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Was he wondering if she was trying to figure out a way to claim the paintings for herself?
And the last time she saw Kyle before moving he simply asked, “How are youdoing, Emma?” with his head cocked, waiting, she thought, for any hint of insincerity in her response.
He also thinks I ordered a hit man, she thought, her stomach churning.
By then, the police had requested a third interview, simply to pick her brain, they told her, and this time Dunne accompanied her. The questions were more of the same, asked in slightly different ways though, and she sensed they believed that if they made her cover the same ground again and again, she’d begin to falter.
It felt as if a net was dropping on top of her, pinning her facedown. Afterward Dunne warned her that the police might try to obtain a warrant for her laptop and he needed to be sure she’d gone through her emails as he’d suggestedand made certain there was nothing the police would find suspicious.
“Yes, I’ve checked, and it’s all fine,” she told him.
“What about your internet search history?” he asked.
“There’s nothing incriminating there, either.”
That wasn’t a hundred percent true, however. Early that year she’d hunted online for divorce attorneys, planning to call one when she was ready, but even in her crazed, stressed state, she’d been smart enough to do the search in a public library three towns away. There was surely no way the cops would connect that search to her.
She didn’t share her actions with Dunne, though. She told him only what he needed to know and nothing more.
