“What we got was an anonymous tip that said you might be getting rid of a phone identical to the one found near Danielle’s body. That phone had only one number in its log,” Ponder says. “Is this your phone?”

“It’s not mine.” Someone else knew he had the phone and someone else knew he might destroy it after Danielle died. His chest feels thick with shock.

“Is it your son’s? Or your daughter’s? Or your wife’s? Mrs. Pollitt, do you recognize this phone?”

Kyle knows he should shut up. He should call Kip Evander, a local lawyer he knows well. Kip specializes in personal injury, but he’s done criminal defense a few times, and it would look better to call a lawyer friend than a defense specialist. The thought that the police will think the phone belongs to someone in his family is crushing. “No,” he says. “I mean, yes, I destroyed the phone. But it wasn’t my property.”

He’s played this wrong. He knows that now. But he has to protect Iris, and in turn, his children. All of them. Sometimes you take the bullet even when it’s not meant for you. Would he be so willing had he not read Danielle’s handwriting on that page?

“Whose phone was it?” Ponder asks.

“Honey, I think we should just not say any more until a lawyer is present,” Iris says.

He wants to turn to Iris and tell her how much he loves her. And that it will be OK. He’ll make it OK.

The detectives wait to see what he says to her, and when he stays silent, Ponder asks again: “Whose phone, Mr. Pollitt?”

“Danielle’s,” he says. “She bought it.”

“Mr. Pollitt, why did you have a phone belonging to Ms. Roberts?” Jamika Ponder asks the question almost mildly.

“Danielle gave it to me.” He glances over at Iris, who’s now standing protectively next to him. She stares at him. He stares back. It will be all right.

“Why did you not tell the police about this? Why didn’t you come forward?” Ames asks.

“Her giving me a phone had nothing to do with what happened.” His mind races. Who could have placed that call?

“We’d like to make that determination,” Ponder says.

“Why did you have a phone from Danielle?” Iris asks, and her voice is flat, cold as a stone striking brick.

Kyle doesn’t answer.

“Where were you Saturday night, Mr. Pollitt?”

“Here. Working late in my home office.”

Ponder glances at Iris. “Is that so, Mrs. Pollitt?”

“Yes. Of course.”

“Mrs. Pollitt, you said earlier you went to sleep around midnight. Was Mr. Pollitt in bed by then, too?”