Page 127 of Our Last Resort

It was Annie who told me.

39Escalante, Utah

The Seventh Day

I know what I saw. There was no rock in Gabriel’s backpack yesterday.

Meaning: Gabriel is being framed. Someone entered our suite, found his backpack, and put the rock there.

It’s not hard to guess who.

William.

But how?

It hits me as I follow Harris, Gabriel, and the other police deputies down the trail.

I gave her something, too.

A spare key to our suite.

It wouldn’t have meant anything to the cops, the spare key card, if they saw it. But it would have meant everything to William Brenner.

William must have felt Sabrina pulling away from him. He watched her so closely, always. Her whole world was under his control. Despite what Gabriel just told me, I’m sure of it: William spotted Gabriel in the background when he and Sabrina made an early exit from their last dinner together.

When I saw them fighting during Sabrina’s final moments, what did William say?

Stop lying to me.

He knew. William. This viciously proud man. He realized his wife was cheating on him, he confronted her, and then he killed her. Then he turned his attention to the other man.

William decided to end Gabriel’s life, too, in a whole other way.

That’s why he took a photo of us at dinner. That’s why he tipped off theEscalante News.

That’s why—I realize now—he planted Sabrina’s phone for me to find.

Of fucking course. He had it. He looked at it, set it aside, held on to it. If it contained any evidence incriminating him, he removed it. And then, he set his plan in motion.

William couldn’t give the phone to the police directly. Coming from him, the evidence wouldn’t be credible. And he’d have some questions to answer:How did you find the phone? How long have you had it? Why are you only giving it to us now?Much cleaner if it came from someone else.

And William knew that, if I found the phone, I’d deliver it straight to the cops. So he put it in the part of the desert only I frequent. The coyote’s den.

Sabrina was wrong about her husband. It’s not that it’s not his style to notice things. It’s that he notices only the things he cares about. The things that might benefit him. Like: A woman going by herself into the desert, hovering near a coyote’s lair. By the pool, in the dining room, a woman casting suspicious glances in his direction. A womanwaitingto get her hands on anything she thinks might provide evidence of his abuse.

And all of this is why—when the timing was just right—he planted the murder weapon in Gabriel’s bag.

I picture it as clearly as if it were unfolding in front of my eyes: William waiting for Gabriel and me to set out for the desert, sidling up to our suite as soon as we’d left. Pressing the key card against our reader. Maybe he doubted, for a second or two, that the door would open. But it did, and William was vindicated.

All he had to do was check our luggage tags. Once reassuredthat the backpack belonged to Gabriel Miller, he tucked the rock in there, careful not to leave fingerprints, probably handling it through a tissue or a T-shirt.

Meanwhile, Gabriel and I were in the desert, talking about Sabrina. About affairs and strangers and the things people do when no one is watching.

Then what? Cops need warrants to go inside hotel rooms. William would have known that. So?

So, he took the backpack out of our suite. William knew we weren’t around; he’d just seen us leave for the desert.

And then? What did he do?

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