He hadn’t told Robert that Brooke had broken up with him. Even though he hadn’t advertised that they’d been secretly seeing each other for weeks, he supposed Robert was smart enough to figure it out, considering what happened in Elkridge. Surprisingly, there’d been no contact from Adam Boverman about it. Not yet, anyway.
He found Joe standing in the break room, looking uncomfortable.
“Hey,” Tyler said. “What can I do for you?”
“I need to talk to you. About the case.” Joe met his eyes. “Brooke and I have been investigating.”
The words hit Tyler square in the chest. Brooke. “Oh, yeah? When was this?”
“Yesterday. She called me. How’s the jaw?” He motioned to where Rusty had clobbered him.
“Fine.” At the moment, it didn’t hurt. Nothing on him hurt now that he knew Brooke was still investigating, still trying to prove his innocence even after their breakup. “Did she ask you to come here?” Tyler heard the hope in his own voice and hated how obvious it was.
“Not exactly. But we’ve been going through everything together—timelines, alibis, evidence.” Joe pulled out his notebook. “And I need to ask you some questions.”
Tyler gestured at the chair. “All right.”
They sat, and Joe flipped through pages of notes. “I know you were playing darts at Bronco Willie’s the night Sheila died. But darts ends around, what, ten o’clock?”
“Usually. Earlier sometimes. Later other times. Just depends on how much beer is flowing.”
“And that night?”
“Probably about ten.
“You left as soon as you were done?”
Tyler nodded slowly. “Yeah. I was tired and wanted to get home. Plus, I had plans for the next morning. You know about that.”
“One of your buddies said you took off pretty quick.” Joe looked up from his notebook. “So, you have an alibi until ten, maybe ten fifteen. Then nothing until you met Robert and Sue at eight the next morning.”
“I went home. Went to bed.”
“Alone.”
“Yes, alone.”
“They can’t pinpoint the exact time of Sheila’s death,” Joe continued. “The coroner’s estimate puts it somewhere between late Friday night and early Saturday morning. That gap in your alibi—that’s why Adam thinks it’s you.”
Tyler’s jaw tightened. “I didn’t kill her.”
Joe shrugged. “From an investigator’s perspective, you don’t have an alibi for the window when she likely died.” Joe turned a page. “And Monique—you have no alibi at all for Friday night. Your dart buddies were at elk camp. Brooke went out with Steph.”
“I was home. Alone. Again.”
“Right. So, no alibi for either murder during the critical windows. Plus, Adam is still convinced you killed your wife and son. Everyone knows you dated Sheila in high school. And there’s a rumor going around that you dated Monique too.”
“That’s not true,” Tyler said sharply. “I never dated Monique. We barely knew each other in school.”
“I believe you. Brooke’s brother said the same thing. Laughed about it, actually. Said there was no way.”
“Phil knows. We were friends back in high school. I would’ve told him if I was seeing someone.”
“But someone’s spreading this rumor.” Joe leaned forward. “That’s what doesn’t add up. Who benefits from you looking guilty? Who’s actively working to make the case against you stronger?”
Tyler thought about the note left on his truck, about the attack on Brooke, about the way evidence kept appearing that pointed directly at him.
“Someone’s framing me. I’ve thought that all along. Brooke and I have talked about it. It has to be someone who knows me well enough to make it look convincing.”
