Page 44

“It changes how we’re looking at the scene. It doesn’t automatically clear you.”

She pressed her lips together. O’Shea kept his attention on her rather than retreating into the folder.

“The knife may have been put there to point at you,” he continued. “We have to consider that. But the finding doesn’t tell us who struck him or who placed the prop. I’m not going to tell you it settles the case when it doesn’t.”

Sybil looked down at the tabletop. A pale scar in the wood ran between her hand and the folder, and she followed it with her eyes before looking back at him.

“So someone hit Justin hard enough to kill him, and the knife was beside him for a different reason.”

“That’s what we’re trying to establish.”

I moved to the corner of the table. “Do you have anything that points to the object used?”

“Nothing I’m prepared to identify as the weapon.”

O’Shea opened the folder, leaving the page flat in front of him rather than handing it around. Outside the window, a worker rolled an empty pumpkin crate past the building. The wheels scraped over the gravel, briefly louder than anything in the office.

“The witness statement needs adjusting too,” the sheriff said. “We went back through the sighting. The distance was longer than the first summary suggested, and the lighting was poor. The witness never got a clear look at the woman’s face.”

Sybil pulled out the chair and sat. The legs dragged against the floor before she settled them.

“What did they recognize?”

“Chestnut hair, general build, dark outerwear. They knew you were working and believed the woman they saw was you.”

She took a breath and let it out slowly.

“That’s quite a long way from recognizing my face.”

“It is,” O’Shea said. “Which is why I’m no longer treating it as facial recognition. We still need to establish who was there.”

He waited while she absorbed that. I could see the tension in the way she held her shoulders, but she’d stopped gripping the edge of the chair.

“Hollowfield has Thursday’s ticket records,” he continued. “We’re using them to send a limited witness appeal through the farm. People who left the regular guest route or ended up near a staff boundary are being asked to contact my office. There may be somebody who hasn’t realized their movements matter.”

“You’re keeping names out of it?” I asked.

“I don’t want people fitting their memories around the people we’re questioning. The request gives them the area and the evening. They can tell us what they remember.”

Sybil rubbed her palms down her thighs beneath the table. She looked at the folder again, then at O’Shea.

“What about Clinton and Troy? Justin’s arguments with them haven’t changed.”

“No, they haven’t. Rick gave us additional financial records this morning. Some charges appear under different budgets without an explanation in the paperwork, and payment dates don’t match what vendors were told. Justin was already asking about those discrepancies before he died.”

I thought of Clinton folding the delivery receipt outside the office, insisting Sybil leave the vendor calls to him. He’d been eager to end the conversation then. The records gave O’Shea a reason to insist on finishing it.

“Does Rick know why things were moved?” Sybil asked.

“Not yet. Clinton needs to explain them.”

O’Shea turned a page. He didn’t lower his voice or glance toward the door as though the answer was more dramatic than it was.

“Troy has a separate problem. His statement says he stayed in his assigned section until closing. What other staff remember doesn’t account for all of that time. I’m asking him to go through it again.”

Sybil leaned back. Through the window, we could see part of the lane that led toward the performer area, though Troy wasn’t there.

“He could have left for any number of stupid reasons,” she said. “It wouldn’t be the first time someone stepped away when they were supposed to stay put.”