Page 14 of The Writer

Morrow purses her lips. “David was in the kitchen making a sandwich when I left.”

“Did you lock the door when you left?”

“Always.”

“In a building like that?”

“Especially in a building like that. The Andersons in fourteen C were broken into last year. Two years before that, there was a home invasion in eight A. I love the Beresford, it’s an incredible place to live, but it makes you a target. And I’ve hadfans appear out of nowhere too. They just show up on my doorstep. So we always keep the door locked.”

“Anyone recently just show up?”

Morrow considers this, then shakes her head. “The last one was about four months ago. A sweet senior lady. About six months before that, there was a young guy. They were harmless. I signed their books, let them take a few photos, and they left, so—”

Hoffman interrupts. “My client’s talk was widely advertised. There’s a good chance whoever broke in knew she’d be out and expected the apartment to be empty. David… David surprised them.”

Saffi doesn’t acknowledge that, most likely because she knows it’s bullshit and doesn’t want to go down that rabbit hole. She returns her attention to Morrow. “You caught a cab to the bookstore at seven fifteen p.m. What time did you arrive there?”

“About twenty minutes to eight.”

“Did you keep the receipt?”

“I don’t keep paper. I used my credit card, though. Easy enough to confirm.”

Hoffman raises a hand. “For the record, we’re not authorizing you to check credit card records. You want that, you’ll need a warrant.”

Morrow frowns at him. “Geller, don’t be difficult. I have nothing to hide. Let them check it if they want to.”

“Yeah, Geller,” Declan says. “Why make it hard for us? She has nothing to hide.”

Saffi clears her throat, keeps her focus on Morrow. “What time did your talk begin?”

“Eight o’clock. I was up there for about thirty minutes, and I signed books and answered questions until nine. I didn’t want to be out too late, so I left right after that.”

“Another cab?”

She nods. “I was home in maybe fifteen or twenty minutes.”

“Anyone see you?”

“Hank, our doorman. I went up and…” She goes quiet, closes her eyes, and draws in a deep breath. Nearly twenty seconds slip by before she speaks again. “Sorry… I just… until just now, I couldn’t really recall this.”

“It’s okay, take your time,” Saffi tells her. “Let it come back.”

Morrow licks her lips and slowly continues. “When I went to unlock the door, my key didn’t work right. It got stuck. Then I saw the scratch marks around the lock and realized something was wrong. I… I twisted my key a few times until it finally grabbed and I opened the door. Something felt… wrong. I don’t know how to explain it. The air just felt heavy. I knew David was home, but the space felt unoccupied. That’s crazy, right? It sounds crazy when I say it out loud. And listen, I don’t go in for that supernatural nonsense. That’s not what I’m saying. There was just something wrong—that’s the only way to put it. David is… was… cautious, and he kept a gun in his nightstand and another near the front door, hidden in the bottom of a vase of silk flowers. I dumped the flowers from that vase and grabbed the gun the moment I came through the door. I didn’t see David, not right away.”

“We found blood on the door frame. Was that there when you went in?”

Morrow’s gaze drops to the table. Her brow furrows slightlyas she struggles to recall. “Not that I remember, but everything is very… hazy. At that point, I was so worried about David, I didn’t notice much of anything.” She shakes her head. “I should have been paying more attention.”

“It’s okay,” Saffi says quietly, then prompts the woman to continue: “So you entered the apartment…”

Morrow nods. “I found David at the end of the hall leading off our foyer. He wasn’t moving. I… I went to him and… he was covered in blood. Blood was everywhere. Then I remember I heard a sound deeper in the apartment, a thump. Like someone was walking in the dark and hit something.” She raps the table with her knuckles. “I think that’s when I called 911.”

“You think you did or you know you did?”

“I don’t remember.”

“Did you check David for a pulse? See if he was breathing?”

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