“Look, I wasn’t a perfect husband. I . . . okay, I just wasn’t perfect. We got married young. Maybe we rushed it and I wasn’t ready. Sophia was so much more mature than I was. Okay? The whole world knows I made my share of mistakes. But I know Sophia. We were together for six years, married for three. I knew her, okay? The way you know a person when you share a house and a life with them. And I know this—she wouldn’t have gone anywhere near Lance once she learned that about him. She wouldn’t have been able to. She would have been so angry, so disgusted. . . . The truth is, she would have been more likely to kill him than to have him kill her. It just wouldn’t happen. She’d have avoided him like the plague.”

“Okay. So she’d have avoided him. Lance found out she knew and went to her office. He tracked her down and surprised her, killed her in the car. That’s how violence occurs sometimes. Unexpectedly. That’s how Lance took her down.”

But Zach is shaking his head again. “No, man. No. She had a meeting with someone that night. A meeting. She wouldn’t have arranged a meeting with Lance. No chance. It wouldn’t have gone down that way.”

Now it’s my turn to shake my head. “I think you’re blinded, Zach. You have some loyalty to Lance, so you’re tying yourself in knots, trying to get him off the hook for killing your wife. And he was loyal to you. The story Madeline wrote says Lance knew the details. It all points to Lance. I think you’re casting your line into an empty pool.”

“Just think about what I said,” he says. “Don’t just dismiss me. Think about it.”

“It’s been a long day, Zach. And I gave you all the time I can. Good night.”

I shut the door and flip off the porch light. I take one look out the window and see Zach going down the steps and back out into the night.

CHAPTER EIGHTY-THREE

It’s time for me to face the music, so I knock on Preston’s door about an hour later.

Grendel barks while I stand outside, the big envelope I was given by Rebecca clutched to my chest, and it lifts my spirits to hear him again.

When Preston opens the door, his eyebrows lift in surprise. He’s wearing jeans and a sweater, the sleeves pushed up to his elbows, as if he was expecting company to come by for a cocktail, even though I hadn’t called in advance.

“Connor. I’ve been meaning to call you, but it’s been pretty hectic.”

“I’m sorry to show up like this, but can I come in?”

“Of course.” He steps back.