Gilcrest rests a hip against the conference table and waits until I find myself sinking into the padded chair.
“Someone’s protecting my father,” I say.
Gilcrest opens a laptop and clicks a few buttons. “Do you mind if I record? I’ll send you the file when we’re done if you want to use any of the audio. And you should say that again:Someone’s protecting my father.It’s a great line.”
I parse through each of the conversations I’ve had since the fire, starting with Seton as we left the hospital yesterday, then Freya, Reid, and Gilcrest himself. I come back to the threads of the story Freya unwound, and attempt to explain them now—the soccer game, and that Reid couldn’t have heard what Isaac Haviland said, and the tiny inconsistencies in the accounts of the murder—and I hear myselframbling, trying to fit the pieces together in a way Gilcrest will understand, in a wayI’llunderstand.
I take a deep breath. I pretend I’m narrating the story for a radio show, that I’m speaking directly to an audience of strangers. “When I saw my father, it wasn’t the first time I’d seen him.”
“You saw him at a soccer game when you were a kid, am I getting that right?” Gilcrest asks, and when I nod, he adds, “Say it out loud for the tape.”
“I saw my father at a soccer game,” I say.
“And Andrea Haviland was at the same soccer game?”
“I’m not sure. I can’t remember if she was there or if we met up with her later on. But if I recognized my father that day, then Mrs. Haviland would have, too. They’ve been friends their entire lives.”
Gilcrest makes a note. “But only if she was there. And last night, your father came to the Landing, which Andrea Haviland owns.”
Gilcrest is easing me into my story in the same way I would if I were interviewing him. But he’s listening. And having him listen is helping me work through what I’ve learned. “My father knew about the fire,” I say. “He mentioned it to me when we talked, and he said he was concerned about an old friend. He must have known Mrs. Haviland had been taken to the hospital.”
“So maybe he was there to check on her condition,” Gilcrest says.
A knock sounds, and Detective Stamoran opens the door. “Podcast,” he says, pointing at me with both index fingers.
“Let me get you up to speed,” Gilcrest says to the detective. “I’ll be back in a sec, Charlie. You sure you don’t want anything?”
“I’m good,” I say.
Gilcrest closes the door after himself, and I hear the detectives whispering on the other side. When they return, Gilcrest’s demeanor has changed. He moves deliberately, crossing the room and pulling up a video on his phone. “You should see this,” he says.
The video shows a view of the lake, with the edge of the dock at Burkehaven in the right-hand corner.
“My team found a camera Andrea Haviland missed with the sledgehammer,” Stamoran says.
“We don’t know Andrea destroyed those cameras,” Gilcrest says.
“Good point,” Stamoran says. “We don’t assume. Regardless, whoever took the cameras out missed one. These things only record when there’s movement. See that?”
I squint at the screen. Thick black smoke wafts across the water.
“That’s from the fire,” Gilcrest says. “And—”
“Wait for it—” Stamoran says.
Five seconds later, a boat speeds into the cove, with Andrea Haviland at the helm. She jumps onto the dock, barely pausing long enough to wrap a line around a piling before dashing out of the frame.
“The fire had already started when she arrived,” Stamoran says.
That’s why no arrest has been made.
“Maybe my father set the fire,” I say.
“Maybe your father set the fire,” Gilcrest says, mirroring my words as he leans back in his chair. “You did see him at the Landing, after all.”
“I talked to Paul Burke earlier,” Stamoran says. “He was at the Landing last night, too. You’d think he’d have recognized an old friend hanging around, especially one who’s supposed to have been dead. But he didn’t see your dad. You know who else knew Mark Kilgore back in the day?” Stamoran jerks a thumb toward Gilcrest. “This one’s girlfriend, Freya Faith, and she was at the Landing, too. Have you asked her about seeing Mark?”
“Not yet,” Gilcrest says. “I’m in the doghouse with her, but we’ll catch up later.”
