“Bottom line?” Stanley went on. “It looks like he got hit by a car. The initial impact was too low”—Stanley reached down and touched the top of his shins—“to have been an SUV or a truck. Something like a Honda Civic, though, that’d be about right. Mr. Newell was knocked to the ground, then the vehicle ran over him. Twice. An accident? What do you think?”

Emily shuddered. She was trying not to think.

“After that—and now frankly I’m guessing based on the fact that his car was found parked at the wharf and his body was wrapped in a water-soaked rug—the killer rolled his body down the ramp and into the water. The shore on either side of the ramp is overgrown this time of year. Even at low tide he’d be well hidden. That staining on his face? You must have noticed it. It was on his chest as well. Tells us he was left lying facedown after he died. Blood pools at the lowest point.

“So, what happened?” Stanley continued. “After he dented your car, did you follow him to the wharf and confront him? Or maybe it was the other way around. You dented his car when you were parking and then he followed you. One way or another, you both end up at the wharf. It’s late. Quiet. Just the two of you. You argue. Things get out of hand. Maybe he threatens you. You get in your car. Start the engine.” Stanley stood and leaned toward her, his palms on the desk. “He’s big. He’s angry. He’s standing in front of you, daring you to . . .”

Emily bit her lip, resisting the urge to put her hands over her ears. None of that had happened. But whatever she said, her words would end up getting twisted. Ask my husband. I was at home. Stanley would come back with a snort. Of course he would say that—he’s your husband. He’ll say whatever you need him to say.

“You’d have needed help,” Stanley went on. “A dead body’s a heavy thing, even heavier when it’s wrapped up in a wet rug. Gravity works in your favor getting it into the water. But getting it out?” He lowered his voice. “That’s a two-person job.” Stanley sat down. “So who helped you?” He stared at Emily for a few moments, rubbing his chin like he was trying to figure it out. “Let’s leave that for a minute. You could have done the rest by yourself. Driven to the storage unit. Rolled the body out of the car. Pushed it under that table. And before you left, changed the lock, buying at least another day before the body could be examined. Guaranteeing that there’d be even more uncertainty when we tried to estimate Mr. Newell’s time of death.”