“One like it?” Frank tilted his head and narrowed his eyes, considering. “Is that going to help you?” He chewed on his lower lip for a few moments. “Taken together, it points to you being involved. If not in Walter Newell’s murder, then in the disposal of his body. If I were the police and heard that recording of you and that woman talking about getting rid of your husbands? It wouldn’t be too big a leap to imagine the two of you coming up with an even simpler plan. Kill her husband and make it look like I did it. Two husbands for the price of one.”

It took Emily a while to wrap her head around that logic. “I think the rug was planted in my car to incriminate me,” she said.

Frank said, “And the boxes of hardware? Planted to incriminate me.”

For a moment, Emily was speechless. “You can’t think that I—”

“Of course I don’t.” Frank looked at his watch, a reminder that five minutes was all Stanley had given them. “And you can’t think that I . . .”

“That you what?” Drugged her so he could slip out at night? Took boxes from the Murphys’ storage unit? Helped Quinn hire someone to kill her husband? Helped her himself? At this point, it was scary how easily Emily could have forced the facts to fit any of those scenarios.

“Do you think the police know about Quinn’s first husband?” Emily asked. Frank had been reaching for his cell to turn off the CNN feed. He stopped mid-reach. “That collection of advertising signs and illustrations that are hanging in her home?” Emily added. “That all belonged to him, not Walter Newell.”

Frank didn’t say anything for a moment. “She was married before?”

“Married before. Widowed before. For all I know, she’s already got number three waiting in the wings. Maybe that’s how Ryan figures into all this. Or Rafe Bartok.” Or you?

Emily was too focused on watching Frank’s reaction to notice that the door of the interview room had opened. Behind her, Sergeant Stanley said, “Who’s Rafe Bartok?”

Before Emily could respond, Frank said, “Emily!”

“Rafe Bartok,” Emily said, ignoring Frank and turning to face Sergeant Stanley. “He’s the man who showed up in a coffee shop in the Square, made up to look like Walter Newell and driving Walter Newell’s car. Just to guarantee that he’d be noticed, he hit my car and had someone report the incident to the police.”

38

STANLEY SAT IN the chair across the table from Emily in the little interview room. He leaned forward. “Go on,” he said.

“That’s enough!” Frank looked like he was ready to explode.

“I’ll answer your question about who’s Rafe Bartok,” Emily said, ignoring Frank, “if you’ll answer a question for me first.”

“Okay. Shoot,” Stanley said.