“We’d like to ask your staff some questions. See if anyone knows anything that might help us locate him.”
“Sure. Whatever you need.”
The officers set up in the back office and started calling people in one by one. Asia went first. Then the cooks. The busboys. And finally the rest of the servers.
I tried to focus on wiping down tables. Tried to keep my hands steady. Tried not to look like a woman who’d stabbed a man in the eye and watched him bleed out on these very floors.
The front door chimed and I looked up automatically.
And there was my little sister, Mehar once again.
My heart slammed against my ribs.
She stood in the doorway, her hijab perfectly draped, her eyes scanning the diner until they landed on me.
No. Not now. Not here.
I turned quickly, heading toward the kitchen, but the female officer stepped into my path.
“Excuse me, miss? You’re…” she checked her list. “Zahara Ali?”
“Yes.”
“We haven’t spoken to you yet. Can you come with us?”
I glanced back at Mehar. She was still standing there. Watching. Waiting.
“Sure,” I said, my voice barely steady.
I followed the officers into the back office. Larry’s office. Where he used to sit and leer at me. Where he’d push up on me.
They closed the door and I sat in the chair across from the desk.
“How long have you worked here, Ms. Ali?” the male officer asked.
“About eight months.”
“And when was the last time you saw Larry Freeman?”
“Last week sometime. Maybe Wednesday or Thursday? I’m not sure exactly.”
“Did he seem upset? Worried about anything? Any conflicts with anyone?”
I shook my head. “Not that I noticed. He was just… Larry.”
“Where were you Tuesday night?” the male officer asked. “Between midnight and four AM?”
That was when it happened. When I killed him.
“Home,” I said. “With my son and my boyfriend. We watched a movie and went to bed around eleven.”
“Your boyfriend’s name?”
“Prentice Banks.”
The male officer’s eyebrows lifted slightly. Recognition. The Banks name carried weight in DC.
“And he can verify you were home all night?”
