Page 35

THIRTY-FOUR

BOB MILLER

Brad isn’t at the station when I arrive the next morning, so I sit in an interrogation room alone, refusing to speak to anyone without my lawyer present. Once again, I don’t know why I’m here, but I’m not going to give them the chance to twist any of my words, so I’ll wait silently until he arrives. Hudson and Olson didn’t handcuff me to the metal table, which is good because it means this chat is voluntary and they don’t have anything to hold me for... at least not yet.

I can’t see what’s beyond the two-way mirror off to the left, but I can guess that they’re watching me, seeing how I react. Am I panicking? Do I look nervous? Am I sweating? Are my eyes bouncing back and forth at a hundred miles per hour while I try to twist the skin off my hands, wrenching them over and over in fear? No. I sit calmly, staring forward, biding my time. They think they’ve caged me, that they have the upper hand on their home turf. But they’re wrong. This isn’t my first rodeo, and I’m sure it won’t be my last.

The door creaks open and Brad enters.

“Have you said anything?” he asks, getting straight to business before he’s even taken a seat. He’s dressed in a sharp navy suit, a freshly starched bright-white shirt, and a red tie with whimsical patterns dancing all over it in a way that signals it could only be from one brand. He looks the part of a high-powered defense attorney, which is exactly what I need right now.

“No,” I say, shaking my head.

A moment later, Chief Deputy Olson enters the room, closely followed by Sheriff Hudson. He closes the door behind him, and they take their seats across from me and Brad.

“Would you care to tell me why you’ve requested my client to your station for questioning twice in one week?” Brad pulls a legal pad and pen from his designer briefcase.

Sheriff Hudson eyes Brad. “We’ll get to that,” he says and then turns his focus to me. “Bob, do you know a Carissa Brooks?”

My brows shove together, and I look to Brad for guidance. He nods, indicating I can answer if I choose to. I know all the things I would tell my own client to do, but I’m paying Brad for a reason. Because sometimes you can’t see what’s right in front of you.

I have no idea where they’re going with this or why Hudson is asking me about a hairstylist. I figured I was summoned here to be reinterviewed about the Kelly Summers case or that they would follow up with more questions related to Stacy Howard’s disappearance.

“Yes, I know Carissa. She cuts my hair.”

“When was the last time you saw her?” Olson asks.

“Sunday night.”

“About what time?”

“My appointment was at eight, but I was running a few minutes behind.”

Hudson nods. “And what time did you leave?”

“Nine fifteen, maybe nine thirty. Not sure on the exact time,” I say.

“How was she when you left?” Hudson asks.

I look to Brad so he’ll know to interject. “My client can’t give you an assessment of Ms. Brooks’s state of mind.”

“Let me rephrase that then. Did she seem okay when you left?”

“Define ‘okay,’” Brad says.

Hudson lets out an exasperated sigh, and Olson cuts in, “Did anything odd or out of the ordinary occur during your appointment?”

“No,” I say, just wanting to get this over with... whatever this is.

“Did you and Carissa argue at all?”

I answer no again.

“Have you ever argued?”

“No,” I say pointedly.

“Have you and Carissa ever been intimate?” Hudson asks.

“What! No, absolutely not,” I say, incredulous.

Sheriff Hudson twists up his lips. “How did the salon look when you left?”

“The same as when I arrived.”

Brad clears his throat. “My client is a highly respected attorney, and he’s here voluntarily, so with all due respect, Sheriff Hudson and Chief Deputy Olson, can you please get to the point?”

“We’re getting there, Mr. Watson,” Hudson says to Brad and then looks to me. “Mr. Miller, we received a call for a B it just comes out quieter.

Brad snaps his head in my direction.

Hudson and Olson exchange a look of pure confusion. “What was that?” she asks.

“Yeah, what do you mean it’s ‘exactly what Sarah wants.’ Why would your wife want any of this?” Hudson tilts his head.

Before I can say anything else or clue them in to what is really going on, Brad cuts me off—and that’s probably for the best.

“That’s enough!” he yells, herding me toward the exit. “My client is under a lot of pressure and stress right now, both personally and professionally. If you have any further questions, you can contact my office.” He guides me to the door, opens it, and pushes me to the other side.

I keep walking down the hall, through the lobby, and out the front entrance. The fresh air feels nice, like a piece of life is being pumped back into my body. I close my eyes and look up to the blue sky, inhaling through my nose and exhaling slowly through my mouth, letting the tension in my shoulders ease away. Suddenly, a hand presses against those same shoulders and shoves me forward.

“What the hell was that in there?” I turn around to see Brad squaring up to me, his face red and his eyes darting back and forth quickly between mine, searching for answers.

“I’ve already tried telling you this. Sarah is setting me up.”

He huffs. “Even if that were true, you don’t tell them that, especially since you have zero proof. You’re in the midst of a divorce, and you’re in there blabbing to the cops about your wife setting you up for abducting women? My God, Bob, that’s insane, and you know it.” Brad pauses and rubs his forehead, letting out a sigh of frustration. “The reason I’m here is so you don’t have to answer anything, but you’re just freely offering ludicrous theories to the police who are pegging you as the bad guy.”

“I’m telling you. This is all her. It has to be.” I turn from him, looking away at nothing in particular. I know this is Sarah, but how is she doing it? How can I prove it? How do the pieces fit? I could see her paying off Stacy to skip town. But the salon break-in doesn’t make any sense.

“What is it that you think she’s doing, Bob? Help me understand.”

“I don’t know, exactly.”

Brad steps forward and places his hand on my shoulder. “I’m sorry, man, but I think you’re paranoid.”

I shrug his hand off. “I’m not paranoid. You just have to trust me.”

“Fine. I do trust you, okay? But me trusting you doesn’t change anything. If you really think Sarah’s behind all of this, then you need something concrete, something definitive. Because right now you look like a deranged, paranoid asshole who’s unable to deal with the consequences of his own actions.”

“None of that’s true.”

“I didn’t say it was, but those are the optics right now. And what about those text messages with Stacy? Why didn’t you mention those before?”

“It slipped my mind,” I say with a heavy sigh.

“Jesus, Bob. My best legal advice for you right now is to lay low, leave your wife alone, and stay far away from this investigation.”

“No, I’m going to prove Sarah’s behind this. I’ve got eyes on her, and she’ll eventually slip up,” I say, pressing my lips firmly together.

“Hold up.” Brad lifts his hand. “What do you mean you have eyes on Sarah?”

“Exactly what it sounds like. I put a tracker on her car too. So, I’ve got all my bases covered, and if she goes anywhere out of the ordinary?—”

“Bob!” he interrupts, gritting his teeth. “What the hell do you think you’re doing? If she finds out about any of that, you’ll be even more screwed than you already are!”

“How could it get any worse than it already is?”

Brad pans his hand across the air in front of him like he’s reading the marquee of a theater. “ After wife of cheating husband files for divorce, she finds GPS tracker on her car placed there by said cheating husband. How does that sound? Do you think you’ll have a shot in hell of getting any custody rights for Summer?”

“I just need to figure out one thing, that’s all, and then it’s over, for good.”

Brad scrunches his face at me. “Whatever you’re cooking up, you need to do it quickly and quietly. As your friend, I understand why you’re not doing your best right now, but as your lawyer”—Brad steps toward me and pats the side of my arm—“you need to get your shit together or a divorce is going to be the least of your worries.”

I nod in reply. I know he’s right; I know I must seem like the crazy, desperate, spiraling husband, but he doesn’t know what I know. He doesn’t know what lengths Sarah will go to to get what she wants. I just need to beat her at her own game, and the only way I’m going to do that is if I accelerate my pace and do what she thinks I’m incapable of. Because if anyone can best Sarah, it’s me.

Brad turns to head toward his car. “Hey, remember that thing you told me about?” He stops and snaps his fingers. “The one you said that would ensure you get full custody of Summer. What is it?”

“It’s a smoking gun with the trail wisping right back to Sarah. But...” I pause, deciding whether or not I should bring Brad in on this.

“But what?”

“It has far more implications than just helping me get custody of Summer,” I say.

“Okay, but what exactly is it?”

I let out a heavy sigh, staring at the ground for a moment before I meet Brad’s gaze. “It’s better if I show you.”