“I don’t know but I feel like we need to stop talking on the phone now,” Tara replied, and suddenly Matthew thought of wiretapping. His fingers turned cold at the thought of what he had just said:They don’t know anything, don’t worry, honey. Let’s just chat for a minute and get our stories straight.
Coughing, he made his voice sound strong, picking up on Tara’s cue.
“Right, OK, we’ll tell the police anything they want to know. We’re completely innocent, I just work with her,” Matthew said.
“And I barely know her, only met her at a few station parties,” Tara replied, sounding relieved that he had figured out the message she was sending him.
“I’m heartbroken by my friend and coworker’s death,” said Matthew.
“Me too,” added Tara.
They hung up, and Matthew noticed that his right hand was shaking uncontrollably. He tried to stop it but it wouldn’t even slow down, it was like an alien had taken over his body. His armpits filled with sweat despite the air-conditioning in the car. How would Faith know anything about what they had or hadn’t done? And she then gave this list to an intern the night she died? What the hell was going on? His shirt was soaked and he wondered if he could quickly change before the police got back so he wouldn’t look so nervous.
Taking the elevator up to the apartment, he stopped in front of their door and put his ear to it, trying to ascertain whether the officers were already back or not. He didn’t hear anything and breathed a huge sigh of relief; at least he could change his shirt.
But when he opened the door, he saw immediately that he was wrong. Two officers, a woman and a man, stood up from their seats on the couch as Tara’s eyes whipped over to him, wide as Jupiter. She was perched on the edge of a side chair, and her knee kept jiggling up and down at a frantic pace.
“Matthew? Please sit down, we have some questions for you,” the male officer said.
Matthew stepped in warily, conscious of his sweat-coveredshirt and Tara’s jiggling knee and trying to will both of them to seem helpful and at ease. He sat down in what he hoped was a casual pose in another side chair.
“Yes, Officers, how can we assist you?”
The duo repeated what they had told Tara about their names being on a list and he feigned shock.
“I have absolutely no idea why we would be on that, how long was the list?” he asked.
“We are not at liberty to discuss any details other than the fact that you two were on it,” said the male officer. “Why would she do that? Did the three of you have any kind of argument recently? Anything like that?”
“No, we got along great,” Matthew lied. “Faith and I have worked together for years. We were not the kind of coworkers who hang out outside of work but we respected each other immensely.”
“I only met her a few times,” Tara threw in loudly—a little too loudly, Matthew thought.
“If we talked to your other coworkers, would they agree that you and Faith got along great?” the female cop asked, looking directly at Matthew.
He tried not to gulp.
“Uh, yeah, sure, I think so,” he said, but he was thinking of the times he had said disparaging things about her to any number of people in the newsroom. God, he only hoped his coworkers would have his back if they were interviewed.
“And where were you both Friday night between the hours of sevenPMand elevenPM?” asked the male cop, looking back and forth between them.
Oh, thank God, they at least had an alibi. A partial one anyway.
“We were at dinner,” said Tara quickly. “And then Matthew got called in to the station to fill in for Faith. He was on the air at eleven. You can confirm that with anyone. We even had to skip dessert. We came back together after dinner and then I was alone until he was done.”
The male cop raised his eyebrows.
“You arrived back here at what time?”
“Uh, like close to 9:45 maybe?” Tara said.
“Where did you have dinner?” asked the female cop, taking out a little notebook from her breast pocket.
They told her the name of the restaurant, what time they arrived and left, what they ate, even what the waiter looked like.
“I remember his name,” said Matthew. “It was Sergio.” He was relieved the guy had a name that stuck out to him. They couldn’t be accused of murdering Faith if they were being served roasted duck by Sergio. Although he didn’t want to think about the fact that some of their time was unaccounted for, after they left the restaurant and before he got to the station. He had been pacing in the apartment and ranting about Faith, until Tara looked at the clock and told him he had better hurry up for the eleven o’clock show.
“OK, we’ll look into some things,” the woman said, closing her notebook. “But I want you to think long and hard about why Faith Richards would put you on a list. Now is the time for honesty. If you think of new reasons, we need to hear them from you. Not from other people, from you. Got it?”
