Page 37 of Darkwater Lane

Gutierrez considers me for a moment before nodding. “In what capacity did you know Mr. Varrus?”

It’s a Catch-22. Normally, I would refuse to answer any questions until I’d spoken with my lawyer. But refusing to talk will make us look guilty. Exercising our constitutional right to counsel shouldn’t count against us, but it would. It would make us appear even more suspicious. Our best bet is to seem cooperative while trying to frame the narrative in the best possible light for us.

After all, Gutierrez is going to find out about our dealings with Varrus. It’s better if we’re the ones who tell him.

I blow out a breath. “Look, I’ll freely admit we have a past with Leonard Varrus. He despised both of us, to put it mildly. He went missing a few months ago and tried to make it look like Sam had something to do with his disappearance. I could go into more detail, but you probably wouldn’t believe me. I suggest you reach out to the Norton Police Department. They can fill you in.”

Gutierrez raises an eyebrow. “Any particular reason he didn’t like you?”

Because he thought I had something to do with his daughter’smurder. But I know that won’t go over well. Instead, I ask, “Have you heard of Melvin Royal?”

The detective grimaces. “Hard to be in my line of work andnotknow of him. Real piece of work, that guy.”

“He murdered Varrus’s daughter. He also killed Sam’s sister,” I say, nodding toward Sam. “The two of them started an organization called the Lost Angels—sort of a support group for those who lost loved ones to Melvin Royal. Ultimately, they had a disagreement that led to their falling out.”

Gutierrez glances toward Sam, scrutinizing him. “What was the disagreement about?”

He’s asking Sam, but I’m the one who answers. “Me.”

He frowns, not following. “Why’s that?”

“Melvin Royal was my ex-husband.”

His eyes go wide. This new piece of information clearly shifts his perception of me. “I thought your name sounded familiar.”

I give him a tight smile.

“You’re married to the woman whose husband murdered your sister?” Gutierrez asks Sam. If he’s trying to provoke him, to get some sort of reaction, it doesn’t work.

“We’re not married,” Sam says. “Yet,” he adds.

I try not to show any external reaction to that last bit. Sam proposed to me a few years ago, but I told him no. It wasn’t that I didn’twantto marry him, but more that it wasn’t the right time. The fallout from Melvin’s death still played an outsized role in our lives, and I wanted to make absolutely sure we were marrying each other because it was the right thing for us to do and not as a response to the trauma we’d endured together.

I know being turned down hurt Sam a lot, and he hasn’t asked again. Then again, marriage has never felt particularly necessary. Neither of us needs a ring to prove anything to the world. We know each other’s hearts. That’s all that matters.

I slip my hand into his and squeeze. He squeezes back, hisfingers firm and warm around mine. A reminder that we’re a team and always will be.

“You dating Ms. Proctor led to your falling out with Mr. Varrus?” Gutierrez prods.

“Not initially,” Sam tells him. “But other members of the Lost Angels persuaded Leo to believe that Gwen was involved in her ex-husband’s crimes. Of course, she knew nothing about what Melvin was doing, and I tried to explain that to them, but they didn’t want to hear it. Leo thought I was a traitor for having anything to do with Gwen. He thought I betrayed the Lost Angels’ cause.”

Gutierrez takes a few notes and then says, “Anything else?”

Sam hesitates. “Leo blames me for the death of Miranda Tidewell. She was another founder of the Lost Angels and she was dating Leo. A band of kidnappers murdered her several years ago, and I was there when it happened.” Gutierrez’s eyes flare wide with interest, and Sam quickly adds, “If you want more details, you can reach out to Mike Lustig at the FBI. He was also there and can vouch for the fact that I had nothing to do with her death.”

“Have either of you had any contact with Leo Varrus recently?”

Again, this is information he’ll be able to glean from third parties, so there’s no reason to hold back. “I can’t say I’ve ever spoken to the man,” I tell him.

“And you, Mr. Cade?”

I wait for Sam to tell him about Varrus’s last call a couple of weeks ago. When he doesn’t, I glance his way. His face is pale.

Something’s happening, but I’m not sure what. I can feel some sort of momentum building. It’s the same sense as before a storm when the air is still and stale but charged, setting the hairs along your arms on end.

Gutierrez doesn’t press Sam for an answer. Instead, he asks, “Can you verify your cell phone number for me, Mr. Cade?”

Still, Sam says nothing, and a sort of dread begins to take root in my chest.

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