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‘Was there anyone there with her when you visited her that Friday evening?’ Webb asks. ‘Anyone who can vouch for you?’
‘Well, no. It was evening. They’d gone home.’
‘But if we make a visit to your aunt, she’ll confirm that you were there that night?’
Now Paul looks uncomfortable. He shifts a little in his chair. ‘Well, I don’t know,’ he says. ‘You see, her memory is going. She’s got quite bad dementia, too – so she’s liable to get a bit mixed up. She won’t remember a visit from three weeks ago.’
‘I see.’
‘What number did she call you at?’ Detective Moen asks.
‘She called my cell, while I was at work,’ Paul says. ‘She calls me quite a lot, actually. Pretty much every day.’
‘So if we were to check your cell phone records, it would show that she’d called you that day?’ Moen asks.
Paul nods emphatically. ‘Yes, of course.’
‘And if we were to check your whereabouts by the location of your cell phone that night, it would show you were at your aunt’s,’ Webb says.
Now Paul looks less sure of himself. He opens his mouth to speak but says nothing.
‘Is there a problem?’ Webb asks.
Olivia watches all this unfold in front of her, her heart picking up speed.
‘I – I don’t know,’ Paul says. ‘I had my cell phone with me, but it was very low on battery and I didn’t have a charger with me, so I just turned it off.’
‘I see,’ Webb says.
Paul glances nervously at Olivia. It doesn’t look like the detective believes him.
‘What time did you get home, Mr Sharpe?’ Webb asks.
‘I’m not sure,’ Paul says, looking at Olivia. ‘Around eleven?’
Olivia shrugs. ‘I honestly don’t remember. I went to bed early – I was already asleep when you came in.’ She suddenly realizes that Paul won’t actually be able to prove where he was that night. She studies the detectives, but she can’t tell what they’re thinking. She tells herself she has no reason to be worried. But she doesn’t like the way they are looking at her husband. She feels a bit nauseated.
She wonders, sickeningly, if he’s got anything to hide.
‘And the rest of the weekend?’ Webb asks, looking at Olivia.
‘He was home, with me. Definitely.’
‘Could I have your aunt’s address?’ the detective asks Paul.
Robert Pierce is at home Saturday morning, enjoying a cup of coffee, when he hears his doorbell ring. He goes still. He decides not to answer it; maybe whoever it is will go away.
But the doorbell rings again, insistently. He thumps his coffee down, annoyed, and walks to the front door. He doesn’t want to talk to anyone.
He opens the door and sees a pleasant-looking older woman smiling at him. ‘What do you want?’ he says curtly.
‘I’m sorry to bother you,’ the woman says. He looks back coldly at her – does she honestly not know that his wife has been murdered? – but she blithely carries on. ‘My name’s Carmine. I’m a neighbour of yours. I live at Thirty-two Finch, one street over.’ She points over her shoulder.
He begins to close the door.
‘I was broken into recently,’ she says hastily, ‘and I’m trying to find out if anyone else was as well.’
He stops. He remembers the letter, the unexplained fingerprints in his house. He thinks about Amanda’s phone, how he’d found it on top of the envelopes in his drawer when he was so sure he’d put it beneath them. He wants to hear what this woman has to say, but he doesn’t want to let her know that he was broken into, too. He has already destroyed the letter. What if the police find out? What if they find out who it was, and ask him what he saw in Robert’s house? He shakes his head, frowns. ‘No. Nobody broke in here,’ he lies.
‘Well, that’s good, I guess,’ she says. She sighs rather dramatically. ‘Somebody broke into my house, and I’m going to find out who.’ She holds up a piece of paper. ‘I got this letter.’
‘May I?’ he asks.
She hands it to him. He quickly realizes it’s exactly the same as the letter he received. ‘When did you get this?’ he asks.
‘I found it last Monday morning. It was pushed in my door slot.’
He looks up and hands it back to her. ‘How unusual,’ he says. He can’t think of anything else to say.
She snorts. ‘You could say that. I don’t know how unusual it is for kids to break into houses, but it’s pretty unusual for the mom to write an anonymous apology letter.’ She adds, ‘I can’t find anyone else who got the letter. But it clearly says there were others. And I bet this kid has broken into more homes than just the ones his mother knows about.’ She sighs again, heavily. ‘I suppose I should just let it go. Nothing was taken and the kid’s parents have obviously dealt with it.’
‘Just some dumb teenager,’ Robert says, careful not to show how uneasy he feels.
She leans in conspiratorially and says, ‘Actually … I’m pretty sure I’ve figured out who it is. And from what I hear, he’s got some pretty good tech skills.’
‘Really? Who?’ Robert asks casually. But he’s thinking, What if the kid looked inside the phone?
‘If I find out for certain, I’ll let you know. He snoops into my life, I’m going to snoop into his. And then I’m going to tell him what I think of him.’
Robert nods. ‘Have you gone to the police?’
‘No, not yet. I doubt they’d take it seriously.’
‘Probably not,’ Robert agrees.
‘Well, keep your doors and windows locked,’ she says, turning away.
Robert closes the door and begins to pace the living room. Fuck. This fucking teenager. What if the kid looked in Amanda’s phone, and saw what was on it? He writes down Carmine’s name and address before he forgets them. And if he thinks he needs to do something about this kid, he will.
Raleigh looks on in surprise at the scene in front of him. He’s never seen these two official-looking people sitting in his living room before. What are they doing here? Adrenaline shoots through his body. This must be about him – about last night.
‘Raleigh!’ his mom says, obviously startled. ‘What are you doing up?’
He’d got up early on purpose – it’s not even noon – all part of trying to get back on her good side so he can get his phone back. But right now, she doesn’t seem very happy about it.
‘We’re finished here anyway,’ the unfamiliar man says, flashing a dismissive glance at Raleigh.
Nothing to do with him, then. The relief almost makes Raleigh’s knees buckle.
Raleigh realizes he’s in his pyjamas, and everybody else in the room is fully dressed. Well, he didn’t know anybody was here. He slinks back into the kitchen, relieved and embarrassed, while his parents show the visitors to the door, somehow aware that he’s stumbled into something that he’s not really supposed to know about. He pours himself a bowl of cereal and waits.
He hears the front door close. His mom and dad don’t come into the kitchen immediately. They’re obviously discussing what to say to him. Finally they join him, and his mom busies herself tidying up. There’s an uncomfortable silence; nobody says anything for a minute and Raleigh wonders if they’re just going to say nothing at all. Screw that. ‘What was that all about?’ he asks.
