Page 28 of The Inmate
“So I got another question for you, Miss Farrell.” Santoro reaches into his jacket pocket, and I flinch, expecting him to pull out a pair of handcuffs. Of course, that’s ridiculous. Why would he arrest me? Sure enough, he pulls out a photograph. “Could you take a look at this?”
He slides the photo across the conference table. I pick it up and stare at the familiar image. It’s the bookcase at Dawn’s house—the one that was filled with turtle figurines. Just the sight of it sends a shiver down my spine.
“Do you recognize this?” he asks me.
I cringe. “Yes. It was in Dawn’s living room.”
“Notice anything strange about it?”
He’s got to be pulling my leg. Do I notice anything strange about a bookcase filled withstatues of turtles? Is there anythingnotstrange about it? “Um…”
The detective taps on the center of the photo. “Right there. There’s something missing.”
He’s pointing at the gap I remember seeing in the bookcase when I was at Dawn’s house. The bookcase was so full, but there was that empty space right in the middle. I had assumed it was a decorating choice.
“It was like that when I got there,” I say. “You think there was something there?”
“The pattern of dust made it look like something was removed recently.”
I shake my head. “I’m sorry, I can’t help you.”
“You sure?”
He levels his dark, dark eyes at me. My hands are sweaty again, even though I’ve wiped them on my skirt two times since I’ve been in here. “I’m sure.”
He doesn’t drop his eyes. He keeps staring at me like he’s waiting for me to break and tell him everything. But Ihavetold him everything.
“One more thing,” he says in a low, almost conspiratorial voice. “We found an email Dawn sent to you two days ago asking to meet about something important.” He pauses in a meaningful way. “What did she want to meet about?”
“I don’t know. We never had a chance to talk.”
“No? You sure about that?”
I never genuinely believed that Santoro truly thought I could be a suspect until this moment. But when my eyes finally meet his gaze, I realize he knows something. Something damning.
“I wish wehadtalked.” I fight to keep my voice steady. “Maybe it would have kept her alive.”
He doesn’t have an answer for that. I keep my hands under the table because I don’t want him to see how much they’re shaking.
I glance over at the door to the conference room. “So are we done here?”
“Yes.” The detective’s eyes never leave mine. “We’re done. For now.”
ChapterFifteen
SIX MONTHS EARLIER
To: Seth Hoffman
From: Dawn Schiff
Subject: My Helpful Suggestion Idea
To Seth,
I was wondering if you’ve given more thought to implementing my suggestion about eliminating business lunches.
Sincerely,
