Emily closed the bag and put it back in the car. “He said they think that the body was in the river. They have surveillance photos they say show me driving his body to the storage unit in the middle of the night, leaving it there, and changing the lock. And they say I’m not strong enough to have done it on my own.” She looked at Frank. “I had to have had help.”

“Huh.” Frank was quiet for a few moments. “Did he actually show you the pictures? Because they talk a good game—”

“Frank, he showed me. It looks like my car.” She slammed the car door. “But it’s not me.”

“Surveillance pictures are notoriously lousy. Low-resolution. Plus it was night. How far away was the camera?”

The security camera had been mounted just one unit away. “Maybe twenty feet. Though you’re right, the camera angle is lousy.”

“There. You see? Trust me on this, nine times out of ten, CCTV footage doesn’t stand up in court.”

“In court? Please tell me it won’t come to that. Because he made it sound as if they think I killed Walter Newell. That after he hit my car, I followed him to the wharf, confronted him, and ended up running him down. They think—”

“Whoa.” Frank held up his hand. “They think you ran him down and now they’re letting you drive off in the murder weapon? How likely is that?”

Emily paused. It was true that didn’t seem too likely. “But what about the carpet fibers?”

“Carpet fibers? Pfff. They’d have to run forensics tests before they’d be sure that the fibers match. That can take weeks. If they had enough to charge you, they’d have arrested you.”

Emily let Frank’s words wash over her. His confidence was bracing even if his words weren’t all that reassuring.

“I’ll meet you at home,” Frank said, getting into his car.

Emily nodded and got into her car, too. Her hand shook as she started the engine. She lowered the window and touched the steering wheel. A trace of white powder came off on her fingers. The interior would have been dusted for prints.

Frank leaned out his car window, looking at her closely. “Sure you’re okay driving?”

“Just keep me in your rearview.”

“No worries. I’ve got your back.”

Emily repressed a shudder. She’d heard something like that before. Recently. From Quinn Newell.

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