I tried not to shrink back in my chair. The detective’s gaze intimidated me, and the way Hoffman had taken me for a fool still filled me with shame. Between the two things, it took great effort to maintain a confident air about me.
“Yes,” I replied, “but I was told there wasn’t enough evidence to charge him.”
The detective stared at me, and I thought I detected a hint of suspicion in his otherwise impassive expression. Did he think I was making up stories?
I shifted uncomfortably in my seat. “Even though he wasn’t charged, I thought you should know that he can be unscrupulous.”
Callahan glanced down at his notebook. “What can you tell me about your relationship with Frederick Hanover?”
“What?” The question took me by surprise. Weren’t we supposed to be talking about Hoffman?
“Frederick Hanover, the murder victim.”
“I know who he is,” I said, unable to help sounding a tad grumpy. “I didn’t have a relationship with him. He was the building’s super. That’s it.”
“But he wasn’t a stranger to you.”
A distinct feeling of unease slithered over my skin. “No. I saw him around the building.”
“But you weren’t friends?”
His line of questioning had me puzzled and increasingly nervous. I tried to slow my accelerating heart rate without letting on that I was anything but calm.
“Not friends,” I said, choosing my words carefully. “But not enemies either. Just acquaintances, really.”
“You never had any disputes with him?”
“Nothing serious.”
“Did you ever argue with him?”
My relatively unruffled exterior cracked. “Why are you asking me these questions?”
His relentless blue gaze never strayed from my face. “Please answer.”
I stifled a huff of annoyance. “No disputes and no arguments. I barely knew the guy.”
“Then perhaps you can explain to me why a witness recently came forward to tell us that they overheard you arguing with Mr. Hanover. In fact, you were overheard telling him”—the detective flipped back a few pages in his notebook as if to consult an earlier entry—“to ‘drop dead, sleazebag.’ ”
A frosty chill crept through my body, freezing every organ one by one. I was turning into an ice statue. The cops would need a forklift to move me to the jail cell. If I didn’t shatter first, because that felt like a distinct possibility.
“Who told you about that?” The question came out hushed with shock and fear.
I wrapped my arms around myself and clenched my jaw to keep my teeth from chattering. I’d thought Freddie and I were the only ones who knew about that conversation. I hadn’t even told Jemma, because I was afraid that she’d push me to report Freddie to the landlord, and I suspected that wouldn’t have helped.
“I’m not at liberty to disclose the identity of the witness.”Callahan’s cool demeanor lowered the room’s temperature another two degrees.
I stared at Detective Callahan.
He stared back. “Did you say those words to Mr. Hanover?”
“Yes,” I confessed. Then I sat up straighter, not ready to be completely cowed by the detective. “He really was a sleazebag. I approached him about fixing a leaky pipe in my unit. He cornered me in his office and threatened to have me and my niece evicted if I didn’t do some favors for him, and not of the building-maintenance variety.”
“Did you report the incident?”
“No.”
“Why’s that?”
