I thought of the frozen watch hands: twelve fifteen. Likely the time of death, because wouldn’t it make sense to think the watch broke when Jennifer was killed? And Blake had been there around that time. . . .

I felt hollow inside. Like a rotted tree trunk.

“You should talk to Blake about all of this,” I said.

Rountree hadn’t taken a note since she’d been in the room. I’d assumed all detectives took notes on little pads and then went back to the police station and typed their notes up on a computer. But Rountree must have had a good memory.

She ignored my question and instead waved at Henry, then stood up from the couch, adjusting her suit coat as she did. Smoothing it down, making sure it was in place. I thought she was ignoring my question, withholding the information from me. But then she answered.

“We haven’t been able to get ahold of Blake,” she said. “So if you hear from him or see him again, you need to let us know.”

“He’s not at home?”

“He hasn’t been,” she said. “And neither has Samantha. Samantha Edson. That’s his fiancée, right? The woman he’s marrying on Saturday? The wedding he came over here to tell you about, again, late last night?”

“That’s her.”

“If you hear from either one of them, let me know.”

“Sam’s not at work?” Amanda asked. “She goes in pretty early.”

“We’re about to check there,” Rountree said. “Don’t worry.”

“She might have things to do for the wedding,” Amanda said, sounding perfectly reasonable.

“True,” Rountree said, her voice neutral.

Henry started to whine and fuss on Amanda’s lap. She stood up with him, trying to keep him quiet. “I think he needs more to eat. Thank you, Detective.”

“Thank you.” She waved to Henry again as Amanda took him out of the room and back to the kitchen. Henry stared at Rountree, all wide-eyed fascination, until he disappeared out of sight.

I walked to the door with the detective. Her movements were smooth and unhurried. She walked like someone wandering through a garden on a spring day, not like someone investigating a murder. At the door, she held out her hand, and we shook.

“And you’re sure, Mr. Francis, that there isn’t anyone else who would want to harm you? Business deals gone wrong? Debts? Dissatisfied customers?”

Maybe because I’d thought of her just moments before, Dawn Steiner’s face again popped into my mind.

“Nothing like that,” I said.

Then Rountree spoke in a voice so low Amanda couldn’t have heard over Henry’s chattering.

“You’re sure you didn’t know Ms. Bates better than you said you did?”

Her words slipped out like a knife. They were meant to puncture me, force me to release something I didn’t mean to admit.