Page 59 of The Murder Between Us
Silence.
“Jessie wasn’t a child. And she wasn’t shy. Why didn’t she tell her dad she was dating you and that it was her choice?”
“We talked about that.” Garrett fidgeted. Sadness crawled over his features. His shoulders slumped. “She said her dad needed more time. That he needed to get to know me, the real me, before she said anything to him. But I wanted to tell him. I didn’t like lying to him. Shit, I wanted her to move in with me.”
The real Andy Garrett. Noah nodded. Who was the real Andy Garrett. “Why do you have corn husks and dirt in your apartment from the fields around the Olson farmhouse?”
“We’d meet out there. I’d park on the highway and hike in. It’s not as easy as they make it look in the movies, you know. I’d always get cut up.” He showed his arms, the scabs and scars that crisscrossed his forearms. “But it didn’t matter. We had a little place, some old clearing the farmer had cut out of his field. Think he used to park a tractor there. We found rusty parts.”
“She’d meet you in this clearing?”
Garrett nodded.
“Can you show me on a map where it is?”
Again, Garrett nodded.
Noah sat back, studying Garrett. “Andy.” He pulled another folder out of the stack in front of him, plucking an evidence photo from within. He laid it down on top of Jessie’s photo. “Why are your fingerprints on a glass of bourbon found at John Hayes’s house?”
Garrett’s eyes went wide. He paled, the color draining from his face like ink bleeding out of paper. His chest rose and fell.
“Why are your fingerprints on the kitchen counter in John Hayes’s home? Next to Melinda Hayes’s body?” He laid down another photo, the yellow evidence marker stark and glaring in the center of the frame. “And why are your fingerprints on the barstool that was used to kill John Hayes?” Noah clenched his jaw. His molars scraped against one another. He laid another photo down: John’s service photo. Despite the admonition to look serious, like a tough G-man, John had smiled. He tapped the photo. “My friend, John Hayes.”
Garrett’s mouth had fallen open. His eyes flicked from the photo of the bourbon glass to the countertop to the broken barstool. The photo had been taken when it was still impaling John. He shook his head. Squeezed his eyes closed. “No, no…”
“No what, Andy?”
“I didn’t kill him!” Garrett roared. He surged forward, nearly lunging across the table. His shackles strained, the chain whining against the bolt in the center of the table. He reached for Noah, hands outstretched, fingers curled like claws, like he wanted to grab Noah and squeeze, and squeeze—
The door burst open. Cole and Jacob barreled in, grabbing Garrett and slamming him back down into his seat. Cole stood with Noah, turning to face the corner, as Jacob roared at Andy, pinning him to the chair as he put the fear of God into him, told him to sit down and shut the fuck up.
“You okay?” Cole breathed.
“Yeah. Not the first time a suspect has come at me.” Noah inhaled, exhaled. “I’m good.”
Cole studied him. Noah felt his gaze trace over his profile, wander from his hair to his lips, lingering there, before roaming further south. He cast Cole a quick, sidelong glance. “Here? Now?” he murmured.
“Can’t help it.” A flush rose on Cole’s cheeks. “You have me head over heels.”
He smiled, briefly, and cleared his throat. Straightened his cuffs as Cole excused himself and Jacob finished bellowing into Garrett’s face. He filed out after Cole, waiting for Noah’s nod before he shut the door again.
Garrett slumped in the chair, his face twisted and sour. He shot pure poison at Noah. “I am a sheriff’s deputy. I know what you’re doing.”
“Youwerea sheriff’s deputy.” Noah sat again. “Now, you’re a suspect.”
“I didn’t kill them!” Andy shouted.
“Who? Who didn’t you kill?”
“Jessie! Bart! John! The boys! Any of them!”
“Why are your prints all over the crime scene?”
“I was there last night.”
“There? Where?”
“At his house.”
