That was about to change.
“Hypothetical question,” I said. “If you had to choose one person in your friend group as the person responsible for Anne’s disappearance and Audrey’s murder, who would it be?”
Vaughn answered without pause. “Aiden.”
“Why?”
“Because of what I said about him before. Never thought the guy could be trusted.”
I turned to Tilly.
She was silent for a long moment, and then she said, “I don’t feel comfortable naming any of them. At one point, they were all my friends.”
“But if you had to choose,” I pressed.
“I don’t know, Brianne, I guess.”
Vaughn looked at her, surprised. “Why Brianne?”
“She’s just, I don’t know, perfect,” Tilly said. “Or that’s what she wants people to believe, anyway. People who never crack scare me. They know how to hide things, and from my experience with people like that, most of the time they are.”
Two names.
Two motives.
No proof.
I stood, slipping my coat over my arms as I reached for my bag.
“Thank you,” I said. “This helps more than you realize.”
As I walked toward the door, one thought refused to let go.
I was getting close to finding a killer.
34
I woke with the feeling that time was no longer on my side. Not because the case had gone cold, but because it was heating up, and when that happened, people either talked or panicked. Sometimes both. As I began getting ready for the day, a text message came through from Silas. The scarf yielded no DNA evidence, but the hair caught in Anne’s locket was confirmed to be hers.
Today, I was intent on speaking with Aiden, to see what he had to say about the night of the bonfire.
His house sat farther inland than most, tucked behind a stand of eucalyptus trees that peeled and shed like they were trying to escape their own skins. The place suited him. It was private and defensive, perhaps even a little hostile.
I knocked, and when no one came to the door, I knocked again.
Still nothing.
I was about to head back to my car, when the door opened.
Aiden stood there with the same expression he’d had the last time I saw him, like he was annoyed that I existed. Today, he was dressed in a pair of stained jeans and a white tank top, even though it was mid-winter.
“You again,” he said. “What is it now?”
“I need to ask you about the bonfire,” I said. “And about Anne Fontaine.”
He snorted, stepping back. “Someone’s been getting people to talk.”
“What can I say? I am good at my job.”
