Page 243 of Depraved Boys

“Why did the police arrest him this time?” asked Sebastian.

Mr. Pinkerton exhaled through his nostrils. “They believe that all the incidents—Corrine’s death, the attacks on Willow, the overdoses, and Bianca Byrd’s accident—were perpetrated by the same person.”

My brows drew together. “Didn’t Barrett Riley report his suspicions about my sister to the police?”

“And Miss Claymore was behind most of the attacks on Willow,” added Leopold. “Willow reported the girls to the police and didn’t mention Kash at all.”

“And how can they think Prakash pushed Bianca when he was with me all night? I told them in my statement.” I glanced at Sebastian, who bowed his head.

The lawyer’s lips twisted with distaste. “The killer has a habit of intoxicating his victims.”

Sebastian’s head snapped up. “His?”

“Or her.” Mr. Pinkerton ran a hand through his gray hair. “It’s entirely possible, according to them, that Mr. Kashaayah got you drunk enough to sleep through the night while he pushed Miss Byrd off the east wing.”

I shook my head. “The police would have noticed if I was stinking of alcohol this morning. Did they question Mr. Byrd?”

“He has an alibi,” replied the lawyer.

I opened my mouth to say that alibis could be fabricated then clamped it shut. If I told Mr. Pinkerton that Sebastian had paid the butler for a false statement to secure Prakash’s release, the lawyer might not want to represent us. Instead, I asked, “And they’re believing him?”

Mr. Pinkerton sighed. “This case has become more complicated than we initially believed. Instead of a simple case of grievous bodily harm, it morphed into an accusation of the attempted murder of one girl and the murder of another. I’ll need more billable staff. Is that alright with you, Mr. Garraway?”

“It’s fine,” muttered Sebastian. “Can you get him out on bail?”

“I’m working on it,” replied Mr. Pinkerton. “However, it might serve Mr. Kashaayah to remain behind bars.”

“Why?” Leopold and I practically wailed.

“There’s one thing we know for certain. Someone is attacking students in Brittas Academy, and the police are determined to blame Mr. Kashaayah for everything, regardless of evidence or alibis.”

“It’s because he’s Indian, isn’t it?” spat Leopold.

A lump formed in my throat, and tears pricked the backs of my eyes.

“They’re not going to admit their bias against Mr. Kashaayah.” The lawyer rubbed his brow. “But last year’s rape accusation and corroborating forensic evidence haven’t helped his case in the slightest.”

A thick fog formed over my mind, and I stared straight ahead, aware of Leopold’s impassioned arguments. Maybe Mr. Pinkerton was right. If the attacker struck while Prakash was behind bars, the police would have to admit to themselves that it wasn’t him hurting girls in the academy.

Shoulders slumping, I swallowed back the lump in my throat. Prakash had to be devastated at once again being unjustly imprisoned. This was so unfair, and there wasn’t a thing I could do to help him.

When the lawyer left the room, I slumped onto Leopold’s chest and wept. This was the most powerless I’d felt since joining the academy.

Sebastian, Leopold, and I spent the next few days desperate for developments in Prakash’s situation. On the Friday morning after his arrest, the police charged him with the murder of Corrine Gibbons and moved him back into the juvenile detention center to await a trial.

In Software Systems Development, I sat at a computer monitor trying to focus, but my thoughts kept swinging to Prakash and how he was faring in custody. Our teacher sat at the front of the room and tapped into his computer, seeming lost in his work.

“Willow,” whispered Cormac from the computer next to mine.

I raised my head but didn’t speak.

“Are you sure he’s innocent?” he asked.

My brows drew together. He hadn’t spoken to me properly in weeks. Was he having doubts about Prakash, now that he had been arrested?

I cleared my throat and whispered back, “He knows what he did to Corrine, and he regrets it every single day.” My voice croaked. “But he didn’t hurt her.”

Cormac scowled. “You think Corrine killed herself?”