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‘I told them what you said.’
‘Did they believe you?’
‘I think so.’
‘You think so?’ She can’t keep the edge of hysteria out of her voice.
‘Christ, I don’t know!’ he almost shouts back at her. ‘I don’t know what they think!’ He lowers his voice again. ‘But Becky, there’s another problem.’
‘What problem?’ How much worse can it get?
He tells her, haltingly. ‘At the resort, I parked in the outdoor parking lot, not the indoor lot. Apparently there’s no camera on the outdoor parking lot – so I can’t prove I never left.’
She stares at him for a long moment.
‘But they can’t prove I did either,’ he says.
‘Maybe it’s time we got you a lawyer,’ she says dully.
‘What does that mean?’ he says. ‘Don’t you believe me?’
‘Yes,’ she says automatically, even though she doesn’t know if she believes him or not.
He strides into the living room to the bar cart. ‘I need a drink.’
‘I went over to see Robert Pierce while you were out,’ Becky says, her voice a hoarse whisper, as she watches him pour himself a stiff whisky.
He whirls around to look at her, the bottle in his hand. ‘What? What the hell did you do that for? He probably murdered his wife!’
She’s staring into space. Now that it’s over, she can hardly believe she did it. She must have been out of her mind. ‘I told him that the police think you might have killed Amanda.’
‘Jesus, Becky! That’s insane! What did you tell him that for?’
She focuses on him now; he seems to have gone a shade paler. ‘I wanted to see what he’d say.’
‘And?’
‘He said it was probably either you or him who killed her.’
Larry looks horrified. ‘Becky – he’s dangerous. Promise me you won’t go near him any more. Promise.’
She nods. She doesn’t want to go near Robert Pierce ever again.
Detective Webb drives across the Aylesford Bridge spanning the Hudson, and turns north on the highway, Moen beside him in the passenger seat. It’s early Monday morning, exactly a week since they found Amanda Pierce’s abandoned car, her violently beaten body shoved into the boot.
It’s a cold, crisp day, but the sun is out, and it’s a pleasant drive. At first the river is on their right. Soon they turn west, deeper into the Catskills, in the direction of the small town of Springhill. The wilderness stretches out all around them as the road curves and winds through the mountains. Eventually they turn off the highway and take a series of smaller, winding roads. The drive to the Sharpes’ cabin takes them right past the spot where Amanda’s body was found. Paul Sharpe must know this stretch of road well.
At last they turn down a gravel road and finally stop at a classic wood cabin that looks weathered, nestled in among the trees.
Webb sees a car parked in front. Paul Sharpe is here ahead of them. No surprise there.
They climb out of the car. The air is fresher here, and smells of earth, wet leaves, and pine needles. Breezes rustle through the remaining leaves on the trees overhead. They can see a small lake further down, a dock jutting out into the water.
The door to the cabin opens and Paul Sharpe steps out, looking wary. His wife, Olivia, is right behind him.
Olivia decided to come along because she couldn’t stand the thought of staying home and worrying about what was going on out here.
Olivia had tossed in bed the night before, unable to sleep, thinking about the cabin. It wasn’t the same, now that Raleigh was sixteen. He still enjoyed the cabin, loved the lake, but he didn’t look forward to it with gleeful excitement the way he had when he was little. By Sunday afternoon he was usually missing his friends and his wi-fi, so they tended to go back earlier than when he was a little boy, when she and Paul practically had to drag him into the car to go home.
She hadn’t noticed anything different about the cabin two weekends ago when they’d come up to start closing it up for the winter. It had been Columbus Day weekend, the weekend after Amanda had disappeared, the weekend before they’d had the Newells over for dinner and Olivia had found out that Raleigh was breaking into houses. Everything had been just as it was the last time they were at the cabin. She doesn’t understand what the hell the detectives want.
She’s always loved their little cabin in the woods. It’s not fancy – just one large room that’s part kitchen, part living room, with a view down to the lake along the back, and two bedrooms and a small bathroom on the other side of the living area. The floor is linoleum, the walls are wood panelled, the furniture is mismatched but comfortable, and the appliances are outdated, but that’s all part of its charm. She hopes that this doesn’t spoil it for them. They didn’t tell Raleigh what was happening today. He’d gone to school early for basketball practice, leaving before they did. It will be over soon enough, and he will never have to know that the police were even here.
She steps out of the cabin behind her husband and is surprised to see that it’s just Webb and Moen. She was expecting an entire team. It makes her relax a little bit. ‘Good morning,’ she says. She knows that Paul will be brusque with them; that’s the way he is. She must try to smooth things over. ‘Can I offer you some coffee?’
‘That would be great, thank you,’ Webb says, smiling his quick smile.
‘Yes, that would be lovely,’ Moen says, warmly. ‘Beautiful spot you’ve got here.’
They all go inside and Olivia turns away and busies herself with the old, serviceable coffee maker. She takes down four blue enamel cups. These old, chipped cups comfort her, remind her of relaxed, happier times. Morning coffee on the deck, with the mist rising off the water; hot cocoa for Raleigh when he was little, wrapped in a red-and-black plaid blanket against the chill. She glances over her shoulder and sees the detectives each pulling on blue latex gloves, and just like that, all her happy feelings abruptly disappear.
Chapter Twenty-nine
SHE BRINGS THE coffee over to the detectives; they accept it gratefully. Olivia finds the sight of those latex gloves holding her cups unsettling. The detectives begin to go about their work. Olivia and Paul sit silently at the kitchen table, trying to pretend that they don’t mind, that they’re not watching the two cops’ every move.
When the detectives leave the main room of the cabin and go into the bedrooms, Paul gets up and follows, taking his coffee with him. Olivia gets up, too. The detectives open drawers, look under mattresses. They put everything back the way they found it. She has no idea what they expect to find. They return to the kitchen and go through it methodically, silently. The longer it goes on, the more anxious Olivia becomes. She watches as Webb studies the navy curtains carefully. Silently, he waves Moen over. Together they look at the curtains, both sides, with the aid of a flashlight. Webb’s face seems to turn grim.
Finally, Webb turns to Olivia’s husband and says, ‘Do you have any tools?’
‘Tools?’ Paul repeats.
Olivia wonders if they want to take something apart. She’s not going to allow that, and she’s sure Paul won’t either. If they want to start tearing up the floorboards they will have to get a damn warrant.
