Page 66 of Liar's Point

Owen handed him the phone.

“Hey,” Emmet said. “What’s—”

“I’m going over there,” Nicole said.

“Where? You mean the boyfriend’s?”

“The ex-boyfriend’s, yes,” she said. “Samuel Pacheco. I want to talk to him.”

Irritation surged through him. He slid off the chair and stepped away. “You can’t just go charging over there, Nicole. It’s late.”

“Yeah. It’s late. On day four of our crappy investigation with no viable suspects or even a freaking person of interest. You bet your ass I’m going to talk to him. We need to get eyes on this guy, feel him out, see if he’s a suspect.”

“What are you planning to say to him?”

Silence.

“Nicole? Have you even thought this through?”

“I’ll figure something out.”

Emmet gritted his teeth. “Where are you?”

“Over near the marina. Why?”

“Swing by Finn’s.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m coming with you.”

***

They rode in tense silence, with Emmet drumming his fingers on the door.

“How old is this address?” he asked.

She glanced over at him as she drove through downtown. “June of last year,” she said. “That’s when he filled out the job application at Surf’s Up.”

Emmet shook his head and looked out the window.

Nicole tried to ignore her disappointment. She hadn’t expected effusive praise, but he at least could have said something positive after she’d spent most of her day tracking this down. Nicole had talked to one of Aubrey’s friends who recalled Aubrey mentioning that Sam worked at a surf shop. Nicole had contacted every surf shop on the island, and finally this evening one of the managers called back to tell her that, yes, she had had a Sam Pacheco on staff until he quit around New Year’s. Nicole had persuaded the manager to drive to the shop and look up the employment application so she could get Sam’s address.

It was a solid piece of detective work, even if no one bothered to acknowledge it.

Emmet glanced at her. “What?”

“Nothing.”

He seemed stressed, even more so than yesterday, and she could see the case was weighing on him. His eyes looked bloodshot, and he hadn’t shaved in two days.

He glanced at her. “Do you even know anything about this guy?”

“What do you mean? He doesn’t have a record. I told you—”

“I know, I mean what else do you have? I can’t believe you were just planning to go pound on his door when you know next to nothing about him.”

Irritation bubbled up. “I already ran him. I told you.”

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