“Would you mind directing them to the police station instead?” Nate asked. “If you’re feeling up to it, we’ll head over there and run through everything that happened.”

Her jaw firmed. “Absolutely.”

Nate retrieved her phone from the Ute, cautioning us to stay back, and handed it over, then we packed into the back of the patrol car and he drove us to the police station. Similar to the fire station, the police were located on a side road adjoining Centennial Street. Nate led us inside, past a receptionist, and into a small room out the back. The walls were white, and a round table occupied most of the room. The floor was concrete, the table bolted down. I sank onto one chair, and Kennedy pulled up another beside me, reaching for my hand, seeking comfort via touch. Nate set his phone on the table, and Constable Mehrtens withdrew a notepad and pen from her pocket.

“You mind if we record this?” Nate asked.

“Go for it,” I told him, and Kennedy nodded too.

He set the phone recording and stated his name and the names of everyone else present, then asked us each to say our name in turn so any listeners would be able to recognize us by voice.

“Can you walk me through the events leading up to the accident?” he asked.

Kennedy and I exchanged a look. I wasn’t sure if she’d prefer to take the lead. But then she gave a slight nod and started speaking. She ran through a highlight reel of the day’s activities, a faint blush coloring her cheeks as she mentioned our time at her cottage. Mehrtens took notes. Nate simply listened and asked for clarification. When Kennedy finished talking, we sat quietly for a few seconds before Nate spoke.

“As I see it,” he said, “the car was fine when you drove back from the tarn, but it had been damaged when you left the cottage, so it was most likely tampered with while you were inside the cottage. Was it out of sight at that time?”

“Yes,” I confirmed, but even if it hadn’t been, I doubted we would have noticed anything out of the ordinary. We were too wrapped up in each other.

“Was it on the road or in the drive?” he asked.

“On the road.”

He pulled a face. “So, anybody could have accessed it.”

My stomach dropped. “I guess so.”

“That’s unfortunate.” He ran a hand over the bristles of his short hair. “Okay, here’s what we’ll do—”

A ringing phone cut him off.

Kennedy’s cheeks flamed. “Sorry,” she muttered, fishing the phone from her pocket. She swiped the screen and was about to end the call when she stopped. “It’s a private number.” She looked at Nate. “It might be him.”

“Answer it,” he barked. “Put it on speaker.”

With trembling hands, Kennedy followed his instructions.