Page 64 of Trust No One

When Gabe had been arrested for the bar fight, a detective like Sam Hutchinson wouldn’t normally bother to interview any of the parties. But Hutchinson had pulled Gabe into a small, gray interview room.

His questions quickly pivoted from the fight to the death of Raine’s mother, Eloise Hale. At the time of her death, Mrs. Hale had had dementia and required around-the-clock care. Though her mind had failed, her physical body was strong. Her sudden death had been unexpected.

Hutchinson had interviewed Raine and me after Mrs. Hale’s death. We’d found her body in the dry creek bed on the Hale land.

Raine had known her mother better than anyone and had theorized that Mrs. Hale had escaped her room and gotten outside during the caregivers’ shift change. She’d vanished on the property before anyone realized she was gone. We all believed that Mrs. Hale had fallen, struck her head on a rock, and died.

Our interviews with Hutchinson had been straightforward and short.

Why had Hutchinson brought up Eloise Hale’s death with Gabe years after the fact? Had he suspected foul play but didn’t have enough evidence at the time?

I thought back to the video recording conducted in the police interview room. Plain beige soundproof walls, a laminated table, and two plastic chairs. Gabe’s chair was backed against the wall and faced the camera. Detective Hutchinson’s chair was angled so that he was closer to Gabe. I’d used this setup. It was designed to build trust and rapport between the cop and suspect.

Gabe’s right eye was swelling closed. His T-shirt was ripped, his shadowed jaw scratched. Still slightly intoxicated, he didn’t fully register the gravity of this moment.

Detective Hutchinson had Gabe in his crosshairs—he sat back and crossed his arms over his round belly. “Tonight, you proved you have a hell of a temper. Am I right, Gabe?”

Gabe’s angry expression shifted to defensive. “The guy pushed me.”

Detective Hutchinson adjusted the half-glasses on his nose. “Surveillance footage shows you hitting Mr. Gibson first.”

“Bullshit. He hit me first.”

“Camera says otherwise.”

“Let me see it.”

“If I had a computer monitor in the room, I would. In the meantime, help me out now, and I’ll see if I can get us access to a screen.”

Gabe shifted and rubbed his nose. “Cameras don’t catch all the angles.”

“You’re right about that. Lots of blind spots.”

Gabe flexed scraped knuckles.

“Tell me about Mrs. Hale,” Hutchinson said.

Gabe leaned forward, clasping his fingers. “Mrs. Hale? She died two years ago. Why are you asking about her?”

Hutchinson leaned back, folding his arms. Instead of answering, he said, “She didn’t have any physical health issues beyond the dementia. Good heart. Good appetite. Caregivers described her as strong. And then she escapes. And is found dead in a creek bed with a head injury.”

“That was an accident.” Gabe sat back.

“You and your mother live on the estate?”

“Yeah. Since I was twelve.”

“Did you go up to the main house much?”

“No.”

“You worked in the Hale House.”

“Not in the house. On the land. I cut the grass.”

“Did you cross paths with Amy Stocker? She was a caregiver.”

“Yeah, I knew her. Raine hired her to work weekends.” Gabe shifted, tipped forward. “What does this have to do with anything?”