The scratches on Victoria’s hands were from the night he’d gone to dinner.
The scratches on Alfred’s hand that June had seen outside the flower shop.
Judy Vernon had fought back hard enough to leave skin under her nails.
The safe was stolen the night everyone was at the harbor watching the Teacups fire.
It made sense in a surreal way that Alfred was an accomplice of Victoria’s. He had been in this household for decades. Alfred knew every routine, every schedule, every unlocked door, and unmonitored camera angle. He also had access to every room, every vehicle, and every piece of information about every person who passed through this house.
“Holt,” June said quietly.
“I know,” he replied.
Holt looked at Tom, who was watching both of them with the expression of a man waiting for the last piece of a sentence he wasn’t sure he wanted to hear completed.
“I think it’s time we faced what the evidence is telling us,” Holt said.
June nodded once. “Victoria is the one we’ve been looking for.”
“And she had help,” Holt continued, looking at the two resignation letters still in Tom’s hands. “From Alfred.” He paused. “And very likely from Mrs. Clark as well.”
Tom looked at the letters for a long moment.
Then he set them back on the table very carefully, as if they were something that needed to be handled with particular care, and said absolutely nothing at all.
Their case looked like it had just been solved.
12
JUNE
The forensic team arrived at the Morrison mansion within forty minutes of Holt making the call.
June stood in the entrance hall and watched them come through the front door in their white protective suits, equipment cases in hand, moving with the quiet, methodical efficiency of people who did this work every day and had long since stopped being surprised by the places it took them. There were six of them. Holt met each one at the door, spoke to them in low, direct exchanges, and directed them toward the areas he’d already identified as priorities. The master bedroom. Victoria’s personal study. The garage. Alfred’s quarters off the kitchen corridor.
June stayed out of their way and let Holt work.
She was good at knowing when to step back. It was one of the things legal practice had taught her early, that there were moments when the most useful thing a person could do was be present without being in the way, and this was one of them. Holt knew how to run a forensic team through a property. He’d been doing it for three decades. June’s role right now was to observe, to think, and to wait for the detail that didn’t fit.
She was still waiting for it.
The nagging feeling she’d been carrying since before the storm hadn’t gone away. If anything, Sienna’s visit to the station that morning had made it heavier rather than lighter. Everything Sienna had brought them was useful. The footage, the letter, the confession about lying to Rad. It all pointed cleanly and convincingly in one direction. June had learned over years in courtrooms to be deeply suspicious of anything that pointed cleanly and convincingly in one direction.
Holt finished briefing the last team member and crossed back to where June was standing near the hallway table.
“They’ll be here for at least two hours,” he told her. “Possibly three. The garage alone is going to take time.”
“Do you want me to stay?” June asked.
Holt shook his head. “I need you to take me to the Sandpiper Inn. Tom’s room needs to go through the same process. I’ve already called ahead.” He looked at her steadily.
“I’m ready when you are.” June nodded and picked up her bag.
The Sandpiper Inn looked exactly as it always did from the outside, the white clapboard front and the carefully tended window boxes giving nothing away about the search team that was not too far behind them. Holt pulled into the parking lot. They found Margo in the boardroom. She was standing beside a man in his fifties with a set of plans spread across the desk and a younger man who was listening to what was being said. Margo looked up the moment June and Holt stepped into the doorway.
“June, Holt.” Margo excused herself from the two people she’d been with and crossed the room toward them.
“We need to have a word with you, in private, please, Margo,” Holt said politely.
