Chapter 24
The house looks too ordinary for what I’m expecting. Even though I’ve read enough crime thrillers to know that extraordinary things happen in ordinary places, the Tarmigans couldn’t be more cookie-cutter.
It’s cold out here as the Mount Hamilton elevation is higher than Echo Valley. There’s frost on the roof, and they’ve already put out a Christmas wreath on the door that says Grateful. A neatly trimmed hedge flanks a driveway so pristine, it’s like no one’s ever lived hard here.
For a moment, Ingram flashes in my mind, and I wonder how to explain to him, and Callum, how I found out where Andy lived. And it makes me wonder all over again if this whole thing is just a wild goose chase.
I can’t shake the feeling Ingram should have looked into this himself a long time ago.
Anton is right next to me on the porch. I don’t need him, but I want him here.
I want help now. I want to end this for Zoe, for me. And many hands make light work. Especially when two of them belong to this hulk of a man. I mean, he’s an expert.
“You ready?” He asks.
I nod but don’t raise my fist to knock yet, still pumping myself up. This is my first high-stakes interview. I’ve never done anything like it. The information I get here, or don’t get, could be everything to this case.
“You’ll be great,” he says simply.
Then the door opens before we even knock. A woman in her fifties stands there in yoga pants and a Lululemon sweatshirt, arms crossed, cautious.
“You’re Officer Johnson?” she asks, then her eyes flick to Anton behind me.
Judging by her defensive posture, she doesn’t feel like the person who agreed to me coming by today.
“Officer Freya Johnson,” I say, lifting my badge. “This is Anton Easton, my colleague. Thank you for seeing us. Mind if we come in?”
She steps back, opening space for us to enter, but it’s reluctant.
Anton stays a half step behind me as we cross the threshold, his posture easy, his eyes tracking everything.
We follow her inside, and she gestures toward two chairs in the living room. We sit.
I keep my voice kind but not too gentle, suddenly self-conscious about my bump again and how that might be perceived. “When Andy’s name was raised in conjunction with the Zoe Marshall case, I figured he’d want to have a chance to speak for himself.”
Good cop.
Andy Tarmigan enters the living room from the kitchen. He’s tall and lean, with a head of floppy hair that hasn’t quite figured out what decade it belongs in.
And he stares at me like I’m the enemy.
Next to me, Anton shifts slightly; he’s coiled next to me, and I know there’s no physical threat, but just having him here with me is reassuring, makes me braver.
I offer a calm smile. “Andy, thanks for making time to help us move this forward.”
“Not my first rodeo.” His wry smile matches the sarcasm in his words. “But you already know that, I’m sure. You said this is about Zoe Marshall?”
“It is,” I confirm.
He crosses his arms. “Then why does it feel like déjà vu?”
“I’m not here to accuse anyone,” I say. “I’m here because the case is still open. The cause of death hasn’t been fully determined.”
Andy shakes his head and shoves a forefinger and thumb into his eye sockets. When he glances up, his mom makes eye contact with him, silently instructing him to get on with it.
He lowers himself onto the couch. “Fine. Let’s get it over with.”
I glance back at Anton beside me, solid and unassuming. Backup—but also the steady weight at my back.
Andy drops onto the arm of the couch and rubs his jaw.
I keep my tone even and calm. “We know you showed her property not long before her accident,” I call it an accident rather than an incident, and Andy’s shoulders drop just a little. “I thought you could offer insight into her character and also maybe her financial situation.”
I remember Ingram saying Zoe’s parents denied her start-up capital for her flower shop. So why was she looking at property with Andy?
“Would you say Zoe seemed like a depressed individual?”
“Depressed?” My question disarmed him completely. “No, she was one of those bubbly types. Why would you think she was depressed?”
“The investigation thus far suggests the accident might have been suicide.” Again, telling him this will keep him from feeling like a suspect.
Andy’s eyebrows furrow. “Suicide? Well, the woman I dealt with didn’t seem in that kind of mental space. If that’s what you’re asking.”
I wasn’t. But his demeanor has shifted out of the defense, so that’s a win.
“She was looking at commercial space with you. Did you have to run any financial checks to do that? Some companies do preliminary checks.”
“Yeah, we do that at my company,” he affirms.
I glance at my notebook, mostly because I’m still a little nervous, not that there’s anything to write down yet. “Was she in a position to rent the premises?”
He shrugs. “Not really. She asked her parents for the extra rent money, but they refused.”
That checks out.
He continues. “But it didn’t matter because I managed to negotiate the place down to what she could afford if she agreed to sign a one-year lease. So, it worked out.” His lips pull into a tight, thin line. “Sad that she died two days later. She was so happy about it.”
Wait. She was about to start her dream job and sign a one-year lease? That doesn’t check out for a person who feels they have no future ahead of them. I stop myself from darting my gaze to Anton to see what he thinks.
I note the change in Andy’s posture. He seems genuinely unnerved by the incident. After all, Zoe was his age…
“I bet she was excited,” I say, letting just a hint of sadness into my tone and making a note of his comment.
“Now, Andy, we’re asking everyone who came into contact with Zoe in the weeks before her accident.
” I shuffle slightly closer, but not too close.
Less authoritative. “Can I ask where you were the night of her accident? Just so I can log your alibi.” I nod expectantly.
He laughs roughly, clocking me anyway.
“I was home,” he says slowly. “Alone.”
My gaze flicks to his mom. “Can someone vouch for that?”
“No,” he answers for her. “My mom works nights on Fridays, and Dad has his bowling league.”
His mom sits on the arm of the couch and crosses her arms. It’s clear she’s still not convinced of me. “He’s been keeping to himself. Yoga, hiking. It’s been a pretty tough time for him. But I know he was here.”
When I’m a mom, I know I’ll probably say that for my child, whether it’s true or not. And unfortunately, for Mrs. Tarmigan, simply saying it doesn’t make it so.
“Andy,” I change the subject, “you drive a red pickup? Did you get issued a warning for a broken taillight two days after Zoe’s death? In Echo Valley?”
“Two days after?” His body recoils in shock. “No. That warning was five days ago.”
My brows rise. “Five days ago?”
I think about Ingram handing me the shoddy details at the impound.
“So you haven’t been in Echo Valley at all since Zoe’s accident. Until five days ago?”
“And before that, I hadn’t been there for years. The property I showed Zoe was in Vernon Hills,” Andy says confidently.
Beside me, Anton’s stillness sharpens.
And just like that, the air shifts. What in the hell is going on? Ingram lied about when he pulled over Andy?
The rest of the interview is a formality. I ask one or two more questions, still trying to secure an alibi, knowing Andy may be lying about the warning Ingram gave, and I thank them for their time.
I walk out of that house with Anton by my side, my thoughts spinning. I don’t say much until we’re back at the truck, hand braced on the door, the winter air sharp against my skin.
I’m pregnant, and the adrenaline from my first interview dumps fast and hard from my system, leaving me depleted and hungry.
But God, I might be standing on the edge of something deeper than I ever imagined.
It was one thing to chase foul play. It’s another to chase a cover-up.
Anton looks over at me, brows raised. “What next, boss?”
“If you think GhostEye would help more…I want in.”
Because if Andy’s not lying…
Ingram is.