Page 169 of You Betrayed Me (The Cahills 3)

“So what was your relationship to Willow Valente?”

“Nothing. I

mean, she was an employee, obviously. On the payroll.”

“And that was it?”

“Yeah.” He shrugged. “Uh, she helped Sophia clean my house after you guys trashed it doing your thing, but I didn’t ask her to. I knew her well enough to say ‘hi,’ but that was about it.”

“When was that?”

Cahill glanced at the calendar on his watch and gave the date, then said, “Sophia insisted, and Willow helped her. I’d been camping out at the inn after I got out of the hospital . . . so . . .” His voice faded.

Rivers took out the pictures of Willow in James’s bed from the manila folder on the table. He’d copied the images from the digital images that had been sent to Zena Wallace and printed them out once he’d arrived at the office. “How do you explain these?” He slid the pictures out of a folder and sent them James’s way.

“What are these?” James took a quick glance at the nude shots and scooted his chair back, distancing himself from the photos. “Why the hell are you showing me these?” He gestured quickly at the pictures. “Because she has the gun?”

“Look a little closer,” Mendoza suggested.

“Why?” Swallowing hard, Cahill inched his chair closer again. “I mean, she’s naked, and she’s got the gun and . . .” His already pale face lost all color, and his mouth fell open a bit. “Holy shit.” He looked up at Rivers. “She was in my bed?” he said, and he seemed dumbfounded. “In my bed with the gun and . . .” He held up both hands, palms out. “I don’t know what this means, but wow . . . oh, wow. I don’t get this. The only time, only time she’d been in that room was to clean it.”

“You’re sure?”

“Hell, yes . . . To my knowledge, she has never been in my bedroom or my house except that one time . . . wait a minute.” He stared at Rivers. “What you’re saying is that you think because you have pictures of her in my bed with the gun that she and I . . .” To his credit, he seemed disbelieving, his mouth falling open. “No . . . just no! This—whatever it is, is nuts!” And then it appeared to have dawned on him. “You’ve been in my house again,” he charged.

Rivers gave a curt nod. “We checked.” And then Rivers laid it out, explaining that they’d checked his house again, found a long black hair in his bed, presumably from the dead woman. To be certain, they’d stripped his bedding and taken it, probably looking for semen or blood . . . or whatever.

“Jesus H. Christ!” Cahill came out of his chair. “I had nothing to do with any of this! Nothing!”

“And yet your name keeps coming up, and you are at the center of it all.”

“No way, I—”

Mendoza cut him off. “What was your relationship with Charity Spritz?”

Cahill’s head snapped around to stare at her. “The reporter. Nothing. . . holy crap, what the fuck are you suggesting?”

“She called you.”

“Well, yeah! Constantly. Ever since Megan went missing. She wanted to interview me, but I wasn’t into it. I mean she was a real pain in the butt.” He explained that Charity Spritz’s calls were insistent, nearly to the point of harassment, that she’d shown up on his porch, and that he’d finally decided to call her, only to have her not respond. “. . . I guess now that I know what happened to her, that explains it. Wait a minute. Don’t tell me—was she killed with . . .” He glanced at the Glock again.

“No,” Rivers said. “Strangled.”

“Jesus . . . and you think . . . ?” Cahill looked sick. “As I said, this is freakin’ nuts!”

Rivers had just seen the official autopsy report, where he’d noted that Spritz’s larynx had been crushed, the hyoid bone broken, along with injuries sustained in a severe beating. Hopefully, though, the scrapings under her fingernails would help ID her killer.

The interview lasted over an hour, but in the end, Rivers and Mendoza didn’t learn anything more. When Mendoza asked why he was with Rebecca Travers, James reacted a little, bristling.

“I don’t see it’s any of your business, but she and I want to find out what happened to Megan.”

“So you’re not involved with her romantically?” Mendoza persisted.

“No.” But his eyes had flashed a little.

“You were.”

“Yes.”

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