“Except the police obviously think Hope was involved, too. But New York prosecutors aren’t going to charge Hope with anything that may have happened in Kansas fifteen years ago. My guess is the Wichita cops are just beginning to reinvestigate that case in light of whatever Decker found this week. We just need something to get the district attorney’s office here to tap the brakes on bringing charges tomorrow.”

She had already told Scott the goal for the evening: find someone—anyone—willing to confirm that they’d seen Alex Lopez or his truck in the last ten days. Hope’s confrontation with Alex had occurred two Saturdays before. She’d tossed the rug at the dump on Sunday morning, which Lindsay had to assume the police knew. By the time the Stansfields returned to their house on Monday, there was no sign of Hope, Alex, or either of their vehicles, and Jocelyn Hodge had found Alex’s truck later the next day. To convict Hope of killing Lopez, the police would need a timeline that accommodated all those facts, which meant Lindsay needed witnesses who might turn their clock upside down.

After two hours of touring Montauk with photos of Hope and Alex, she thought they might finally have a lead when a clerk at the Montauk Corner Store said she remembered Alex showing up a few minutes before the shop opened on a Sunday. He’d tapped on the glass to see if he could come in early to buy a few swimming noodles for his boat. It quickly became clear, however, that the clerk was referring to the Sunday before Alex and Hope both went missing.

Another hour later, they were leaving yet another restaurant empty-handed when Lindsay’s cell phone rang. She felt a rise of resentment at the sight of Carter Decker’s name on the screen. “Did you finally realize what a mistake you made?” If only she had the evidence to back up her bluster. “When can I see my client?”

“Tomorrow morning. Just letting you know that she’s been booked and will be held overnight. We didn’t interrogate her.”

“Maybe not,” she said, heading back toward the car, “but you surely left her alone in a holding room for hours, hoping she’d open the door to you questioning her without a lawyer.” Pushing away images of Hope being shuffled toward a jail cell, she signaled to Scott to pop the locks and got into the passenger seat.

“I assure you we followed all the rules, Counselor. I didn’t even owe you this phone call, as you know.”

“Can I get into the cottage now?” She and Scott had already rented a room at Gurney’s for the night, but she wanted to see how intrusive the police search had been.

“Techs were still pulling some latent prints, last I heard.”