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Mitch paused a moment. “Bethenny, listen to me,” he said gently. “I don’t want to say this, and at this stage I don’t think he’s guilty—there must be an explanation—but we don’t know who he really is, we don’t know what he’s capable of. Please don’t discuss this with him. Let me do the talking when I arrive. That’s a direct order,” he said, his voice suddenly stern.
She bit her lip, sucking in a breath. “I really don’t think he did this, Mitch,” she said.
“Neither do I, but I can’t think of a single good reason why his prints would be on that knife,” Mitch said.
“He’s a homicide detective—he’s not going to be stupid enough to leave his prints on a murder weapon. He knows how DNA evidence works,” she said, more and more convinced he was innocent with every word she spoke.
“Accidents happen, Bethenny. Maybe something startled him and he made a mistake. However impossible it seems, we can’t rule it out—not yet,” Mitch said.
“Hang on.” Bethenny pressed a hand to her forehead, angry at herself that this wasn’t her first thought. “Mitch, he was lost in the woods the night Jessica was killed. I found him, and trust me, there’s no way he made it from the woods to Jessica’s house and back to those woods.”
“The coroner confirmed she was killed the night before. They think the cold weather we’ve had helped preserve her body, and her air conditioner was left on.”
“It’s a partial match... how close is the match?” she asked quickly.
“Close enough for the team to confirm it’s his print,” Mitch said, and by the noise in the background, she knew he was in the car now. She had a few minutes at best until they arrived. “There’s enough data points to confirm a match.”
She paused when she heard movement downstairs in the kitchen.
“I’ll see you in a few minutes,” Mitch said and then hung up.
Bethenny stared at the phone in her hand. She felt obligated to tell Lachlan, and she needed to see the look in his eyes. But if she was taken off the case for disobeying a direct order, she’d be of no use to him—especially if she needed to prove his innocence.
Realizing she was still in her pajamas, she threw on some jeans and a navy blazer. She was brushing her teeth when the doorbell rang.
Her stomach dropped to her feet when she realized she was out of time.
“I’ll get it,” she called out, but Lachlan was already at the door.
“Hey, Mitch,” she heard him say.
“Morning, detective,” Mitch said. Bethenny all but ran for the stairs, even though she didn’t know what she was going to do to help.
“Detective, we need to ask you a few questions in regards to Jessica Mella’s death. I’d like to do this at the station,” he said.
Lachlan gave a laugh. “What’s going on?” he asked, turning as Bethenny ran down the stairs. But when he saw the look on her face, his smile fell. He turned back to Mitch. “Seriously, what is going on?”
Mitch seemed to take a deep breath. “Your print is a match to one found on the murder weapon—the knife Louise White brought into the station.”
Bethenny was in front of him now, beside Mitch, and she saw the truth in Lachlan’s eyes as they doubled in size and his jaw fell open.
BETHENNY
“What? That’s impossible,” he said, taking a step back. His eyes landed on Bethenny. “Did you know about this?”
“I got the call a minute ago,” she said quickly, her voice full of apologies.
“And you didn’t think to talk to me?” he asked, the tone of his voice slicing through her heart as if it were the murder weapon.
“I ordered her not to,” Mitch said, seeming to shift his weight like he was about to lunge for Lachlan if he had to.
His words didn’t placate Lachlan, though. Bethenny could see he was seething, that he saw this as a betrayal.
“I didn’t do this! I didn’t touch Jessica! I’d never met her!” he said, looking directly at Mitch.
Mitch held his hands up like he was stopping traffic. “We just need to ask you a few questions—standard protocol, you know this.”
An officer stepped forward and Lachlan’s eyes darkened. “Seriously? You’re going to cuff me? Come on, Mitch! I’ll go willingly; I have nothing to hide. But don’t you dare put those cuffs on me,” he said, storming forward, through the door and out into the rain.
