Would you mind opening the door?”

I open the door to see Detectives Broadus and Rudd, and four policemen. Broadus hands me a piece of paper and says, “Miss Hill, this is an official search warrant issued by Derrick Compton, Magistrate, District 1, Shelbyville, Kentucky. Please stand aside and allow the officers to do their job. We’ll try our best to make this as quick and painless as possible, but we expect your full cooperation.” To the officers he says, “Be sure to confiscate her computer and any electronic devices.” Then he asks for my phone. Before turning it over I hear Alison shout: “Rot in hell you fucking bitch!”

3.

I WASN’T STARTLED by the police.

Moments earlier, while talking to Mr. Blass, I heard a slight beep and walked to my bedroom and lifted a single wooden slat a quarter inch so I could peer out my window undetected. The reason I knew someone was in my driveway is because I’m in the same house in Shelbyville that I rented last April, before David and I began our affair. Back then I installed a driveway alert so I’d know when he pulled into my driveway each Friday. That way I’d be able to open the garage door for him.

When I looked out the window moments ago I saw two sedans in my driveway and one on the street in front of my house. All three appeared to be standard police issue, but the one on the street looked exactly like the one I saw three weeks ago at the Thorne estate: the one that belonged to Detective Broadus.

There was no need to panic then or now.

I’ve been expecting them for weeks.

Broadus says, “Would you consider answering some questions? It would save us having to take you down to the station.”

I laugh. “Which station is that? The one in Lexington?”

Detective Rudd smiles.

Broadus says, “Are you going to talk or not?”

“Let’s sit at the kitchen table.”

The three of us sit down and I say, “Go ahead and ask your questions, and I’ll consider answering them.”

“Very well. You understand we’re just doing our job.”

“Of course. What would you like to know?”

He presses a button on his phone and says, “Do I have your permission to record this?”

“Yes.”

He tells the recorder the date and time, who we are, why they’re here and gets me to give him permission. Then says, “How many times has David Thorne been inside your house?”

“This house?”

He nods.

“To the best of my knowledge, he’s never been in this house.”

“Either he has or he hasn’t. Which is it?”

“As far as I know he had no clue where I lived. Neither did any of the Thornes.”

“Then your answer is?

“I don’t know.”

“Why’s that?”

“As I told you three weeks ago, David was determined to have an affair with me, but I turned him down because—as I’m sure you know—I’m his biological daughter. But David didn’t know that, and so he pursued me. As you also know, David was quite wealthy, and it’s possible he hired a private detective to locate me. If so, he may have been stalking me without my knowledge. If so, he may have broken into my house when I wasn’t here.”

“Have you reported any break ins to the local police?”

“No.”

“So can I assume we’re not going to find any of David’s clothing, toothbrush, or personal effects today?”

“I wouldn’t assume anything. Maybe the men searching my home will plant something. Maybe David planted something after breaking in.”

“Why would David break into your home and leave evidence?”

“I have no idea. But this is the same guy who broke into Michael’s phone and stole my photos.”

“Have you seen any of Mr. Thorne’s personal items in your house?”

“No. And by the way, I’d be shocked if you found a single skin cell or hair follicle that belongs to David.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because he’s never been in this house, as far as I know.”

“We think he has, and I’ll tell you why: For six straight Fridays David drove to Frankfort and rented a car and drove precisely 45.8 miles before returning it.”

“Precisely 45.8 miles? Every single time?”

“Close enough.”

“How close, exactly?”

“Within a range of two miles over six different Fridays. So you know what we did last week?”

“You drove from Frankfort to my house and back and logged precisely 45.8 miles?”

“Bingo. How do you explain that?”

“I’d call it a mild coincidence.”

“Mild?”

“If you start by assuming he went to the same place every Friday there might be a hundred possible destinations that total 45.8 miles’ roundtrip, including virtually every house in this neighborhood. Since my house is one of them, I’d call that a mild coincidence.”

“And if we find some of his personal items or DNA today?”

“That could only happen if David or the officers planted it.”

Detective Rudd says, “I can’t help but notice you’ve got three sturdy beams in your den.”

“Maybe you should check them for rope fibers.”

“Good idea. Too bad it’s not on our search warrant.”

Broadus glares at him.

I say, “You have my permission to search the beams for rope fibers.”

“We do?”

“Certainly. You do understand this isn’t my house, right? And that I’m just renting it? I have no idea if the owner or any of the other tenants ever hanged themselves on those beams, but that would be another coincidence, don’t you think?”

Broadus says, “Three weeks ago you said you put a million dollars into a mutual fund in Michael Thorne’s name.”

“That’s correct.”

“Can you provide us with that information?”

“It’s in my purse.