“I’m afraid I’ll have to put in an order,” I tell Carmen regretfully.
She’s disappointed, and I’m worried she’s going to tell me to forget about it, but then she surprises me by asking for two boxes. After we hang up, I enter the information into the computer, but just as I’m submitting the order, my attention is drawn to a commotion at the front of the office. I stand up, and over the edge of the cubicles, I can see Detective Santoro talking to Seth. They’re shaking hands. I can’t hear anything they’re saying, which makes me uneasy. Especially when Seth points in the direction of my cubicle.
The detective waves to me. I wave back.
Then he’s coming right toward me. I smooth out my hair and tuck a loose strand behind my ear. There’s no reason to be nervous. I didn’t do anything wrong. I’m sure the detective is just going to ask the exact same questions as yesterday, and then he’ll move on to somebody else.
A few seconds later, Detective Santoro is approaching my cubicle. He smiles at me, and I have to admit, his smile disarms me. He doesn’t seem upset or suspicious of me, and it also brings out a hint of dimples on both his cheeks. The detective is sexy in a swarthy sort of way.
“Miss Farrell, right?” he says.
I nod. “Yes. Detective Santoro?”
He beams at me. “You got a good memory.”
“You have to have a good memory if you work in sales.” It’s true. Clients love it when you remember every detail they told you about their lives and their business. That’s why I keep notes. “Have you found out anything about Dawn?”
The smile instantly vanishes from his face. “I’m afraid not. We’re doing our best to find your friend. I promise you that.”
“I appreciate that. Have you spoken to her mother?”
He nods grimly but doesn’t elaborate. “I’m hoping I could ask you a few more questions, Miss Farrell. I’m trying to gather as much information as I can to find her.”
“Of course. Anything I can do to help.”
“Well, that’s great.” He jerks his head to the left. “Your boss said we could use the conference room. Do you mind?”
It’s not like I have a choice. So I follow the detective to the conference room, all the while pushing away the sick feeling in my stomach.
Chapter Fourteen
“Miss Farrell, how close were you with Miss Schiff?”
Detective Santoro’s eyes are trained on me as he asks me the question. His eyes are really dark. So dark, you can’t tell the iris from the pupil. It somehow gives me the illusion that he can see into my soul. And if I were to lie, he would know it.
“Not very close,” I admit.
“No?”
I shrug. “She works in the cubicle next to mine. We talk sometimes and we’re friendly, but I wouldn’t say we’re great friends.”
“Sure.” The detective nods like he gets that. “You can’t be friends with everyone, right?”
“Yes, exactly.”
“But you did know where she lives.”
I squirm in my conference chair. “I drove her home once, so I remembered her address. As I said, I have a good memory.”
“And why did you go over to her house again?”
A muscle in my jaw twitches. “I told you this. She didn’t show up for work this morning, and I got that phone call…”
“Right. You said there was a phone call to Dawn’s line at the office, and you heard her voice.”
“That’s right. Did you trace the calls that came to her number yesterday morning?”
“I did,” he confirms. “And every single one of them was internal.”
“Internal?”
“They all came from this office building.”
Santoro looks unimpressed by this revelation, but it’s enough to give me a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach. Dawn called here yesterday, begging for help. And the call came from inside the office.
Oh God.
For a moment, I’m too terrified to even speak. But Santoro doesn’t seem at all concerned. That’s because he didn’t hear the way Dawn’s voice sounded.
“So had you ever been to Miss Schiff’s house before?” he asks.
“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 on two knives? 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…”