Page 32 of You Betrayed Me (The Cahills 3)

“Just a sec. Do you mind?” He indicated a wrinkled shirt on the bed beside him—one he’d been told Bobby Knowlton had left for him as the police had confiscated the clothing he’d been wearing on the night he’d arrived. Before Rivers could say anything, he let the hospital gown fall and, with difficulty, slid into the shirt, his jaw tightening, his skin blanching beneath his beard as he forced his right arm down the sleeve. “You aren’t the only ones who want to know what happened that night.”

“Were you alone?”

“I just said I don’t know.” He grimaced as he ran a hand over the tuft of brown hair on his head that wasn’t swathed in a bandage. “Why don’t we just cut the bull? I’ve seen the news and know that Megan Travers is missing, that the rumor is that she and I got into some kind of fight at my place, but I don’t remember it.”

“None of it?” Mendoza asked.

A beat . . . and Rivers got the impression Cahill was going to lie, or at least stretch the truth a bit.

“I don’t recall anything about that night. At least, nothing concrete.”

“Do you remember being with Megan?” Mendoza asked.

He shook his head.

“She was at your house that night.”

“Everyone says so, and yeah, it’s obvious something happened, and I ended up here busted up, but . . .” He met Rivers’s gaze, his eyes slightly defiant. “I just don’t remember.”

Mendoza was clearly skeptical.

“What’s the last thing you do remember?” Rivers asked.

He looked down, appeared to concentrate. An act? To hide his actions? Or a confused man searching the reaches of his memory? “I know that I worked in the shop that day; there’s a home we’re building for a couple in . . . in Oregon. Welches, Oregon. It’s gonna be a ski cabin. Anyway, they wanted it for the holidays, and there was a holdup; the tile she picked out is on back order.” He drew a long breath, wincing. “I called the tile company, and it was too late to reach anyone as they’re on the East Coast, so I hung up, left the office—the office in the main building, where we assemble the houses—then drove to the inn, where I picked up some chili and cornbread to go and headed to the house. After that . . .” He shook his head slowly. “I went out with Ralph, my dog, to look at the horses. I fed Ralph, heated up some chili, and ate it while watching the news.”

“Time?”

“Around six-thirty or seven, maybe. It was the national news, but I always tape it. And then . . .” His eyebrows slammed together, and staring at the floor, he muttered, “Damn it,” under his breath. “And then I don’t know.”

Rivers asked, “Was anyone with you?”

“No. At least not that I can recall.” From the corner of his eye, Rivers saw a nurse slip into the room.

“Did anyone come by?” Mendoza asked. “While you were watching TV?”

“I don’t think . . . oh, hell, I just don’t know, but I feel pretty certain that no one was there when I got home. Just the dog.”

Mendoza asked, “Did you see Megan Travers that day?”

“No . . . well . . . maybe.” He rubbed the stubble on his chin, just under the scratch marks on his cheek. “Was that the day she came to the office?” He thought. “I don’t know.”

“Would anyone else have seen her?”

“Yeah. Well, I think so.” Cahill let out an angry, frustrated huff and glanced out the window. “I really don’t know.” He turned back to Mendoza. “And I don’t want to guess.”

Unfazed, she asked, “When was the last time you do remember seeing Megan Travers?”

“I don’t know! That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you.” He scowled. If he was putting on an act, it was a good one. Rivers almost bought it. But not quite. “Look, Detectives,” Cahill finally said, “I barely remember Megan, and as for the last time I saw her”—he shrugged—“I just . . . I just don’t have any idea. I—I just have a feeling. . . that . . . that I didn’t know her all that well.”

“But you do remember her?” Rivers persisted.

He nodded slowly. “It’s all kind of jumbled and disjointed. I remember what she looks like, and that we . . . were involved.”

“Sexually,” Mendoza said. It wasn’t really a question.

Cahill paused. “I assume so.” But something flickered in his eyes. Yeah, he was lying.

“You don’t recall that?” she asked, skeptically.

---