Page 14 of The Inmate
He shakes his head slowly and I let out a sigh of relief. When I saw the massive amount of blood on her carpet, I was certain she was lying somewhere in the house dead. “No sign of her. Just the blood.”
“So maybe.” I bite down on my lower lip. Too hard—I taste a hint of blood myself. “Maybe she hurt herself. Got a ride to the hospital.”
Santoro nods. “Yeah, we’re checking out that possibility. Calling all the ambulance companies and hospitals. So far though, we’re not finding her.”
I’m not surprised, but it’s still a blow. “I see…”
“So why did you come to Miss Schiff’s house?”
“Well, she was late to work…” As I’m saying it, I see the skeptical look on his face, so I quickly add: “Also, she sent me this weird email yesterday, telling me she needed to talk to me about something important.” He still doesn’t seem convinced, so I add the clincher: “Plus her phone started ringing on her desk, and when I picked it up, it sounded like she was asking for help. Like she was in trouble.”
“I see… did you hear anyone else on the line?”
I shake my head. “No. Just her voice.”
“Did anyone else hear the phone call?”
That’s a strange thing to ask. What does it matter if somebody else heard the phone call? “No, just me.”
“So you and Miss Schiff were friends then?”
A gust of November wind goes through my blouse and I shiver. “Yes. We were coworkers and… friends.”
“Close friends?”
“Sort of.” It’s not true, but Dawn didn’t really have any friends. I’d believe it if somebody told me I was her closest friend.
“Do you know if there was anybody who was threatening her? Anyone she was afraid of?”
“No. Nothing like that.”
“Does she have a boyfriend?”
I almost laugh at how ridiculous the question is, but of course, he doesn’t know Dawn. I can’t envision her having a boyfriend. I can’t envision her even kissing a man. I’m almost 100% certain she’s a virgin, and she gives off the vibe that she isn’t interested in evernotbeing a virgin anymore. Like the way she always wears these shapeless work outfits that look tailored for a man, with giant tortoiseshell glasses that are too big for her narrow face. Never even a scrap of makeup.
But I would never say any of that to a detective. “No. She didn’t have a boyfriend.”
Detective Santoro gives me a funny look. It takes me a second to realize why. “I mean, shedoesn’thave a boyfriend.”
Oh God, I just referred to her in the past tense. Dawn is going to be okay. They’re going to find her and she’ll be fine. No past tense. Present tense, all the way.
But there wassomuch blood. How could she be okay if there was so much blood? And that phone call…
Help me.
“When was the last time you saw Miss Schiff?” he asks.
“Around five o’clock yesterday,” I say. “When I left work.”
“And she didn’t show up for work this morning?” I nod, although he seems to be asking the question rhetorically. He already knows this is true. “So something happened to her between five o’clock yesterday and this morning at…”
“A quarter to nine,” I supply. “That’s when she always shows up at work. Like clockwork.”
“She’s wicked reliable, eh?”
“Oh yes.”
One corner of the detective’s lips quirks up. “I like that. I’m the same way. It’s good to be punctual.”
