Page 64 of You Know Why

“What do we know about the Gussins’ company? Outside of their website and PR machine, I mean.”

“Other than their very public profile as the leading venture capital firm in the country? Not nearly enough. VC is a murky field anyway. Lots of money flows in from all kinds of sources, and NDAs can cover all sorts of malfeasance. Look at the Theranos case. Elizabeth Holmes went to jail for misleading her investors. She’s one of many. We need to dig deeper into that world, make sure all they’re saying is true.”

“You think the Gussins are lying?”

“I didn’t say that. It’s just all very convenient, and I’m suspicious by nature. A rogue employee covers a lot of sins.”

Drake sits with this. Night is descending. The restaurant is filling up, agents and soldiers coming in, medical personnel in scrubs, pale from too much time spent in the hospital.

“And your hand? Tell me the truth about how it happened. What did he threaten you with?”

“Well, duh. A knife.”

Drake looks utterly shocked, and she laughs.

“Sorry. Hanging curveball. What did you think? Obviously, my life’s on the line, and now yours might be, too. Which is what I was trying to avoid. But now that I’ve spilled the beans, I really need to find Andrew Locke. With all of this new knowledge, maybe you can help me do that.”

He nods, eyes hooded. “I can help you do that. But honesty between partners from here on out, yes? You need to tell me everything.”

“Is that what we are? Partners?”

He takes her good hand. “Yes. But if you withhold from me ever again, Detective Lee, it will be the last time we talk.”

“Yes, sir, Agent Sheehan. Agreed.”

“Good. Now let’s go to pull this case together so we can get on to better things. I want to start back at the beginning. Tell me everything about Andrew Locke and his murdered wife, Chloe.”

Denials

Andrew

Eleven Years Ago

They’d been at it for hours now. The handcuffs bit into his wrists, the chair was hard and uncomfortable, his clothes had been confiscated, and he was wearing an orange jumpsuit—prison orange. “Just temporarily, Andrew, until your lawyer can bring you a change of clothes. We’re just trying to figure out what happened tonight.”

The torture of not knowing what happened was maddening. The scent of Chloe’s blood clung to him. Detective Lee was pleasant and sharp, trying to be a friend to him so he’d trip up.

“Let’s go through it again.”

“We’ve already—”

“Again, Andrew. Help me understand what happened tonight.”

A glance at his lawyer. “I arrived home. The door wasn’t latched. I knew something was wrong immediately. I could smell . . . blood. I could see her feet—”

“What was she wearing?”

“Tan UGGs. I gave them to her last Christmas. She wore them all year round inside the house.”

“And she was where?”

“Behind the couch. Between the couch and the dining room table. The record player was on. She was wearing sweats. The blood—” He stopped, swallowed convulsively. “The blood was pooled. It seemed fresh. She hadn’t been dead for long.”

“Are you qualified to make that judgment?”

“Damn it, I didn’t kill my wife! I was on a plane. Flying home. I missed my flight and had to catch a later one. Her time of death proves I was on the plane when she died.”

“Time of death is a very inexact science. It’s a range. Your arrival corresponds with the back end of that range.”