He’d obviously been keeping up with the online chatter about the case. Noah must’ve sensed her surprise. “Kyle told me about it,” he said. “Apparently he’s in the video.”

“Some think it shows the Unknown Partygoer, but who knows. The quality is terrible and all the armchair detectives haven’t come up with anything new.”

“Anything else?”

Liv exhaled. “Not unless Ron Sampson’s wife isn’t crazy.”

Noah narrowed his eyes. “What do you mean?”

“I mean she accosted me. Gave me a file. Said Sampson knew something, was going to talk to the filmmakers.”

Noah looked at Liv, his gaze skeptical.

“I know…”

“What’s in the file?”

“Nothing, as far as I can tell. It’s a page from some type of log and some blood tests.”

Noah veered into the lot of the nursing home. “Sampson’s wife, Susan, has had a hard time with his death. Even before, she was known to have a few drinks”—Noah raised his brows—“with her breakfast.”

“She did seem pretty out of it, though who am I to talk given my wine consumption tonight?”

Noah laughed. “Ron wasn’t a particularly good husband. Logan County actually scooped him up once when they did a sweep of one of the massage parlors.…”

Liv grimaced. “I’m surprised the internet mob never picked up on that.”

Noah shrugged. “They didn’t book him. You know cops.”

Yes, she did. They protected their own. The thought of a massage parlor with happy endings made her skin crawl. Sampson’s poor wife. No wonder she turned to the bottle or pills or whatever she was on. “She thinks Sampson was murdered,” Liv said.

Noah shook his head. “Everything’s the Kennedy assassination now.”

It was an ironic statement, since Noah himself had been on a speaking tour suggesting Danny had been railroaded, that the Smasher had killed Charlotte.

“But who knows,” Noah said. “If you want me to look at the papers she gave you, I’d be happy to. I know the file pretty well, so please send me a copy.”

“Definitely. But if there’s anything there, Evan will know.”

“You’ve got that right,” Noah said. He stopped the sedan in front of the entrance, not bothering to park in one of the spaces in the lot. At the front doors Liv saw Dennis Chang, shifting on his feet, looking irritated.

“You’re, ah, angry,” Noah said, politely not mentioning the lilt in her voice, what Maggie jokingly called her “wine voice.” “Why don’t you let me handle this?”

Liv didn’t argue.

Noah stepped out of the sedan and shook hands with Chang. They exchanged a few words. Noah patted him on the shoulder. Liv could see Chang’s demeanor shift from annoyed to accommodating.