I’d left her with just enough information to keep her mind busy, turning possibilities over and over until time lost its meaning.
I smiled at the memory.
I crossed the street as the light changed, the crowd carrying me along. Somewhere nearby, sirens wailed—background noise in a city that never really slept.
I’d come this morning for one reason: I wanted to see the aftermath of my work.
To watch the Arctic Circle Murder Club stand in the wreckage and wonder how they’d missed it. To see recognition flicker across familiar faces as the shape of the pieces finally began to form.
I finished my coffee and dropped the cup into a trash can, already thinking several moves ahead.
The best part was still coming.
They just didn’t know it yet.
But they would soon.
CHAPTER
FORTY-TWO
Andi’s phonerang just as she finished answering another question from the officer taking notes in Kate’s apartment.
Mariella.
Andi stepped into the hallway before answering. “Hey.”
“Hey, where are you?” Mariella’s words tumbled over one another. “Rupert isspiraling. The TV interview is in—” she paused, then lowered her voice dramatically “—forty-two minutes, and you’re not here yet.”
Andi pressed her eyes closed. “Mariella . . . we went to Kate’s apartment. She’s missing.”
“What?”
“The police are here,” Andi continued. “I can’t just walk away right now.”
Mariella didn’t hesitate. “Listen, don’t worry about Rupert. I’ve handled bigger divas with smaller hairlines. I’ll keep him busy.”
Relief loosened something tight in Andi’s chest. “Thank you.”
“You focus on what matters. I’ve got the rest.”
Good old Mariella. She’d grown a lot since this podcast had started.
They ended the call, and Andi drew in a long, steadying breath before heading back inside.
She finished speaking with the officers, who took them much more seriously than Hawkins initially had back in San Francisco, and then she stepped back.
Andi let her gaze drift again, several snapshots on the shelf by the TV catching her attention. She stepped closer to see them.
There was a photo of Kate laughing at what looked like a rooftop party. Another of Kate hiking, arm slung around another woman. A group shot at a café, sunlight spilling across the table.
Then there were several of Kate with a man—dark, curly hair and thick muscles. Based on their body language, they were a couple.
Nothing at the apartment indicated she was married or that anyone lived here with her.
So who was this guy? She needed to find out his name.
She pulled out her phone and brought up Kate’s social media accounts. She began searching for the people in those photos—image by image, reverse searches, hashtags.
