Page 18 of A Forgotten Mistake

I hesitate as that gunshot resurfaces. “Was someone shootingatyou?”

“I… I don’t think so. I never heard or saw anyone. The gunshot freaked me out, though. I thought for sure it meant they saw me, so I broke into the house to break their line of sight.”

“Why not call the police then? You had your phone on you,” Gabriel questions.

“I don’t trust the police,” she says.

“You had marijuana on your person, is that why?” Gabriel asks. “Why not toss it and call?”

“The last one I’d ever call would be the police.”

“Why’d you run?”

“Because I didn’t trust you,” she tells him.

Gabriel glances at me, and I resume questioning Abby. “Let’s circle back to this gunshot. How many times was the gun fired?”

“Once.”

“Do you have a time?”

“No, I didn’t pause to look at my clock when running.”

“What time did you see the body? You said you were on the phone when you arrived. Had you sent a text message?”

“Oh! I was texting a friend who asked if she could drop by my apartment. I told her I probably wouldn’t be home. I was planning on going out with Mitch.”

“Can we have permission to look at your phone to prove what you’re saying is truthful? I will put it out there that if you say no, we’ll just get a warrant,” I assure her.

Abby hesitates. “Fine. There’s nothing of interest on there as long as I closed out that one tab. You know, the one tab that should be private but isn’t,” she teases.

“I’m sure we’ve seen worse,” Gabriel says.

I shrug. “As long as the tab isn’t ‘How to remove eyeballs from sockets,’ it shouldn’t be a huge deal.”

She snorts and gives me a look, and it reminds me a bit of our teenage years. The years I’m fucking thrilled are over with. The years I fucking hated with a passion. “That’s a bit dark.”

“My bad,” I say. “Can we have permission to search the iPad?”

“Of course. There’s nothing on there. Have at it.”

“We’ll be back. If you think of anything else, please let one of us know immediately,” I say as I stand up. Gabriel looks surprised we’re already done, but he follows after me. In the hallway, Michaels stops us.

“You didn’t talk to her very long.”

“No. I want a warrant to search the house she broke into. And I want every single neighbor to be contacted and questioned about the gunshot. If the man was already dead… who was someone shooting at? If they were shooting at her, why wouldn’t they have followed her into the other house? Breaking a window isn’t exactly a quiet escape. Were her hands swabbed for gunshot residue?”

“They were. Came back clean,” Michaels says. “Your intuition is always right… what are you thinking about her?”

“I think she’s both lying and telling the truth. If she mixes them together, what will we latch on to?”

“You’re latching on to the gunshot.”

“The man who owns the house the victim was found in… this Mitch person. I want to find him. And do we have an ID on the deceased?” I ask.

“He had nothing on him. No keys, no wallet, nothing.”

“It was taken?”

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