Page 69 of The Perfect Divorce

“Can anyone verify that?” I ask.

“Yeah, I can.” George lifts his head, meeting my gaze.

“Anyone else?”

“No. Does someone need another person in their house for them to be able to just relax?” he challenges.

“To relax? No,” I say. “But to verify someone’s whereabouts? Yeah, it would help.”

“I don’t know what to tell you. I was at home with a frozen pizza and a six-pack.”

Olson takes out her notepad and jots down a few lines. “You didn’t leave your house at all between nine p.m. and two a.m. on Sunday night?”

He shakes his head.

“What’s this about anyway?” George’s voice becomes angry again, his patience wearing thin. “I’m not answering any more questions until you tell me why the hell I’m here.”

Olson looks back at me, lifting her brows to ask,Should we?I nod, giving her the go-ahead.

“We received a call yesterday morning reporting a break-in at Carissa’s salon. But when we got on scene, it appeared to be more than just a standard burglary.”

A wave of red flushes across his neck and face. “What do you mean? Is she all right?”

“We’re not sure, because she’s missing.”

His gaze intensifies, flipping between Olson and me. “Why are you here talking to me then? You should be out there looking for her!”

“You said it yourself, Mr. Carrigan, you would never stop loving her. When she didn’t reply, did you take matters into your own hands? Ensure that if you couldn’t have her, no one else could?” I slowly walk toward the table.

He pulls his head back. “You thinkIdid something to Carissa?”

“I don’t know, did you?”

George narrows his eyes and stands quickly from his chair. “Are you detaining me?”

“No. We’re just talking,” I say.

“Am I being charged with anything?”

“Not yet,” Olson replies.

“Then, I either want a lawyer or I’m leaving.”

Olson and I exchange a frustrated look. He knows his shit because he’s been through this several times before.

“You’re free to go, Mr. Carrigan. But we’ll be in touch,” I say, stepping aside.

George stomps toward the door and grabs the handle, pulling it down but with no success. He struggles with it for a few seconds before I intervene.

“You need a card for that,” I say, retracting mine from my utility belt as I cross the small room. “It’s a safety measure.” I scan the card and the lock clicks.

George wears a look of annoyance mixed with fear. He pushes the door open and bolts out of the room without another word.

I turn to Olson as she stands. “So, what do you think?”

“I think he’s an asshole, but other than that, I don’t know.”

I sigh and shake my head. “At least we’re on the same page.”

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