Page 43 of Lies He Told Me

“No, I do not have a warrant.”

“Then no, you can’t come in.”

He takes a breath, trying to be civil. “We’re going to have a conversation with you behind that door chain and me out in the hallway?”

“Looks that way,” she says. “You can start by telling me what this is about.”

“I think you know what this is about, Ms. Striker.”

She gives him a chilly smile. She’s pregnant, nauseated, tired, and grumpy. Not a good combination. But she has to be careful, too. No sense in aggravating the local cops.

After a few more moments of awkward silence, the sergeant clears his throat. “The reason I’m here,” he says, “is that I want to know what you were doing outside the Bowers home at three thirty in the morning.”

FORTY-ONE

“WE HAVE A LICENSE plate reader that captured your plate crossing the intersection of Wilbur and Front Street at 3:41 a.m.,” Sergeant Janowski tells Camille.

“Is that a crime?” she asks. “Driving at 3:41 a.m.? I’m not familiar with the local laws.”

He doesn’t think she’s cute. “What are you doing in Hemingway Grove, ma’am?”

“Isthata crime — being in Hemingway Grove?”

The sergeant frowns. “There’s no reason to make this difficult.”

“Make what difficult? This conversation we’re having? I could end it at any time. I’m under no obligation to talk to you. But I haven’t closed the door yet, so if —”

“The Bowers family called 911 last night,” says the sergeant. “After seeing a car idling outside their house in the middle of the night.”

David called the police on her? That doesn’t make sense. Marcie, she thinks. It must have been Marcie.

This is what happens, David, when you keep secrets. It always gets messy.

“What reason do you have to be watching the Bowers house, Ms. Striker?”

“Who said I was watching the Bowers house?”

“Are you saying you weren’t?”

“I’m just wondering why you think that.”

Yeah, she’s needlessly egging him on. Annoying a cop who’s asking the right questions. The only problem is, she won’t answer them.

“What are you doing in HG?” he asks for the second time. “You don’t live here. You don’t work here. You live in Chicago.”

But I didn’t always live in Chicago, Sergeant. You’ve done your homework, but you haven’t dugthatdeep.

Camille makes a point of checking her watch. “Anything else, Officer?”

“Okay, you won’t answer my questions. That’s … that’s your prerogative.”

“Thank you,” she says. “We done?”

She starts to close the door, but he puts a hand out to stop it.

“One more question,” he says. “Do you know the name Silas Renfrow?”

Her heart skips a beat. “Bye, now,” she says, closing the door.

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