Page 39 of You Know Why

Cold Case

Theresa

It’s very late when Detective Theresa Lee gets back to Malogen.

She sits at her desk with an “Oomph.” She’s hit that age when everything aches, but nothing’s actually wrong outside of too many sleepless nights, too much caffeine, and years of midnight crime scenes. It’s all finally catching up to her. She has her twenty; she should put in her notice and move along to quieter pastures. But in truth, she still likes the work. The department is small—just her, the captain, a receptionist, and two young officers who are out on patrol in shifts. The area’s crime is more prone to drugs and domestics, and honestly, she’d be bored to tears without at least some intrigue to keep her going. What’s she supposed to do, read books and take walks? Garden? Bird-watch? Crime is in her blood—she’s a third-generation cop—and she doesn’t have anything else. She’s dedicated herself to the job. To the community. To Malogen. And let’s be honest, to the case that was never truly solved.

Chloe Barrow Locke.

Murdered on Christmas Eve. Twenty-four years old, married for two years, newly pregnant, stabbed to death while wrapping presents. A pregnancy test was found in a box on the table, already beribboned, a poignant twist. She wasn’t even showing yet.

Her husband did it. Of course he did. It’s always the husband.

Andrew Edward Locke III, son of Lucy and Andrew Locke Jr., absolute child hellion turned football quarterback turned Air Force pilot, who married Chloe right out of school. He worshipped her, by all accounts. A good woman’s love had straightened him out. Oh, he wasn’t that bad, the usual outrageously-popular-teenage-boy-in-a-small-town crap, and he was getting his act together when they started dating. He was sixteen; she was fourteen. They’d known each other their whole lives—the town was small, remember—but didn’t start dating until high school. A sweet fairy tale, an adorable couple finding true love. Until it wasn’t.

Everyone knew he killed her, but his alibi checked out, so eventually, after months of failed attempts to prove beyond a reasonable doubt that he murdered his wife, they had to let him go. And the moment they did, he ran. Disappeared. Split into the ether. And no one has seen him since.

Until now.

Only guilty men run; that’s what she’s always been taught. Andrew has been gone for ten years. And he has a whole new family that he’s just abandoned. Eden’s right: This is Andrew’s MO.

Eden had Brooklyn’s phone, which was still on the coffee table when she ran outside. Theresa was able to call the sister, Margot, who, it turned out, was already driving through the night to Atlanta, not trusting her family with the stranger whom they’d met at an airport.

Good call.

Theresa wouldn’t trust her life with Eden Barrow, either. If she hadn’t witnessed the whole accident and the moments leading to it, she would have looked askance at the woman. It’s bad enough that Andrew Locke appeared out of nowhere after all this time, then disappeared, abandoning his wife and children. But Eden ends up with Andrew’s new wife and kids in her house? Of all the people in the world to be in the middle of the maelstrom . . .

Theresa has been a cop long enough not to believe in coincidences. They happen sometimes, but this one strains credulity. Oh, it’s entirely possible that Eden just got lucky. But something doesn’t feel right.

What she does buy is that seeing Eden drove Andrew to run. The minute she spoke to him on the plane, he must have realized his life was about to implode. He’d been lying to Brooklyn the whole time he’d known her. Or maybe he was worried new evidence had come to the fore that would tie him to the murder at last and took advantage to get a head start.

There was more that Brooklyn hadn’t told them. Theresa could tell when she mentioned the credit cards that she was holding something back.

Everything about this stinks to high heaven. What a damn mess.

Theresa’s phone dings with a text from her good friend at the FBI. Call me.

She dials the number she’s known by heart for a decade. A deep male voice greets her. “T-Lee. What up?”

She laughs with her whole body. “Drake. I haven’t heard that name in a while. It’s been too long.”

“Four months at least. You know, if I didn’t know better, I’d say you forsook me when I moved to Quantico.”

“I forsook you? Ha. You’ve been too busy making headlines. Caught that creeper in Idaho.”

“You know how it is. Just doing the job. Always a new creep to hunt. Speaking of . . .”

“It’s him, isn’t it? Andrew Locke?”

“Facial recognition doesn’t lie. It sure is.”

“Incredible. Where’s he been for ten years?”

“Nashville. Working for his wife’s uncle at a firm called the Gussin Group.”

“Wait, Pat and Robert Gussin? The Gussins? The venture capitalists?” Theresa feels a buzz start. “Brooklyn said Andrew was in finance and worked for her uncle, but she didn’t say it was TGG. That changes things.”

“Yeah, this is going to get high profile, real quick. The blowback if it comes out one of their employees is a murderer? I wouldn’t want to be their PR person.”