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It’s obvious by his expression that Zach was unaware of this and that he is both surprised and angry at this news. His lawyer is feverishly scribbling in his notebook.
“Do you know what emergency she was referring to?”
“No. I have no idea. Geez, no.”
“Did Alyssa ever say anything about someone following her?”
Again, he appears to be surprised. “No. No, not once.”
Kellan and I share a glance.
“Mr. Hoyt told us that she told him that she felt like she was being followed in the weeks leading up to her death.”
“What? No, she didn’t say a thing. That doesn’t make sense.”
“Mr. Kaing, as you know, we searched the crime scene—your house—extensively but I was wondering if we could also have access to Alyssa’s electronics, like her computer, or if you have a house computer, we’d like that too.”
“I understand you are already working to obtain access to my client’s wife’s texts and call logs,” Dennis injects.
“Yes, but I would like to dig deeper.”
Zach is suddenly very still. My instincts scream at me.
“I don’t think there is anything there that would help you with this,” he says.
“Yes, but perhaps?—”
“You’ll need to get a warrant for that.” His attorney stands. “This interview is done.”
TWENTY-FIVE
ROWAN
I look up at the sound of fingers rapping against the office door.
“Open,” I holler.
Kellan steps into my office, closing the door behind him.
I glance at the clock. It’s eight-fifteen in the evening.
I blink and rub my eyes as Kellan crosses the room. My eyes sting, my mouth is dry, my stomach is empty. It’s been a long day. After interviewing Zach Kaing, I met with the team for updates, and then had to re-shift my focus to the dozen other cases I’m working on—cases that I have neglected over the last forty-eight hours. The afternoon was filled with endless paperwork. I am drowning.
As Kellan removes a stack of papers from the seat across from my desk, I tap the face of my phone—no message from my husband asking if I’m okay or inquiring why I’m running late.
I blow out breath and lean back in my chair.
Kellan sinks into the chair across from me and crosses his leg over his knee. “Did you see the email?”
“What email?”
“Darcy just sent through the official autopsy report.”
I sit up, click into my email.
“Here are the CliffsNotes: Alyssa died of asphyxia.”
“So the killer strangled her to death—just like we thought.”
