Page 70 of The New Couple in 5B

“There’s a detective here to see you.”

Shit. Olivia said not to speak to him without her. “Ask him to wait, please. I’ll come down.”

I quickly call Olivia but just get her voice mail. The apartment doorbell rings, and I look out the peephole to see a uniformed doorman who must be George. Short and thick bodied, with a tight blond crew cut, he looks to be in his midthirties, shifting nervously from foot to foot. Detective Crowe stands behind him, frowning, impatient. He must have forced George to bring him up.

I know that I should not be talking to him, certainly should not be inviting him into my home. But I open the door anyway.

“I can’t speak to you without my lawyer, Detective.”

He gives a curt nod. “Look, I can’t reach your lawyer and I have questions. A woman is dead, okay? So either you come with me to the station right now and we can wait there for Ms. Brewer however long it will take, or you let me in, and we can just have a quick chat. You help clear up a few things and I’m gone.”

I weigh my options—get hauled into the police station where I might wait all day for Olivia to get out of court. Or talk to the detective in the comfort of my own home, hopefully briefly.

Finally, I stand aside and let him in.

“Anything else, Ms. Lowan?” George has flushed red at the cheeks, wears a worried frown.

“Thank you, George.” He gives me a little bow and then disappears into the elevator.

Detective Crowe looks around. “Nice place.”

I want to rush in withwe got luckyorwe can barely afford it. Instead, I keep my voice cool and ask, “What do you need, Detective?”

“I thought you would like to know that Dana Lowan’s death has been ruled a homicide.”

I sink onto the couch and stay quiet.

“She died from strangulation, but there is also evidence of blunt trauma to the skull.”

I still can’t find any words, try to piece together what I know about Dana, about her call to me, the box that disappeared from the taxi, Abi’s lies, how he knew she’d died too soon after the fact. I should tell Detective Crowe these things; but I don’t. I’ll tell Olivia when she calls. I also remember at this time that I tampered with the crime scene, took evidence that might implicate my husband. Those photos are in a file on my desk. I wrap my arms around my middle, protective already of the life inside me, not to mention the one we’re trying to build.

“Her ex-husband said that she was in a state of rage over this place.” He’s still standing, looking around the apartment. “That rightfully it should have come to her when her father passed. You didn’t mention that.”

I wait a moment, choose my words.

“Her father, Ivan, left it to us. We didn’t ask for it. That was his choice. Ivan and Dana were estranged, and we cared for him when he was ill.”

“That’s a huge inheritance. I looked it up. This place is worth nearly five million.”

I clear my throat—it’s embarrassing. It feels like a violation, too, that he’s looked up the worth of our place. “Not quite, but yes. It was a tremendous gift.”

He walks over to the fireplace. I’ve placed Dr. Black’s gift there. He stares at it for a moment. I motion for him to sit but he stays standing. I notice his scuffed boots. Chad and I take our shoes off when we come home—careful not to drag in the filth of the city. I imagine the germs from his shoes invading the new cream area rug we could barely afford.

“Why didn’t you tell me that at the studio?”

I shrug. “I was in shock.”

He looks around. There isn’t much to see. We haven’t hung any of our art, our photographs, though there isn’t much of that, either. It will take a lot to fill these walls, make our place look like Charles and Ella’s—money, time, travels. “If you were in a battle over this place, why would you go up there?”

I shake my head. “There was no battle. Ivan’s affairs were in order, so she had no legal recourse to contest his will. She called, wanted to meet. I had something that belonged to her and wanted to deliver it. So I decided to make the trip. I was hoping, if I’m honest, to repair the rift between us.”

I immediately regret telling him that I had something to give her. That’s why you don’t talk to the cops without your lawyer. Crowe regards me for a moment, then takes the seat at the end of the sectional facing me.

“What did you have?”

I hesitate a second, check my phone for any word from Olivia, then reluctantly tell him about the incident with Abi and the box. He sits across from me while I’m talking and, when I’m done, he’s watching me.

“That’s weird,” he says. He runs a hand through thick, tousled black hair, then rubs at his dark stubbled jaw. He looks like a man who doesn’t sleep well, who wrestles his demons at night. His wedding ring is tight; cuticles ragged.

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