The responding officers cleared the room where Belinda’s body had been found, and Conor moved downstairs. The crime scene team arrived and took numerous photos of Belinda’s body and the bedroom. They had him remove his shoes and bagged them, giving him a pair of paper booties to put on over his bare feet. Conor was directed to take off his shirt so they could examine his body for cuts or scratches, potentiallydefensive wounds made by the victim during the attack. They took photographs, paying special attention to his hands.
The murder scene was horrific. Belinda’s throat had been slashed. The carotid artery had been severed. With her heart still pumping, the arterial spray had been violent, pulsing onto the wall and ceiling, dripping down and pooling on the wooden floor. Conor knew with that type of wound, death would have happened very fast.
The responding officers had called in the detectives. Conor looked for Joe, but Garrett was first to arrive. He walked straight to Conor.
“Where were you earlier this morning?” Garrett asked. It was a simple enough question, but Garrett delivered it with high velocity, as an accusation.
“Looking for Kate,” Conor said.
“And did you find her?”
“No,” Conor said.
“So you were looking for your fiancée, and you just happened to stumble into this house, to find a body? To findBelinda?”
“I wouldn’t put it that way, Garrett,” Conor said. “And I am sorry about Belinda. I know you were—”
“You don’t know anything,” Garrett said harshly.
Conor stared at him, kept his cool. Despite everything, the shock of Belinda’s death and his worry about Kate, he managed to note that Garrett was acting more in anger than in grief.
“Why did you come here? To this house?” Garrett said.
“Someone texted me, then I saw the police car.”
“How do those two things go together?”
“The text said ‘help her,’” Conor said.
“Was that about Belinda?” Garrett asked.
“I have no idea—I don’t even know who it was from,” Conor said. “I thought it was about Kate.” In the back of his mind were other texts and calls he had gotten over the last year—anonymous ones—that he was sure had been sent by Belinda.
“That’s convenient,” Garrett said. “Let me see the text.”
Conor felt rage spilling out of Garrett, and he took a step back. “Maybe you shouldn’t be investigating this. You’re too close to it. Belinda was your girlfriend—”
“Don’t you say her name,” Garrett said. “And I am investigating this. I have questions for you.”
That could be challenging, if you don’t want me to say the name of the victim, Conor thought. In spite of how upset he had been at Belinda last night, he felt shaken to see her murdered so brutally—the girl next door, whom he had cared about when they were children.
“What questions?” Conor asked.
“What do you think?” Garrett asked. “Can we start with the murder?”
“I had nothing to do with that.” Conor felt as if his head were going to explode.
“You assaulted her last night,” Garrett said. “She’s got a big, long story about you. About yourhistory.”
Conor shook his head. “Listen, Garrett, everything about this is messed up. But you know me. You’re my friend, it’s why Kate and I invited you to our wedding ...”
“Back to the point,” Garrett said. “You came flying into this house—why?”
“Because I got that text, and I can’t find Kate. That’s all that matters to me.”
“You said you were out looking for her all night, that’s your alibi,” Garrett said.
“First, I was with my brother, then Joe. We were all searching. And that’s what we should be doing now!”
