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“Strange car outside, Stephanie is paranoid,” Jamie said, shrugging. “Best for her to call it in, honestly, just in case. I’d rather go up there unnecessarily.”
“True.”
We chugged along the rest of the way, and Jamie’s phone rang just as we pulled into the exclusive cul-de-sac where Stephanie Tierney lived.
I didn’t need the computer read on the plate on the car outside her house.
“Shit. That’s Charlotte’s car,” I said, pulling up behind it and getting out.
Jamie did a double-take and got out, answering his phone at the same time.
I walked over to it, and yes—Charlotte’s car. Why hadn’t that come up automatically? It should have been an immediate hit as an active suspect’s car in our investigation.
“Yeah,” Jamie said. “He doesn’t know why it didn’t come up right away.”
“What the fuck’s she doing here?”
Jamie pressed his lips together. “Do you think she came to confront her?”
“No. She wouldn’t do that.” I stopped and met his eyes, then rubbed my temple. “She would absolutely fuckin’ do that.”
He stared at me for a moment before we turned towards the house. Stephanie was standing on the front step with her arms wrapped around her waist, hugging herself.
“Oh, thank God. I went in and came right back out. I’m so nervous.”
“It’s all right, Mrs Tierney,” I said. “We’ve identified the vehicle. Do you mind if we go in?”
“Please, Stephanie. And no, come on in.” She put the key in the door and pushed it open for us to go inside. “Who does it belong to? The car?”
“Charlotte O’Neil,” I answered. “Were you expecting her?”
Stephanie frowned. “No. I’m so sorry, I feel like I should have known that. Wait—why is her car here? She’s not. The house is empty, as far as I know. I didn’t even unload my shopping.”
“Do you mind if I have a look around? Sergeant Donovan, can you knock on the neighbours’ doors and see if they saw anything this afternoon?”
Jamie nodded and left the house.
“Can I look around?” I asked again.
“No, of course. Here, let me try calling Lottie. I don’t understand.” Stephanie rifled through her bag, and I wandered into the living room. Nothing in here was out of place—it was all cream and white, almost a show home. I hated this kind of thing, but it made it easy to see if anything was amiss.
Nothing was.
“She’s not answering her phone,” Stephanie said.
“I don’t think she uses her phone for that,” I said absent-mindedly, but I didn’t miss the small smile that crept onto her face.
Fuck, Lots, where are you?
“Wait here,” I said, walking into the next room.
Nothing.
The next one, nothing.
The kitchen.
Blood.
