Holly forwarded the video and her write-up of her conversation with Montclair to Moreno, then headed toward Ellen Jones’s home. She was trying to keep an open mind. Trying to stay focused, to be willing to see all sides of the story.

Ethan killed our baby.

The password floated into her head, and Holly reminded herself that despite all of Montclair’s bravado, he was their only suspect. She knew he was lying, had to be, Jim wasn’t wrong about things to do with computers. Though God, Montclair sounded so adamant. And seemed so surprised by the video. Was he simply a brilliant actor?

She didn’t know anymore.

She felt like his denial was the first major inconsistency in his statements, and had made a note of it for the record. She hadn’t wanted to run the risk of screwing things up with him, not while he was still being so forthcoming, so she’d pressed on in the interview. She hoped that was the right thing to do.

Holly almost felt like Sutton Montclair was speaking to her. Directing her. Giving her clue after clue, a trail of bread crumbs to follow. It seemed like she’d given each of her friends a bit of the story. She had her husband set up to take the fall.

Was this on purpose? Or was there something else going on?

Holly’s baser instincts wanted to grill Ethan Montclair for hours, but that wasn’t the way things worked. She needed him to cooperate for as long as he would.

No, getting combative wasn’t the right approach. She would finish her interviews, then maybe she’d go talk to him again, see what she could shake loose.

* * *

Ellen Jones’s home on the outskirts of downtown was as frank and straightforward as she was. A ranch with classic lines bordering on severe, the interior was fully updated, gray with white molding, populated by modern furniture and appliances that looked brand-new. The entire living room wall was built-in bookshelves, the books within shelved alphabetically, broken into fiction and nonfiction. No-nonsense, this librarian. Holly thought she might like Ellen if they’d met under different circumstances.

Jones sat primly, her legs crossed at the ankles, but there was fire in her eyes and her voice as Holly questioned her. She laid out what she knew, and let Ellen run with it. The librarian was clear, and she was emphatic.