“It could. I’m playing a hunch here a little bit. You see, I knew about those Facebook messages that Jennifer Bates sent you a while ago. The ones Amanda knew about too. And then you told me Jennifer sent you a friend request after you’d found her body. We’ve been pressing both Aaron Knicely and Blake Norton about this hacking, and neither man claims to know about it. Mr. Knicely hasn’t really stayed up on technology. He doesn’t have a lot of money to spend on it. And Mr. Norton, as I’m sure you know, is a self-proclaimed Luddite, someone who avoids that stuff as much as possible. Now, that doesn’t mean they couldn’t do it, but I tend to believe their denials.”

“You do?”

“I do. And we know your wife saw those messages, so she might have a reason to look more closely at them. A jealous wife. Home with a baby. And you told me last night . . . you don’t know where she was at the time Jennifer Bates was murdered. We know Jennifer was alive in the morning because Mr. Norton was over there. But in the afternoon, Amanda said she went to the store. Did she?”

“I don’t know.”

“But you called her. And?”

“She didn’t answer.”

“You thought Jennifer died at twelve fifteen because of the broken watch. Logical. That was our initial thought. But it turns out, she broke the watch last week while jogging. Her grandmother gave it to her, and she was wearing it until it got fixed. Her mother told us she felt horrible about damaging her grandmother’s watch. That’s why she kept wearing it. The medical examiner believes she died much later than twelve fifteen. You said her body felt cool when you touched it but not cold. Right?”

“Right.”

“If she’d died around noon, she would have been cold. Late afternoon or evening, cool. It’s not scientific, but it backs up what the medical examiner concluded based on her body temperature. About the time you called Amanda and got no answer. About the time she said she went to the store.”

“You’re throwing a lot of stuff at me, Detective,” I said. “Amanda wouldn’t know how to do something like this hacking.” My words were true. It wasn’t some weak defense, offered out of blind loyalty. I meant it. “She couldn’t have. I would have known if she could do that. She used tech, but she wasn’t a gearhead about it.”

“Did she know anyone who could do that?” Rountree asked. “If not you, was there someone else?”

The protest rose within me, adamant and forceful. But as quickly as it rose, it withered and died inside my chest.

The answer was right there. And I knew it.

Of course.

Steve. The IT guy she used to work with. The one who was in love with her.

CHAPTER EIGHTY-TWO