‘Mrs Sharpe?’
She recognizes the voice. It’s Detective Webb. Her heart immediately starts to pound. ‘Yes?’ she says.
‘Is your husband there?’
Wordlessly, she hands the phone to Paul, who is standing in the kitchen watching her. He takes the phone from her.
‘What? Now?’ Paul says. Then, ‘Fine.’
Olivia feels a sickening jolt of adrenaline.
Paul hangs up the phone and turns to her. ‘They want me to come down to the police station. To answer some more questions.’
She tastes the acid in her throat. ‘Why?’
‘They didn’t say.’
She watches him put on his jacket and leave the house. He doesn’t ask her to come with him, and she doesn’t suggest it.
Once he’s gone, Olivia gives in to her anxiety, pacing restlessly around the house, unable to quiet her mind. Why do the police want to talk to Paul again?
‘Mom, what’s wrong?’
She turns and sees Raleigh watching her with concern. She imagines how wretched she must look, caught off-guard. She smiles at him. ‘It’s nothing, honey,’ she lies. She makes a sudden decision. ‘I just have to go out for a bit.’
‘Where are you going?’
‘I have to visit a friend who’s going through a hard time.’
‘Oh,’ Raleigh says, as if not quite satisfied. He moves over to the refrigerator and opens the door. ‘Are you feeling okay?’ he asks. ‘When will you be back?’
‘I’m fine. I’m not sure exactly when I’ll be back,’ Olivia says, ‘but definitely in time for supper.’
Raleigh is up in his bedroom when the phone rings. He wonders who’s calling. Both his parents are out. Maybe it’s one of his friends, reduced to looking up the family’s landline number because he still doesn’t have his phone.
He makes it downstairs to the kitchen in time to snatch the phone off the hook. ‘Hello?’ he says.
‘Hi.’ It’s a woman’s voice. ‘May I speak to Raleigh Sharpe?’
‘Speaking,’ he says, suspicious.
‘I’m having some problems with my computer and a neighbour told me that you might be able to help. You fix computers, don’t you?’
‘Yeah, sure,’ Raleigh says, thinking fast. He didn’t have many clients last summer, after he distributed his flyers; he certainly didn’t expect anybody to call now. But he’s happy to earn some spare cash and he’s got time on his hands. ‘What’s the problem?’
‘Well, I don’t know,’ she says. ‘Can you come have a look at it?’
‘Sure. Now?’
‘If you can, that would be great.’
‘What’s your address?’
‘It’s a laptop. I thought we could meet in a coffee shop. Do you know the Bean?’
‘Yeah, sure.’ He wouldn’t normally be caught dead in there, but he can make an exception.
‘See you there in fifteen minutes?’
‘Okay,’ Raleigh says.
‘I’ll be wearing a red jacket and I’ll have my laptop with me, obviously,’ she says.
Raleigh hadn’t even thought to ask how he’d recognize her. But she’ll be watching for him, and teenage boys don’t really hang out in those kinds of coffee shops where his mom and her friends go.
Now that he’s made the appointment, he’s a little nervous. He’s not really used to hiring out his services, but he’s done a couple of small jobs before. He’s never sure what to charge. But it should be easy enough. Sometimes all these housewives need to learn to do is turn the computer off, wait ten seconds, and turn it on again.
He grabs his jacket and heads for the coffee shop.
Webb regards Paul Sharpe, sitting across from him at the interview table. Sharpe is perfectly still. He doesn’t pick up the water from the table; maybe he doesn’t want them to see his hands shaking. ‘Thanks for coming in,’ Webb says. ‘You’re here voluntarily, you can leave at any time.’
‘Sure.’
Webb doesn’t waste any time. He tilts his head at Sharpe doubtfully. ‘You know, I’m not buying it.’
‘Not buying what?’ Sharpe says. He folds his arms across his chest defensively.
‘That you were at your aunt’s that Friday night.’
‘Well, that’s where I was,’ Sharpe says stubbornly, ‘whether you believe it or not.’
‘We went to see your aunt,’ Webb says. He lets a moment go by. ‘She wasn’t able to confirm that you were there that night.’
‘No surprise there. I told you she didn’t have a clue,’ Sharpe says. ‘She has dementia.’
‘You say you got home quite late. Late enough that your wife was already asleep. Do you usually spend such a long time with your elderly aunt?’
‘What is this? Am I a suspect?’ Paul asks.
‘We’d just like to clarify a few things.’ He rephrases the question. ‘How long do you usually spend with your aunt?’
Sharpe exhales. ‘It’s a fairly long drive, and I don’t go very often, so when I do I tend to stay a few hours. She’s always asking me to do things for her, fix this and that. It usually takes a while.’
‘It’s just that – I’m afraid it puts you in the area where Amanda’s car was found,’ Webb says, ‘at around the time she is believed to have been murdered. And because your cell phone was turned off, we don’t know where you were.’
‘I told you why I turned it off. My battery was dead. I had nothing to do with Amanda Pierce.’
‘You were seen in her car, arguing with her, just days before she disappeared.’
‘You know why I was speaking to her,’ Sharpe says. ‘I told you the truth. I’m not the one who was having an affair with Amanda Pierce.’ He seems rattled.
‘Do you know that area?’ Webb asks. ‘Where her car was found?’
‘I suppose so.’ He hesitates and then adds, ‘We have a cabin out there, on a small lake.’
Webb raises his eyebrows. ‘You do?’
‘Yes,’ Sharpe says.
‘Where, exactly?’
‘It’s at Twelve Goucher Road, Springhill.’
Moen writes it down.
‘How long have you had this cabin?’ Webb asks.
Sharpe shakes his head, as if to show him how ridiculous he thinks this line of questioning is. ‘We bought it when we were first married, about twenty years ago.’
‘Do you go out there much?’ Webb asks conversationally.
‘Yes, we go on the weekends, in good weather. It’s not winterized.’
‘When was the last time you were out there?’
‘My wife and I went out a couple of weekends ago, October seventh and eighth, to start closing it up.’
‘Do you mind if we have a look at it?’
Sharpe seems to freeze.
‘Do you mind if we take a look?’ Webb repeats. As the silence lengthens, he says, ‘We can always get a warrant.’
Sharpe considers, looking back at him stonily. Finally he says, ‘Go ahead. I’ve got nothing to hide.’