He hadn’t told me what he wanted to see. If Blake had dropped Jennifer’s phone in her neighborhood, as he’d said he was going to, then the data on my computer might be quite valuable to the police, who were trying to put the finishing touches on her murder investigation. I tried to tell myself that since they had their man, they really didn’t need anything I had. But I knew that was a foolish argument. Even being certain of Kyle’s role in Jennifer’s death, they still needed to be able to close the case, to prove what they believed and shut the book once and for all.

I had promised Blake I’d wait for him. But I had also told him I didn’t know how long I felt comfortable keeping that information out of the hands of the police. He needed to show up and do whatever he wanted to do, and then we were going to hand it over.

Except he didn’t show up.

I waited ten minutes. Then fifteen. I called him. Twice.

No answer.

So I texted. What gives? Where are you?

It took another five minutes before he wrote back.

Sorry, buddy. It will make sense soon enough. I promise. Peace.

I stared at the phone. Something seemed odd about the text. Very odd.

Peace?

Blake had never, ever used the word “peace” once in his life. It didn’t sound like him at all.

What was going on now?

CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE

But I wasn’t sure what I could do about it. Or if it was anything worth thinking about.

Perhaps the events of the past night and day had worked together to turn me into a paranoid freak, someone who saw danger and conspiracy in the most mundane things.

I listened to the quiet house, heard the tick of a clock from another room. The information on the computer screen from Jennifer’s phone waited for me.

I remembered the series of messages between Jennifer and Kyle, the ones I’d seen last night while Amanda and Henry slept above me. I looked at them again, and in light of the recent events, they struck me as particularly chilling. Especially the last thing Kyle said to Jennifer:

We need to settle this. I need to know. Now.

I looked around at other texts, focusing on messages Jennifer had exchanged with women. I wondered if she’d had friends she’d confided in, anyone who could have known Jennifer was in danger and could have stopped it. I found nothing to indicate that, and even if I had found such a thing, what difference would it have made? The image of Jennifer’s body stretched on the floor, cold and alone, pulsed in my mind. Such a lonely way to die . . . and I wanted to believe something could have prevented it. Somehow I thought that would make it more sensible.

A fool’s errand.