Page 89 of Not a Word

Catherine’s theory as she explained it to Crane: The killings were payback. Her caller had entered their home, found Brent and Leah, assumed Leah was Catherine, and shot them. Staged it to look like a murder-suicide.

“At a glance, she looked like me. And even if she hadn’t, whoever shot her would have just assumed it was me.”

“Staging a suicide is not as easy at it sounds,” Crane said, sounding as though he spoke from experience. “Even if we accept that it’s what it appears to be, there’s still someone out there who knows, or is pretending to know, what happened to Corby. Perhaps your husband confided in someone other than Leah, or he told her and she told someone else.”

“I just . . . I just don’t think he would have told.”

“Maybe he loved her. Wanted to confess all.”

Catherine looked pained. “I still don’t think he’d have said anything.”

“And it wasn’t you.”

She shook her head vehemently. “Of course not.”

“That leaves one person.”

Catherine paled. “It wasn’t him.”

“Perhaps you should ask him.”

“I did. I asked him if he’d kept his promise and he said he had.”

A slow nod. “And tell me about young Holden. What kind of a man has he grown up to be?”

Catherine looked away. “He’s had his troubles.”

“Troubles. Perhaps you could elaborate.”

“He’s had a rough time. In and out of rehab and—”

Crane’s eyebrows went up like two rockets. “So, a drug addict? They have a reputation for always telling the truth.”

Catherine pointed a finger. “Stay away from him.”

Crane’s lips pursed with regret, as though thinking of something he should have done on that night long ago.

“And even if it’s him,” Catherine said, “and I’m not saying it is, what’s done is done.”

Crane was thinking differently. Maybe it was time to correct his earlier mistake. If Holden had told one person, he could tell another.

“We can ask him again whom he might have told, or we can hope your caller gets in touch again. And when she does, we dangle some bait.”

“Bait?”

“If we can’t figure out how to get to her, we have to make her come to us. If and when she calls, and I’m betting she will, before she hangs up, you say ‘I’ll pay.’ Simple as that. If she doesn’t hang up, you’ve set the hook. Tell her to name her price.”

“What if she asks for, I don’t know, a million dollars?”

“You agree.”

He nodded.

“I don’t know . . . I don’t know if I can pull together a million. And she’ll want it in cash, won’t she? I mean, we had investments, but now there’ll be an estate to settle. It could take time before I can get to the money. And there’ll be questions if I start converting that kind of money to cash and—”

Crane waved a hand to silence her. “Don’t worry about that. Arrange a time and place to make a drop. Then call me.”

“But if I can’t pull together the money in time—”