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“We didn’t keep those kinds of secrets,” Beckett said.
“Really? How would you have reacted if she’d told you somebody was pestering her? Annoying her, wanting to get back together?”
“I’d—” he said, and stopped.
“That’s right. You’d have gone ballistic on the guy, probably got yourself in trouble. I’m guessing she wouldn’t have told you unless it really escalated. I can’t believe she’d have let a guy into her car, though. I realize the crime rate’s lower here, but—”
“No,” Beckett said. “She wouldn’t have. I told you. She was logical.”
Quinn tapped her pen against the yellow pad and stared into space. “The question is, how much of this information can you and I get access to? We also don’t want to run into the cops while we’re doing it, so we need to move fast, like—right now. First step is her parents, and of course her sister. She must remember that night well, after all this.”
“Yeah,” Beckett said. “Not my biggest fan, though.”
“Really?” Quinn asked. “She blames you, somehow? Or just doesn’t like you?”
“Both, probably. She wouldn’t have wanted to blame herself, as it was her party.”
“Huh,” Quinn said. “OK. I’ll have to figure out how answering our questions will hurt you and sell that, then. Hard to do that when you’re the one asking them, though. And you know—as I think about it, I’m not sure the police are going to be bending over backwards to open all this up again. I’m sure they’ll ask some questions, but I’ll bet Burnside was hoping you’d crack and admit that you’d done—whatever, because that’s the only scenario that makes sense, other than Abby either losing her sense of direction—wasit really that bad out? So bad that you wouldn’t realize you weren’t on the road?—or, of course, her doing it intentionally. If I had to bet, I’d bet on them chalking it up to accident, and the drunk guy to, well, a drunk guy, and letting it go. We may well not be able to find out anything more, but at least we can try, so you don’t have those nagging doubts that you should’ve figured out why it happened. I just don’t think the cops will pursue it too far unless we do come up with something. It’s not like somebody shot her. Oh,” she said, when Beckett flinched. “Sorry.”
“Never mind,” he said. “I’m glad you’re keeping a clear head, because I can’t. Her sister can’t blame me more than I blame myself for not insisting she stay there overnight from the start or driving out to get her. And, yeah, it was that bad. We should go by the place so I can show you where it happened.”
“I did look up some footage of tropical downpours,” Quinn said. “It looked impressive. Have you actually been to the spot, though?”
A pause. Beckett looked down at his cup, turning it between strong fingers, and finally said, “Yeah. I did, once. Walked to the end there, where she went in. I needed to see.”
“If it hurts you,” she said, “I’ll go by myself.”
“No. We’ll go together.”
“First. And then go see Abby’s parents, and Samantha.” She made another note on her legal pad. “I definitely need to talk to her mom. If it’s not your sister, your mom’s the one you’d tell if you were having issues.”
“I’m not her favorite person, either,” Beckett said.
“So, again,” Quinn said, “I find a way to make it about me. In fact— Wait. I have an idea.”
* * *
Beckett hadn’t seemedone bit excited about her plan. “Why would I let you do that?” he’d asked, his voice sharp, like he was too tired to mask anything.
“Because it’s our best shot,” Quinn said.
“Or because you don’t think anybody but you can manage anything. She was my wife. I’m the one they’re questioning.”
“That’s right. You are.”Fairness and courtesy,she reminded herself.Even-handedness.She wouldn’t say those qualities were at the top of her toolbox at the moment, but she did her best to summon them. “But that’s why you can’t ask, or more—why you can’t get answers. I’m an outsider. It’s different. Plus, you’re exhausted. You need to sleep.”
“We took the same bloody flight!” Raising his voice again.
“We did,” she said, “andIslept. I’m going to need to talk everything over with you later. One of us has to be sharp for that.” And when he still didn’t look convinced, “Look. Could you just trust me here? Trust that my judgment is telling me this is our best way forward right now?”
“All right,” he said after a minute. “Only because they’d probably slam the door in my face if I turned up without the kids. But I’m driving you.”
“Beckett. You can’t. What, you’re going to wait in the car? It’s about a hundred degrees out here!”
“Which is why I’ll keep the engine running. I’ll sleep while you’re in there. But you’d be driving on the left when you’ve never done it before, distracted and tired.”
“I can—” she started to say.
“Could you believe for one minute,” he said, “that I can’t lose somebody else because I didn’t drive them?”
