Conor felt like explaining things to Garrett, telling him his suspicions about the anonymous texts, but he held back. He thought of investigations when subjects had deleted calls, thinking that by doing so they could erase the evidence. He knew that forensic specialists could examine phone data and uncover the missing calls. Conor had had cases like that, and it was much worse than if the person had just let the call stand; deletion indicated consciousness of guilt.
“We’re going to get your phone too,” Garrett said.
Conor stayed silent. He knew that if he was honest and put it out there—if he explained that he had deleted the calls and texts not to hide them from Kate or the police but just because he wanted to distance himself from the craziness, the stalking. He didn’t want the reminder on his phone. But he knew that saying too much at this stage of theinvestigation was a mistake. Even with a genuine desire to be helpful, a person could say more than they should, sometimes contradicting themselves. Their desire to “set the record straight” wound up being a gift to the prosecutor to use against them in court.
“So why don’t you just give your phone to me?” Garrett asked. “You know we’re going to get it anyway. If you’re innocent, you have nothing to hide, right?”
“I don’t have it.”
“Convenient,” Garrett said. “Where is it?”
Conor didn’t reply.
“I have to ask myself, what would be your motive, killing her? I assume it has something to do with that shit show last night,” Garrett said.
Conor thought of the look on Kate’s face, of the way she had run away from him after their rehearsal dinner. He couldn’t help letting out a long exhalation.
“You’re at the center of a whole lot of trouble,” Garrett said. “Everything’s falling apart for you, isn’t it?”
Conor didn’t say a word.
“Even aside from the murder. Your wedding. Your fiancée finding out about your relationship with Belinda.”
“There was no relationship,” Conor said.
“You’re saying you didn’t have one?” Garrett asked, glossing over the question. “Belinda told me all about it once we got back to the room. She showed me the baby photo. Suzanne was there too. She knew all about it.”
“Suzanne?” Conor asked. He tried to place the name, but he felt outraged that Belinda had been lying about him, and his head was spinning.
He knew the worst thing he could do was to let Garrett see his emotions. He took a deep breath, steadied himself. He had to keep his focus, concentrate on staying calm. He began to wish Uncle Mike’s friend Leo Kennedy would hurry up and get there.
“Belinda ruined everything, didn’t she?” Garrett asked. “Spoiling your rehearsal dinner? Springing the news on Kate?”
“Springing it on you too,” Conor said. “She was your date.”
The left corner of Garrett’s mouth twitched. He kept his hands flat on the table but flexed them twice, as if he wanted to make fists. Conor felt anger pouring off Garrett, and he knew he had struck a nerve.
“That’s what this is about, right?” Conor asked. “You’re blaming me for that, for whatever you think went on between me and your girlfriend. So you want to hold me here, treat me like a suspect? Go for it, Garrett.”
Conor stood up. He kept close watch on Garrett’s reaction. At first, Garrett looked shocked, then dismayed—like a kid who’d been beaten on the playground.
“You can’t leave,” Garrett said.
“I’ve been courteous to you and let you play this game with me. But you know how it works. Arrest me, or I’m walking out.”
Garrett tapped the folder on the table. An expression of smugness crossed his face. “Go ahead and leave. But the statements from guests at the dinner last night, and witnesses of you running into the house this morning, make you a person of interest. Witness reports and photographs of you covered with Belinda’s blood make you a suspect. And once we get a statement from Suzanne, we’ll have all we need.”
Conor waited to hear Garrett read him his Miranda rights, but the words didn’t come, and Conor held himself back from asking why Suzanne’s statement was so important—she was just the calligrapher, helping Maeve with some wedding details. Garrett was doing an intense job of staring him down and barely even noticed when the door opened.
Conor hoped it was the lawyer Mike had called, but instead Joe stepped into the interrogation room.
“What’s going on?” Joe asked.
“I’m about to place Conor under arrest,” Garrett said.
“Let’s hold off on that,” Joe said. The senior detective had a way of speaking that left no doubt, without raising his voice, that it was more an order than a suggestion.
Garrett held his dagger gaze on Conor for a few more seconds, then tapped his folder and left the room without another word.
