

He almost smiled. Almost.