“Nothing much. Went to boarding school, then Harvard. Typical pedigree. Only unusual thing we could find is his wife’s death. He found her dead in their home seven years ago. She was thirty-four. The death certificate states she died of natural causes. No autopsy.”

Agent Metz huffs out a breath. “Natural causes at thirty-four?”

“So the paperwork says.” I stand and go to the whiteboard, point to the list of names. “These, then, would be my people of interest, Agents, unless you’ve got another theory.”

Joe is skimming back through his folder, shakes his head. “It seems unlikely that someone outside of that house would’ve abducted Ms. Robb, then brought her to the Bradley home’s basement.”

Agent Metz pipes up. “But how did he manage to murder her in the basement while everybody else slept upstairs oblivious?”

“Have you seen that basement?” I ask.

“Alison hasn’t been to the scene yet,” Joe says. “I did a walk-through with Sheriff Skinner yesterday.” He looks at his partner. “You’ll understand when you see it.”

“Can’t wait,” she says.

Joe looks at me. “How much do these guys know?”

“Just that Ms. Robb’s body was found buried in the riverbank. The wife, and I assume the others, know that Dr. Bradley found her necklace, but they don’t know where. We’re not sure where. They don’t know that the murder took place in the Bradley home. For all they know, the murderer was some local who carried her body past the house or through the woods.” I look at the faces around the table. “It’s crucial no one goes public with that information.”

Joe nods. “I think we need to get these guys in here and find out what they have to say.”

CHAPTER 43 - Molly

CHAPTER 43

Molly

ELISE FINALLY LEAVES. I HEAR HER AND CORRINE WHISPERING AT THE front door before it opens and closes. I lie on the bed, on my side, petting Sadie. I feel totally exposed here in the Boston area. It had been my refuge since I was a little girl, someplace new and pristine, where Melinda didn’t exist. And now this life is over too. Molly has been outed.

Anger seeps up through my pores, builds in my chest, threatening to overwhelm me. What right did Keith Russell have to ruin my life? To haunt my dreams? This won’t be over until I confront him. That’s what has been nibbling at the edges of my conscience all my life. But therapists told me it wasn’t necessary. I didn’t have to confront my tormenter to heal. But what did they know? Nothing, it turns out. I’m in a worse place now than I was years ago.

I burrow under a pillow, moan into the mattress.