He leaned over the desk and started right in. “I came home to the house as usual, about the same time as I always do. And just like every other day, I’d picked up takeout from the inn—chili and cornbread. Once I got home, I grabbed a beer from the fridge and thought I was in for the night. But I guess I was wrong.” He proceeded to explain about Megan arriving and accusing him of cheating on her. How she’d tossed a note at him before things had gotten more violent. According to Cahill, Megan Travers had been the aggressor, working herself into a rage, attacking him, lashing out with sharp fingernails, pushing him. In trying to avoid her blows, he’d stumbled, scraping against the fireplace, his head smacking against the hearth. He didn’t wake up until he was in the hospital. Megan was long gone.
“And that’s it?” Mendoza asked.
“All I remember.” He seemed sincere, though there was a little bit of hesitation.
Rivers asked, “What time was this?”
“Around six-thirty, maybe seven.”
The timeline jibed with what Knowlton and the driver of the snowplow had sworn to. It also meshed with the dog walker’s story of seeing Megan’s car speeding through town.
Still, Rivers wasn’t convinced of James Cahill’s innocence.
Cahill swore he hadn’t had any contact with Megan since that night and had no idea what had happened to her.
Mendoza pushed. “Megan Travers was your girlfriend.”
“She had been,” he admitted.
“But you’d broken up?”
James’s gaze moved from Mendoza to Rivers. “In the process.”
“But you were seeing Sophia Russo at the same time.”
“Yes.”
“Did Megan know?”
“She’d found out. Just like I said.”
Mendoza said, “Were you seeing anyone else other than Megan Travers and Sophia Russo?”
“Don’t you think two is more than enough?” When Mendoza didn’t respond, he clarified, “No, I wasn’t seeing anyone else.”
“But you’d dated other women in the last year or so.” She glanced at her notes. “Jennifer Korpi?”
“Long over.”
“And Rebecca Travers. Megan Travers’s sister.”
Cahill tried not to react; Rivers could almost feel the monumental effort he employed. But it didn’t work. A vein pulsed just beneath the shaved area visible beneath the brim of his hat. “We broke up.”
“And you ended up with her sister.”
“Not my finest hour,” he admitted.
“How did Rebecca Travers handle it?”
“She was pissed. At me. Not so much at Megan.”
Cahill’s return gaze had grown penetrating. Mendoza had hit a tender nerve. “If you’re trying to say that Rebecca had something to do with Megan’s disappearance, there’s not a chance.”
Rivers asked, “How do you know?”
“I know Rebecca. She was always there for Megan, always. Megan could be . . . emotional . . .” He pressed his lips together, then continued, “Rebecca was always the calmer one, has a more level head. She would never do anything to hurt her sister.”
Mendoza further poked the bear a bit on that subject, but Cahill didn’t budge. He was adamant that there was no bad blood between the Travers sisters. Rivers wasn’t ready to buy it, however, nor did he think his partner was.
Rivers asked, “How would you describe your relationship with Megan?”
Cahill smiled faintly. “Not exactly rock solid.”
“She’d left before,” Mendoza said. “Twice, right? You filed missing-person reports.”
“That’s right.” He was wary now.
“Did you fight then, too?” Mendoza asked.
“Argued, yes. Let me be clear—it had never gotten physical before.”
Rivers said, “But you were arrested once—”
“A bar fight, a long time ago. Nothing since. Never with a woman.”
Rivers let it go. They grilled him more about the confrontation, asking if anyone else had been in the house or had come with Megan, even suggesting that he might have been the aggressor, but Cahill’s story was set in concrete.
Finally, James said, “I’ve told you everything I know. Haven’t held back, but there’s nothing more to say, and I really have to get back to work.” He stood, effectively ending the conversation, and even Rivers had to admit they were getting nowhere.
“If you think of anything else, call us,” Mendoza said, picking up her phone. Checking her messages as she scrolled, she stopped and read quickly, then glanced up. “Lab’s finished with your vehicles. They’re at the garage. You can pick them up whenever you want.” She slid the phone into her pocket. “If you need a lift, we’re heading into town.”
Cahill gave a quick shake of his head. “I’ll get a ride on my own.” He was obviously anxious to get rid of them. “What about my phone?”
“It’s been cleared,” Mendoza said. “You can pick it up when you get the truck and SUV. I’ll see that it’s waiting for you.”
“Good.”
“Again, if you remember anything else?” Mendoza slid a card onto his desk.
“Got it.” Cahill ignored the card and headed for the door, the dog at his heels. Mendoza took the hint and followed, as did Rivers, though as he passed Cahill’s desk, he swept a pair of sunglasses off the surface and pocketed them before catching up to Mendoza on the steps. He already had the work gloves, but Cahill was the center of the case, and another one of his personal items couldn’t hurt. That was the reason, Rivers told himself. It couldn’t possibly be because he experienced a rush at lifting the shades.
He reached the others at the foot of the stairs. Cahill walked them out of the building, where snow was beginning to fall again, big, lazy flakes drifting down from a dove-gray sky. As he left them to return to the warmer building, a smaller car pulled into a spot in the gravel lot, a blonde at the wheel.
“Sophia Russo,” Mendoza said as the woman got out of the car and started walking toward the building.
“What do we know about her?” Rivers asked.
“Not enough.” Mendoza watched the blonde hurry through the large door, then head straight to the staircase leading to the offices where James Cahill had headed. “Not nearly enough.”
CHAPTER 21
“For the love of God, James, at least let me
