Page 9 of The Sleeping Girls

The woman shook her head. “No, nothing. Well, except the thunder and rain.”

Rain could have washed away any footprints left outside and drowned out the sound of an intruder.

“Dammit, Jean, did you have to get drunk last night?” the father said bitterly.

“I’ve been stressed,” Mrs. Tiller said. “And I only had one vodka tonic.”

Mr. Tiller made a sound of disbelief.

Ellie ignored the tension between the couple. “Let’s focus on Kelsey right now. You mentioned she was on her phone when you went to bed.”

Mrs. Tiller fidgeted. “Yes, I heard her whispering when I checked on her before I turned in.”

“Do you know who she was talking to?”

Mrs. Tiller exhaled. “I told you, her girlfriends.”

“Did Kelsey have problems with any of her teachers?” Ellie asked again.

“No, we told you she was a great student,” Mr. Tiller said defensively.

“I understand this is difficult, but please try to stay calm, sir, so we can sort through this,” Ellie said. “In order to do that, I need a list of Kelsey’s friends and their contact information.”

Jean nodded, then retrieved a notepad from the end table, consulted her phone and jotted down the information.

Ellie turned her attention toward the father. “Where were you last night, Mr. Tiller?”

His jaw tightened, and he glanced at his wife for a second then looked down at his hands. “I had a dinner meeting in Atlanta and stayed overnight in a hotel.”

The wife spoke with a bite to her tone. “Yeah, with a hooker.”

“I was not with a hooker,” Mr. Tiller snapped.

Ellie threw up a hand to silence the argument. “Tell me about your job.”

“I’m in pharmaceutical sales,” he replied. “Yesterday I met with staff at Emory Hospital, then my colleague and I went to a late dinner and had drinks with two of the docs.”

Atlanta was only an hour away. “What time did you get to the hotel?”

“I checked in about five before the meeting then we got back to the hotel around midnight.”

“You weren’t alone?” Ellie asked.

He shifted. “No.”

Jean set her phone in her lap. “You bastard,” she cried.

Ellie cleared her throat. “I’m going to need the name and number of the hotel as well as whoever you were with to verify your story.”

“Yeah, who is she, Tim?” Mrs. Tiller shouted.

He pulled his phone and walked to the desk in the kitchen. A minute later, he returned and handed a slip of paper with the information on it to Ellie.

“What time did you get home this morning?” Ellie asked him.

“About eight.” His voice broke. “The minute I opened the door, I heard my wife screaming.” He pinched the bridge of his nose, fear overcoming him.

Ellie gave him a minute to purge his emotions, then another to compose himself. “Go on.”

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