Talking was good. The longer Boz talked, the less likely he would shoot.
“Okay,” Jason said. “If that’s what you want. Go.”
Boz’s jaw dropped.
“We can’t stop you,” Jason said. “But you need to understand. If you run, it’ll be interpreted as an admission of guilt.”
Boz steadied the pistol, pointing it straight between Jason’s eyes. Dreyfus made a pleading sound, sharply cut off.
“Or you could tell us your side of the story.” Jason was astonished to hear his own voice sounding relatively calm, even reasonable. “Since that’s all we were looking for.”
Boz’s eyes flicked back and forth between Jason and Dreyfus. “Bullshit. Why would the fucking feebs be involved? You don’t fool me. There’s something else going on here.”
Like what? What the hell else was this nut involved in that he imagined the federal government was likely to show up on his doorstep?
“We’re not— Listen to me. We’re with the Art Crime Team. The items stolen from Michael Khan’s collection are considered to be of historical and cultural significance.”
Boz gave a hysterical laugh. “You’re bullshitting. Stop lying to me!”
“No. I’m not lying. We just wanted to ask you a few questions about Friday night and Michael Khan—”
“I had nothing to do with that. Nothing. He wanted me to help him, I said no. I turned him down.”
Wait a minute. Hit Rewind.
Jason said, “Michael Khan wanted you to help him do what?”
“Hide the collection from Minerva. Help him pretend it was stolen.”
“You’re saying Khan faked the theft of his own collection?”
“Are you deaf? Yes. But I did not help him. Did not. Did not. Did not.”
Dreyfus, her voice squished by the hand clamped to her nose, said, “He couldn’t have done it on his own.”
“Did not. Did not. Did not. Did—”
“Okay, stop,” Jason said. “If you didn’t help Khan, who did?”
Boz waved the revolver wildly. “How would I know? Maybe he hired someone.”
“A name,” Jason pressed. “Your best guess.”
“Zatanna Zatara. How the fuck should I know? It wasn’t me.”
“Where would Khan store the collection?”
“Why are you asking me? I’m telling you, I wasn’t involved. Maybe he hired a moving company. Maybe the collection is on its way across country. I don’t know. I don’t want to know.”
“Did you kill Michael Khan?” Dreyfus asked.
Boz made a sound like a bull about to charge and turned the pistol her way. Jason instinctively put his arm out—because, yeah, that was going to protect her. Clearly, he had seen too many magician posters.
“No. I did not,” Boz said from between his teeth. “Plenty of people had motive to want Mike out of the way, but I wasn’t one of them. We were kind of even friends. Until he asked me to risk going back to prison for him.”
“Then why in God’s name did you flee just now?” Jason demanded. “Why not explain what happened?”
“Like you’re going to believe an ex-con?”