9
Conor was on the wrong side of the interrogation table at the Wickford Barracks of the Rhode Island State Police, in North Kingstown. It was ironic, because during the Maddie Morrison case, he and Joe had sat across this exact table from their suspects.
But today, Garrett Milne had ordered Trooper George Bouchard to drive him here. George had seemed embarrassed and apologetic. At first he said he was sorry but just following orders, yet he was quiet on the drive.
Even though Conor knew him from the earlier investigation, he realized that George was most likely wary—suspicious of Conor for how he had behaved that morning.
George had led him into the room, asked if he wanted coffee.
Conor had said no. He asked about Kate, and George said he hadn’t heard anything.
Conor felt like climbing the walls. Anything could be happening to her and he was trapped here.
Garrett kept him waiting. At first Conor was kept busy giving forensic samples.
As a police officer, most were already on file in Connecticut, but Rhode Island had its own procedures.
He was fingerprinted; he agreed to let them swab him for DNA and to take hair samples.
He had been photographed at the scene, but now a different photographer took more detailed pictures before they let him wash off the blood.
Conor would have done the same in most cases—let the suspect sit alone till he was sweating, overthinking what he was going to say to get himself out of there.
Two hours went by. Garrett kept passing the door, shooting Conor sharp looks but not saying anything.
At one point, Garrett opened his mouth as if to speak, then just stood there, glaring. Conor felt his face turning red.
He knew he had to stop letting Garrett get to him.
He had plenty of time to think, and he couldn’t help feeling as if he was being set up.
He thought of how he had received the “help her” text, how he had been lured to the murder scene.
Maeve had made the call to the police, and the officers were already there.
Conor’s reaction—throwing himself on Belinda’s body—made him look guilty.
What part was Garrett playing? His tough act was over the top.
Was it simply jealousy over Belinda’s apparent feelings for Conor and her story about the baby?
Or was it something deeper? How long had he and Belinda been together?
Did he see Belinda’s outburst last night as a betrayal of what he thought they had?
Could he have been angry enough to have killed her?
He wondered where Joe was. He hadn’t seen him since they had returned to the hotel after searching for Kate.
He wanted to get out of here, but he also wanted Joe to observe Garrett in action, confronting Conor.
Conor was tempted to walk out—he hadn’t been arrested, he had the right to leave—but he thought that if he stayed, Garrett might reveal something that would help Conor understand what was really going on and how it might relate to Belinda.
Eventually, Garrett walked in, holding a folder.
He opened it and stared at the contents without saying a word or making eye contact with Conor.
Conor refused to react, but he recognized Interrogation 101.
Staring at a sheaf of papers, Garrett was trying to make him think the evidence was stacking up.
“Sorry to keep you waiting so long,” Garrett said eventually. He took a seat across the table. “But we’ve been busy.”
“I can imagine,” Conor said. “You’re investigating a murder.”
“The interesting thing,” Garrett said, “is that all the evidence leads straight to you.”
“Okay,” Conor said.
“And we have a lot of it.”
Conor waited.
“Your footprints in the blood,” Garrett said. “Your prints on the victim.”
“Well, you know I was there,” Conor said.
“Yeah. George and Miles said you and your brother came running down the street when you saw their car. And our witness said you tore up the stairs, ran straight into the room—as if you already knew what you would find. And as if you wanted her—and the arriving officers—to see you.”
Her. Conor realized the witness had to be Maeve. George had told him and Tom about how the 911 caller had said she saw blood seeping under the bedroom door. And Maeve had been waiting to be interviewed when Conor ran past her, up the stairs.
“We have Belinda’s cell phone,” Garrett said. “And we’ll get a warrant to examine it. To check the records. Will we find calls from you? Or from her to you?”
Conor felt like explaining things to Garrett, telling him his suspicions about the anonymous texts, but he held back.
He thought of investigations when subjects had deleted calls, thinking that by doing so they could erase the evidence.
He knew that forensic specialists could examine phone data and uncover the missing calls.
Conor had had cases like that, and it was much worse than if the person had just let the call stand; deletion indicated consciousness of guilt.
“We’re going to get your phone too,” Garrett said.
Conor stayed silent. He knew that if he was honest and put it out there—if he explained that he had deleted the calls and texts not to hide them from Kate or the police but just because he wanted to distance himself from the craziness, the stalking.
He didn’t want the reminder on his phone.
But he knew that saying too much at this stage of the investigation was a mistake.
Even with a genuine desire to be helpful, a person could say more than they should, sometimes contradicting themselves.
Their desire to “set the record straight” wound up being a gift to the prosecutor to use against them in court.
“So why don’t you just give your phone to me?” Garrett asked. “You know we’re going to get it anyway. If you’re innocent, you have nothing to hide, right?”
“I don’t have it.”
“Convenient,” Garrett said. “Where is it?”
Conor didn’t reply.
“I have to ask myself, what would be your motive, killing her? I assume it has something to do with that shit show last night,” Garrett said.
Conor thought of the look on Kate’s face, of the way she had run away from him after their rehearsal dinner. He couldn’t help letting out a long exhalation.
“You’re at the center of a whole lot of trouble,” Garrett said. “Everything’s falling apart for you, isn’t it?”
Conor didn’t say a word.
“Even aside from the murder. Your wedding. Your fiancée finding out about your relationship with Belinda.”
“There was no relationship,” Conor said.
“You’re saying you didn’t have one?” Garrett asked, glossing over the question. “Belinda told me all about it once we got back to the room. She showed me the baby photo. Suzanne was there too. She knew all about it.”
“Suzanne?” Conor asked. He tried to place the name, but he felt outraged that Belinda had been lying about him, and his head was spinning.
He knew the worst thing he could do was to let Garrett see his emotions. He took a deep breath, steadied himself. He had to keep his focus, concentrate on staying calm. He began to wish Uncle Mike’s friend Leo Kennedy would hurry up and get there.
“Belinda ruined everything, didn’t she?” Garrett asked. “Spoiling your rehearsal dinner? Springing the news on Kate?”
“Springing it on you too,” Conor said. “She was your date.”
The left corner of Garrett’s mouth twitched. He kept his hands flat on the table but flexed them twice, as if he wanted to make fists. Conor felt anger pouring off Garrett, and he knew he had struck a nerve.
“That’s what this is about, right?” Conor asked. “You’re blaming me for that, for whatever you think went on between me and your girlfriend. So you want to hold me here, treat me like a suspect? Go for it, Garrett.”
Conor stood up. He kept close watch on Garrett’s reaction. At first, Garrett looked shocked, then dismayed—like a kid who’d been beaten on the playground.
“You can’t leave,” Garrett said.
“I’ve been courteous to you and let you play this game with me. But you know how it works. Arrest me, or I’m walking out.”
Garrett tapped the folder on the table. An expression of smugness crossed his face.
“Go ahead and leave. But the statements from guests at the dinner last night, and witnesses of you running into the house this morning, make you a person of interest. Witness reports and photographs of you covered with Belinda’s blood make you a suspect.
And once we get a statement from Suzanne, we’ll have all we need. ”
Conor waited to hear Garrett read him his Miranda rights, but the words didn’t come, and Conor held himself back from asking why Suzanne’s statement was so important—she was just the calligrapher, helping Maeve with some wedding details.
Garrett was doing an intense job of staring him down and barely even noticed when the door opened.
Conor hoped it was the lawyer Mike had called, but instead Joe stepped into the interrogation room.
“What’s going on?” Joe asked.
“I’m about to place Conor under arrest,” Garrett said.
“Let’s hold off on that,” Joe said. The senior detective had a way of speaking that left no doubt, without raising his voice, that it was more an order than a suggestion.
Garrett held his dagger gaze on Conor for a few more seconds, then tapped his folder and left the room without another word.
“Thanks for coming,” Conor said to Joe.
“You’re welcome,” Joe said. “And you’ll thank me more once we get to the car and you find out what I was doing. Come on.”