“You’re covered with blood,” Garrett said. “Want to explain why you were touching the body?”
“I told you, I thought it was Kate,” Conor said. “She’s wearing Kate’s wedding gown.”
“What?” Garrett asked.
“Yeah,” Conor said, pointing into the bedroom. “Belinda is wearing Kate’s dress. So when I saw her lying there, what did you expect me to do?”
And the thought hit him like a brick: Was Belinda the intended victim? Or had the murderer seen her in Kate’s wedding dress and thought—exactly like Conor—she was Kate? Did he think he was killing Kate?
“But it wasn’t Kate, was it?” Garrett asked.
“Listen,” Conor said, “someone wanted me here, maybe so I’d get blamed. It’s crazy ... But, Garrett, I need to find Kate. Come on, let’s work together. We can’t lose more time.”
“It’s obvious there is a connection, considering that Belinda was murdered in Kate’s dress,” Garrett said. “What kind of history does Kate have with her?”
“You saw,” Conor said. “Last night. That’s the history, end of story.”
“Except it was pretty obvious that Belinda is—was—in love with you, and that clearly made Kate jealous. Not to mention, dressing up in her wedding gown. What was that about? I can imagine it causing a pretty violent reaction.”
Conor knew Garrett was baiting him, hinting that Kate could be a suspect. It took everything he had to not react the way he knew Garrett wanted him to.
“Belinda was your date, Garrett. I hadn’t seen her in years, and Kate met her for the first time yesterday.”
“I’ll tell you, Conor. I think you wanted witnesses. You waited for the officers to show up, and you came with your brother,” Garrett said.
“Witnesses to what?”
“You throwing yourself at the body. Your big excuse for contaminating the scene.”
“Why would I do that?”
“Hypothetically, if a person committed murder and was afraid that he’d left evidence behind, what better way to explain it than returningto the scene, plowing in, and tampering with everything? Destroying the evidence he had left during the murder?” Garrett asked.
Conor stared at him—it wasn’t a bad theory. But the way Garrett was accusing him, with such intensity, made Conor feel this had everything to do with Garrett’s personal feelings. He wished Joe would hurry up and get there.
“Hey, Conor,” Tom said in a warning tone as he entered the room. Conor was surprised the local cops had let him back in, but he knew it was hard to say no to USCG Commander Thomas Reid when he got into his command-bearing mode.
“What?” Conor asked.
“I called Uncle Mike, and he’s outside. He wants to speak to you before you answer any questions,” Tom said.
“You mean your uncle the judge?” Garrett asked.
“Yes,” Tom said.
“Oh, so you need a lawyer?” Garrett asked Conor.
“I don’t care about that,” Conor said to Tom, ignoring Garrett. “I just need to find Kate.”
“I’m having George give you a ride to headquarters. You can answer questions there,” Garrett said, stepping forward, putting his face in Conor’s. Conor jumped back. Why was Garrett being so aggressive? He had the sudden thought that maybe Garrett had something of his own to hide.
“Garrett, shut the fuck up. You’re not listening to me. I’m not going anywhere till we find Kate. There’s a murderer here, and she’s missing, so pull it together, okay?”
Tom tapped Conor’s shoulder. “You’re right, but calm down,” he said. “Come with menow.”
Conor felt like decking his brother, but he followed him outside. He saw Maeve leaning against a stone wall. Standing beside her was a detective Conor hadn’t seen before, taking notes. The detective looked over at Conor, then resumed questioning Maeve. Conor noticed theblue truck in the driveway and flashed to yesterday—it had sped past, and he’d been afraid it would hit Kate.
Conor and Tom’s uncle, Michael Reid, stood on the front porch. At seventy-seven, he was still an imposing figure. He was six three, with a head of thick white hair and sharp blue eyes that gave anyone who faced him in court the feeling he could see right through them. Even here in his khakis and polo shirt, he had the bearing of a judge. Conor was used to having his uncle joke around with him and Tom, in the Reid manner, just as his father had done. But at that moment, Mike looked stern.
