There’s no reason for Lucy to have known about Chanel’s death until news of it appeared on Twitter not so long ago. I try to imagine what Carrie’s endgame might be as Benton asks Amanda Gilbert how long she’s owned this house. As if he doesn’t already know the answer to that, and I feel certain he does.

“Where has she been? I’m supposed to answer that again?” Amanda Gilbert is openly hostile toward each of us but seems to distrust me the most.

“Again?” Benton watches her carefully, and I suspect the questions he’s asking are for our benefit and not his.

“It’s none of your damn business! I have nothing else to say to the fucking FBI!”

Nothing else? I think. She’s talked to one of Benton’s colleagues. She’s talked to someone, and Benton does us the favor of asking her who.

“I don’t remember the name.”

“You don’t remember which agent contacted you?” he asks. “A man? A woman?”

“Some woman as dumb as a box of hair.”

Erin Loria.

“She sounded stupid and southern,” Amanda Gilbert says.

“It would be helpful if you’d tell me what you discussed,” Benton says before Marino has the chance.

“Well by all means let me be helpful.” Her voice shakes, her eyes swimming with tears. “Chanel is a professional diver and a photojournalist who constantly travels and gets involved in assignments she doesn’t talk about.”

She’s more than that if she was in Fort Lauderdale when I was shot. If Chanel is the diver in the video my mask recorded then she was present at the shipwreck when Carrie almost killed me. The implication is obvious, and I suspect it’s the truth. Chanel Gilbert was some sort of operative, possibly working for military intelligence or Homeland Security. Lucy and Janet knew her and I suspect Benton did too, and what that means is Chanel witnessed the attack.

And now she’s been murdered.

She could have sworn to Carrie’s existence and Lucy’s innocence. But Chanel Gilbert or whoever she was isn’t around to tell.

Maybe that’s why she’s dead.

“This is my damn house,” Amanda Gilbert is saying shakily, furiously. “I grew up in this damn house. It was my family home. My father sold it after I left for college and when it went on the market several years ago I decided to buy it for Chanel and her eventual family. I thought maybe she might settle down and have some peace and quiet, that maybe she’d stop running around and disappearing.”

“What about Bermuda?” Marino asks her. “I’m wondering if you have a place there.”