Page 27 of The Inmate
“No. I just dropped her off that one time. I’ve never been inside.” I wipe my sweaty palms on my skirt. “Why are you asking me all this? Why is it important?”
“Well, Miss Farrell, I’m just trying to understand some of the things we found in Miss Schiff’s house.”
“I… I don’t follow.”
Detective Santoro leans forward like he’s about to tell me a secret. “So the thing is, we found your fingerprints on a knife at Miss Schiff’s house.”
I freeze. My fingerprints? “How do you have my fingerprints?”
“They were on the business card you gave me.”
I feel violated. I offered him that business card of my own free will, and he used it to get my fingerprints.
But anyway, it’s for nothing. The fingerprints are very easy to explain. “I grabbed a knife from the kitchen because I was scared there was an intruder. Then when I saw the blood, I dropped it on the floor. I told this to one of the police officers.”
“Right.” He nods. “We already knew that. But we found your fingerprints on another knife. One that was still in the knife block.”
For a moment, I’m speechless. My fingerprints were ontwoknives? But it does make sense. “I didn’t grab the first knife in the block. I think I checked a few of them to find one the right size.”
I did, didn’t I? I must have. Because how else could my fingerprints be on a second knife?
“Okay, that explains that.” One corner of his lips curls up in a lopsided smile. “But how did your fingerprints get on the wine glass sitting on the counter in the kitchen?”
The question takes my breath away. My fingerprints were on that wine glass in the kitchen? How could that be?
I remember seeing the wine glass on the counter. And then the broken one on the floor. But I don’t remember touching them. I grabbed the knife, maybe even touched a few of the knife handles, but I never touched the wine glass.
Did I?
I don’t remember doing it, but if they found my fingerprints on the glass, I must have. It’s the only explanation. And now that I think of it…
Yes, I definitely must have touched that glass.
“I touched the glass when I was in the kitchen,” I say. “I moved it to the side. It… it looked like it might fall like the other one. I’m sorry. I didn’t realize at the time that it was a crime scene.”
Detective Santoro leans back in his chair again, considering my explanation. “So you never shared a glass of wine with Miss Schiff?”
“No.” I lick my lips. “Look, Dawn was a nice person, but we weren’t good friends.”
“Why not?”
“She was… strange. It’s hard to explain it exactly, but she was just a very strange person. If you met her, you would know what I mean.”
“Yeah.” He seems to be considering this. “You know, it’s interesting…”
“What’s interesting?”
“The way you keep referring to Miss Schiff in the past tense.”
My mouth falls open. He’s looking at me intently, obviously trying to get a reaction out of me. “I have an alibi for two nights ago,” I remind him.
“An alibi,” he repeats.
I should never have used that word. It makes me sound guilty. Innocent people don’t need alibis. “I mean, I was with somebody.”
“Right. You were with your boyfriend. I remember.”
Except I wasn’t really with Caleb. I’m counting on him to come through for me—I think he will. At the time, it seemed ridiculous to make up an alibi. But now I’m glad I did.
