Sam had the feeling she had just witnessed something no one in the house was meant to see or hear. She stayed very still, her heartpounding. She had grown up in a house of secrets, and she knew they were the reason her family had shattered. Lying on the sofa, she debated with herself what to do next, but she knew she had to look. She walked over to the desk and opened each of the drawers.
The envelope was in the bottom one. Sam pulled it out and saw that it was addressed to Conor. It had been slit open. Sam hesitated, then looked inside. She stared for a few long seconds. It was dark in the room, but she could see well enough. Her mouth went dry; she couldn’t even swallow.
She couldn’t stand holding that envelope. She quickly shoved it back into the drawer and closed it.
She wished she could have pushed her thoughts into a drawer too. For all those days between then and the wedding date, she had kept the secret. She considered asking Conor about what she had seen or blurting it out to Kate.
But she didn’t. She didn’t want to meddle; she shouldn’t have been snooping. It was a bad habit she’d picked up as a child, looking through her parents’ drawers, trying to find answers to her family’s unhappiness.
So, she kept burying her fears. She had to believe that there was some crazy explanation. In fact, she was pretty sure she had overreacted. Conor deserved his privacy. She was sure that he had either already told Kate, or he would. Either way, it was none of her business. She kept kicking herself for prying, and she hadn’t let herself make sense of what she had seen until the rehearsal dinner last night.
Now it made all the sense in the world—and it should have right away, that night of the solstice, in the library at Cloudlands. She had just refused to acknowledge the obvious. It was all perfectly clear.
Sam wished she hadn’t opened that drawer.
9
Saturday, July 3; 3:00 p.m.
Conor was on the wrong side of the interrogation table at the Wickford Barracks of the Rhode Island State Police, in North Kingstown. It was ironic, because during the Maddie Morrison case, he and Joe had sat across this exact table from their suspects.
But today, Garrett Milne had ordered Trooper George Bouchard to drive him here. George had seemed embarrassed and apologetic. At first he said he was sorry but just following orders, yet he was quiet on the drive.
Even though Conor knew him from the earlier investigation, he realized that George was most likely wary—suspicious of Conor for how he had behaved that morning. George had led him into the room, asked if he wanted coffee. Conor had said no. He asked about Kate, and George said he hadn’t heard anything. Conor felt like climbing the walls. Anything could be happening to her and he was trapped here.
Garrett kept him waiting. At first Conor was kept busy giving forensic samples. As a police officer, most were already on file in Connecticut, but Rhode Island had its own procedures. He was fingerprinted; he agreed to let them swab him for DNA and to take hair samples. He had been photographed at the scene, but now a different photographer took more detailed pictures before they let him wash off the blood.
Conor would have done the same in most cases—let the suspect sit alone till he was sweating, overthinking what he was going to say to get himself out of there. Two hours went by. Garrett kept passing the door, shooting Conor sharp looks but not saying anything. At one point, Garrett opened his mouth as if to speak, then just stood there, glaring. Conor felt his face turning red.
He knew he had to stop letting Garrett get to him. He had plenty of time to think, and he couldn’t help feeling as if he was being set up. He thought of how he had received the “help her” text, how he had been lured to the murder scene. Maeve had made the call to the police, and the officers were already there. Conor’s reaction—throwing himself on Belinda’s body—made him look guilty.
What part was Garrett playing? His tough act was over the top. Was it simply jealousy over Belinda’s apparent feelings for Conor and her story about the baby? Or was it something deeper? How long had he and Belinda been together? Did he see Belinda’s outburst last night as a betrayal of what he thought they had? Could he have been angry enough to have killed her?
He wondered where Joe was. He hadn’t seen him since they had returned to the hotel after searching for Kate. He wanted to get out of here, but he also wanted Joe to observe Garrett in action, confronting Conor. Conor was tempted to walk out—he hadn’t been arrested, he had the right to leave—but he thought that if he stayed, Garrett might reveal something that would help Conor understand what was really going on and how it might relate to Belinda.
Eventually, Garrett walked in, holding a folder. He opened it and stared at the contents without saying a word or making eye contact with Conor. Conor refused to react, but he recognized Interrogation 101. Staring at a sheaf of papers, Garrett was trying to make him think the evidence was stacking up.
“Sorry to keep you waiting so long,” Garrett said eventually. He took a seat across the table. “But we’ve been busy.”
“I can imagine,” Conor said. “You’re investigating a murder.”
“The interesting thing,” Garrett said, “is that all the evidence leads straight to you.”
“Okay,” Conor said.
“And we have a lot of it.”
Conor waited.
“Your footprints in the blood,” Garrett said. “Your prints on the victim.”
“Well, you know I was there,” Conor said.
“Yeah. George and Miles said you and your brother came running down the street when you saw their car. And our witness said you tore up the stairs, ran straight into the room—as if you already knew what you would find. And as if you wanted her—and the arriving officers—to see you.”
Her. Conor realized the witness had to be Maeve. George had told him and Tom about how the 911 caller had said she saw blood seeping under the bedroom door. And Maeve had been waiting to be interviewed when Conor ran past her, up the stairs.
“We have Belinda’s cell phone,” Garrett said. “And we’ll get a warrant to examine it. To check the records. Will we find calls from you? Or from her to you?”
