Page 46 of Inherited Light
I shoved it to the middle of the table. “It’s the bulb from Catalina’s outside light. I had my wits about me when we got home from the hospital and was able to screw it back in, which meant whoever had loosened the bulb had time to plan their attack on us. I’m hoping there will be fingerprints on it you can use to track the person down.”
He motioned at the box again. “How many sets of fingerprints are we really going to find, Lorenzo?” he asked. His tone of voice was clear; he didn’t believe me.
“What do you mean, Noah? And why are you acting like I’m the one who committed a crime? They knocked me out last night and hurt Cat.”
“Answer the question, please,” he said and I sighed.
“Mine, the person who installed it, which was Frances someone who was killed last year by a forklift, and hopefully whoever our attacker was.”
“Where were you last night, Lorenzo?” he asked in his detective tone and I threw up my arms.
“You already know this, Noah. I visited the gallery last night and then, when we found Cat’s van with a flat tire, I drove her home. We were attacked before we got in the house, and they took Cat to the hospital. They released us about three hours later and I took her home.”
“What time did you arrive back at Miss Chávez’s from the hospital?” he asked, taking out a notebook and making notes.
“Around eleven, I think. She showered and fell asleep. I stayed to follow the concussion protocol and wake her up every two hours.”
“Did you also get a concussion?” he asked, and I shook my head stiffly.
“No, the doctors said I passed the test. Whoever the attacker was, he hit my neck and not my head.” I turned and lifted my hair so he could see the knot and bruising on my neck. When I turned back he had a grimace on his face.
“Damn, that must hurt,” he said, leaning on the table.
“Like a SOB and I want to go home and get some ice for it.”
“Only a few more questions, Lorenzo,” he said, back in detective mode. “Did you stay with Miss Chávez all night then?”
I ran my hand over my neck again, trying to loosen the knotted, angry muscles. “Yes, except for when I drove to the convenience store down the road to get ice.”
He glanced up quickly from his notebook. “What time did you leave her house?”
Suddenly, I saw this as a witch hunt, but I told him the truth. “I woke her up about two for the first check, and then when she fell back asleep I left for the store. It was exactly 2:53 a.m. I remember because the dashboard clock was bright against the horrible headache I had.”
“What time did you arrive back at Miss Chávez’s house then?”
“I wasn’t gone more than fifteen minutes. She was afraid to be alone and I didn’t want her to wake up and find me gone, even though I left her a note on her phone.”
He scratched his chin and glanced between me and the notebook. “I find it odd Miss Chávez told Officer Johnson you were with her the whole night, but you say you left. Which is it?”
I rolled my eyes to the ceiling, noting it hurt when I did, so I stopped. “I’m sure she did tell the officer I was there the whole time, because she slept through me being gone. Why would you ask someone with a head injury time specific questions anyway? I woke her again at four and then we both fell asleep for a few hours. Why does any of this matter anyway?” I asked, a little unsettled knowing they had already questioned Cat when I wasn’t there.
He folded his hands and set them on the table. “Well, you see, Lorenzo, last night Xavier Carellton died from two blows to the temple from a hammer, with your name etched in the handle.”
Chapter Fifteen
My head spun at his words and I grasped the table, shaking my head. “No, no, no, no,” I said, my voice soft and scared. “You gotta believe me, Noah, I didn’t kill anyone last night.”
He sat there with his arms crossed as my insides turned upside down and I wanted to vomit. I had no idea what was going on and the lack of sleep and pain made me feel like I was inside a bubble. “I don’t know. I don’t know how this happened. How did this happen, Noah?” I asked, my hands grasping my hair as I leaned over the table.
“Lorenzo? Are you okay or do you need to lay down?” he asked and I snapped my head up.
“My toolbox,” I said, the truth dawning on me.
“What about your toolbox?” he asked, picking up his pen.
“Saturday night, I picked Cat up for our date in the BMW. I don’t carry a full toolbox in my car, just a hammer, a couple screwdrivers and some nails. When I got to Cat’s, I accidently pulled a board off her ramp which was sticking up. I grabbed the toolbox from the car and fixed it, then set it in the corner of the ramp while we were at dinner.”
“And when you got home it was missing?” he asked, his hand posed to take notes.
