“Stop!” I shouted.
“The water’s too hot?” She shut it off.
“It’s the conversation that’s too hot. Please, let’s not go there.”
My thoughts had already strayed in that direction more than once and definitely didn’t need more encouragement.
She gently wrung the water out of my hair. “Oh, I really think youshouldgo there.”
“Jemma! I don’t even know his last name. Who knows what kind of secrets he’s hiding? For all I know, he could have killed Freddie.”
“Why would he have killed Freddie?”
“I don’t know,” I admitted. “But he was at the Mirage that day, and he’s trying to be part of my investigation, maybe to make sure I don’t get too close to the truth.”
My stomach clenched at the thought. I really didn’t want that to be the case.
“The only reason he visited the Mirage that day was to return your phone, which he picked up after meeting you by chance in Connecticut,” Jemma pointed out. “It seems pretty far-fetched to suspect him of killing Freddie.”
“True,” I said with relief.
“And why don’t you ask him for his last name?”
“Maybe I will.” I sat up, and Jemma adjusted the towel that hung around my shoulders. “But at the moment, I’ve got more important things to worry about.”
“Talk to the cops,” Jemma advised, leading me to her styling station. “Get that over with, and then we can focus on you and Wyatt.”
“Or not.”
From the way Jemma laughed, I knew that was a battle I was doomed to lose.
Even though I left the salon feeling fabulous—thanks to Jemma first trimming my hair and then styling it into glossy waves that I could never achieve on my own—the mood didn’t last long. By the time I stood outside the front doors to the police station, I was ready to throw up from nerves. I had to make sure I didn’t get myself in trouble when I spoke to the cops. They couldn’t know that I’d been in Hoffman’s apartment without his knowledge, even if I had used a key.
Hopefully the fact that Hoffman was caught on the Mirage’s surveillance camera around the time of the murder would be enough to get the police to focus their investigation on him.Maybe they’d even get a search warrant and find the label with the broken glass on their own. If Hoffman hadn’t already thrown it away. But if he’d wanted it enough to take it from the crime scene, there was a good chance he still had it in his possession.
Ten minutes later, I sat in a small room containing a table and four chairs. An interview room for witnesses rather than suspects, I figured. It wasn’t exactly cozy, but it resembled a basic office more than the type of interview room I usually saw on TV shows. Not that those were necessarily realistic, but maybe they were? I really had no idea.
After another ten minutes of fidgeting in my seat and losing games on my phone, Thor—Detective Callahan—joined me in the room. I gave him the spiel that Jemma and I had discussed previously. Basically, I said that something had bothered me about the photo he’d shown us, and I thought maybe I did recognize the person after all, but could I see the video to be sure?
As the detective called up the relevant video file on his tablet, I voiced a question I hadn’t meant to ask.
“You know Wyatt? The guy who was at the Mirage when Freddie’s body was found?”
Callahan barely glanced up from the tablet. “The man who responded to Ms. Gao’s screams at the same time you did?”
“Right,” I confirmed. “I just wondered…is he a suspect?”
The detective regarded me with his piercing eyes before responding. “Traffic cam footage confirmed what he told us; namely, that he arrived at the Deco Mirage less than five minutes before you met up with him. We believe the victim was already dead when he got there.”
“Oh.” As those words sank in, a surge of relief allowed me to breathe easier. My relief, however, didn’t overshadow my curiosity. “Do you happen to know Wyatt’s full name?”
Again, Detective Callahan turned his discerning gaze on me. Then, without answering my question, he angled his tablet toward me and played the relevant clip of video footage.
I sighed, realizing that the subject of Wyatt was now closed. I turned my focus to the video playing on the screen and pointed out the orange Apple Watch strap on Hoffman’s wrist. I also explained how I recognized his loping stride.
The detective wrote down Hoffman’s name as well as his address and phone number when I provided them. I told him about the speakeasy, and the fact that some bottles appeared to have been removed from behind the bar recently. I didn’t mention the label I’d seen in Hoffman’s apartment, but I gathered up my courage and told Detective Callahan about the fact that my ex had logged into my online banking account when we were still dating and had transferred out the bulk of my savings without my consent.
“Did you report it at the time?” Callahan’s ice-blue eyes bore into me as if he could see straight into my thoughts.
