Chương 10
Sometimes the devices uploaded to a cloud portal when they connected to company Wi-Fi.
Sometimes they were docked manually.
I had listened to him swear about failed uploads while eating cereal.
At the time, none of it mattered.
Now every boring complaint felt radioactive.
“Who managed the system?” Miller asked.
“IT, I assume.”
“Names?”
“I don’t know.”
“Anyone close to Silas?”
“Everyone at the company pretends to be close to Silas.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“It’s the most accurate one.”
He wrote something down.
“Who would protect him?”
I almost said everybody.
Then I stopped.
“His CFO, maybe.”
“Name?”
“Marcus Vale.”
“Why him?”
“Because Silas saved his job two years ago.”
“How?”
“A project went over budget.”
“Fraud?”
“I don’t know.”
“You never looked?”
“I stopped auditing my husband’s company after we got married.”
“Why?”
“Because marriage is difficult enough without one spouse asking the other for supporting documentation.”
Miller’s mouth almost moved.
“Fair.”
Samantha said, “Marcus was at the funeral.”
I pictured the chapel.
Faces.
Black coats.
Hands folded in laps.
There had been too many people.
Then I remembered him.
Second row from the back.
Gray suit.
No tie.
He had not approached me afterward.
“Yes.”
Miller looked at me.
“Did he speak to Silas?”
“I didn’t see.”
“That’s not no.”
“I know.”
His phone vibrated.
He read the message.
Something passed across his face.
“What?”
“Company counsel is calling back.”
He stood again.
I was beginning to hate watching him leave.
“Can I hear the rest?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because we still need your independent memory.”
“Of what?”
“The day of the crash.”
Samantha looked at him.
“You suspect additional acts?”
“I suspect we don’t know enough yet.”
He left.
I stared at the closed door.
“Independent memory,” I said.
“Don’t start.”
“I hate that phrase.”
“You used to say it.”
“I hated it then too.”
Samantha folded her arms.
“Good.”
The fluorescent light above us buzzed.
Someone in the hallway laughed.
A printer started somewhere beyond the wall.
It was obscene how normal buildings remained while lives were being dismantled inside them.
Ortiz came back alone.
She carried two coffees and set one in front of me.
“I didn’t ask for this.”
“No.”
“I don’t drink coffee at night.”
“I know.”
I looked at her.
“How?”
“You told Miller during the first interview.”
I had forgotten.
She pushed the cup toward Samantha instead.
“Then she can have it.”
Samantha took it.
“Thank you.”
Ortiz sat across from me.
“I need to ask about your car.”
I looked at Samantha.
She gave me a tiny nod.
“Go ahead.”
“What make?”
I answered.
“Where was it parked that day?”
“Driveway.”
“Locked?”
“Usually.”
“Usually?”
“I don’t remember whether I locked it after lunch.”
“Who had keys?”
“Me and Silas.”
“Spare?”
“In the kitchen drawer.”
“Anyone else know that?”
“My mother.”
My stomach tightened as soon as I said it.
Ortiz saw.
“That doesn’t imply anything.”
“I know.”
“Anyone else?”
“Claire probably.”
“I did,” Samantha said quietly.
I turned.
“What?”
“You gave me the spare once.”
“When?”
“Last year, when you locked yourself out during the audit conference.”
I blinked.
I had forgotten that too.
“I gave it back.”
“Yes.”
Ortiz wrote it down anyway.
“Any recent battery replacement?”
“No.”
“Mechanical issues?”
“No.”
“Did Silas ever borrow your car?”
“All the time.”
“Recently?”
“He drove it the weekend before the crash.”
“Why?”
“His SUV was at the electronics shop.”
The room went very still.
Ortiz lowered her pen.
“Same shop that installed the brake interface?”
“Yes.”
“Did he tell you why his vehicle was there?”
I searched my memory.
Not for significance.
For sound.
Saturday morning.
Owen eating pancakes.
Rose drawing a face on a banana.
Silas looking for his keys.
“He said they were updating something.”
“What?”
“I don’t remember.”
“Did he mention brakes?”
“No.”
“Electronics?”
“Maybe.”
I rubbed my forehead.
“He said something about a sensor.”
“What kind?”
“I don’t know.”
Ortiz made another note.
“Did he work on your car?”
“I didn’t see him.”
“Could he have?”
“Yes.”
“Would he know how?”
“Basic things.”
“Battery?”
“Yes.”
“Could he disconnect it?”
“Yes.”
I closed my eyes.
Not evidence.
Not evidence.
Not evidence.
“Detective.”
“Yes?”
“If my car was disabled intentionally, would that matter?”
“Of course.”
“I mean to the plan.”
“Yes.”
“Because if I couldn’t drive, someone else would pick up the children.”
Ortiz did not answer.
She didn’t need to.
The horror of it widened.
Maybe Silas had meant to control who drove.
Maybe he had meant to strand me, then later fix the battery and offer me his SUV.
Maybe something had happened differently.
Maybe Kayla had improvised.
Maybe the plan had slipped out of his hands before the road did.
“I need Kayla’s timeline,” I said.
“We’re building it.”
“No, I need it.”
“You’ll get what we can release.”
“When?”
“When it won’t damage the case.”
“I’m part of the case.”
“You’re also a witness.”
The distinction stung.
I stood.
“I’m going home.”
Samantha looked up.
“Evelyn.”
“I’m done being useful tonight.”
Ortiz did not stop me.
That almost made me stay.
Instead, I walked out.
Samantha caught up in the parking lot.
“You can’t keep leaving every time you hear something you hate.”
“I stayed through my children’s funeral.”
“That isn’t what I said.”
“It’s what I heard.”
She unlocked the car.
I did not get in.
Streetlights reflected on the wet pavement.
For a while, neither of us spoke.
Then Samantha said, “You’re angry because they won’t let you control the investigation.”
“I’m angry because nobody let me control anything.”
“That’s different.”
“Is it?”
“Yes.”
She leaned against the car door.
“You could control numbers.”
“You could control records.”
“You could control whether a transaction made sense.”
“But people are not spreadsheets.”
“I know that.”
“No.”
Her voice softened.
“You know it professionally.”
“That is not the same thing.”
I looked away.
A bus passed at the end of the block.
There were four people inside.
May you like
One of them slept against the window.
“I missed something,” I said.
