Lane said, correctly guessing my desire to reach across the car and strangle Rupert. He put his hand firmly on my shoulder, preventing the accident I was in danger of causing. “For now,” Lane said, “we need to deal with the fact that Malcolm isn’t the killer.” “It made so much sense,” I said. “I really thought I had it.” “Yes,” Rupert said, “but greed is a better motive, isn’t it?” I didn’t like the angry look in his eyes, or the way his fingers gripped the steering wheel so tightly that the veins on the back of his hands looked as if they might pop. “If we’re done questioning each other now,” Rupert said, “maybe it’s time we got down to figuring out what happened to my best friend.” He swallowed hard. “Jaya, you may have identified where the treasure is, but that doesn’t tell us who’s after it or who killed Knox.” I didn’t know what to say. I watched the road fly by, listening to the strained hum of the engine as Rupert drove as fast as the Peugeot would take us.
