“Found what?” Grange asks.
I slide the duffel bag across the floor. “The gun that killed him. It was in my hotel room, under the covers. The girl at the front desk said she let a woman up to our room while we were gone, awoman named Kate Holland.” Grange takes the duffel and carefully pulls back the zipper, revealing the hotel towel. “We didn’t want to touch it, so we wrapped it in a hotel towel.”
“Who is ‘we’?”
So much for keeping him out of it.
“Me and my friend Asher. We were on the bed... um, hanging out... when we found it. But I knew Graham was in trouble. That’s why we went back to the gallery. And when we got there he was already shot, and the journal page was taped to the wall. We’re the ones who called 911.”
Grange looks from me to his notes, tapping his pen on the pad. “Let’s start with Graham. What time did you leave the gallery opening?”
“It started at seven and I think we left around eight thirty, got to Slice around eight forty-five, stayed until ten eating and having drinks, then we got an Uber to Graham’s, probably stayed there until ten thirty, but Asher and I didn’t get out of the car, then went to the hotel around ten forty-five.”
“I looked through the gallery footage all night and Graham was shot around ten thirty, but we couldn’t see the shooter. I’ll need the name of your driver that took you to his apartment and to the hotel so I can verify that you did not go back to the gallery at that time.”
“Um, sure.” I take out my phone and turn it back on, ignoring the influx of texts from Asher asking where the hell I went with the gun. I go to the app to find the driver. “His name was Brandon Jones—here is the ride info.” I slide my phone to him.
Grange picks up the phone on his desk, putting it to his ear. “Carmen, can you bring me an evidence bag? And tell Wilson we need a warrant for the security footage at the Four Seasons Hoteldowntown, as well as Slice, the restaurant... Yes... and we need to contact Uber support to get in touch with a driver... Brandon Jones, license plate HTW334. Thanks.” He hangs up and opens a desk drawer, pulling out a pair of gloves.
“So... am I in trouble?” I ask.
“Yes,” he says. “But how much trouble is yet to be determined.” The woman from the front desk comes back in with an evidence bag for Grange, and with gloved hands he picks up the gun and drops it in. “I’m going to get this sent out to the lab and you’re going to move to another room for more questioning.”
“But I’ve told you everything I know.”
“I’d like to hear more about Miles Holland.”
An officer escorts me to a small room with a table and two chairs, the kind of room where criminals go in TV shows for interrogation. Grange comes in thirty minutes later.
“Should I have a lawyer here?” I ask when he walks in. “This room makes it feel like I should have one.”
“You’re not under arrest,” he says. “But if you would like a lawyer, we can get you one.”
I know Asher would tell me to get one, he’d say I shouldn’t have even come in here without one. But doesn’t that just prove my innocence even more? That I came in here voluntarily to confess all of that? And Grange did say I’m not under arrest; he just wants to know about Miles. “What else do you want to know?”
I give Grange all the details on Miles and his wife, how our relationship started, how it ended, how he used to stalk me, threaten me, how I once found pictures of me in his closet, though I didn’t say how recent that was or how I had to break into his town house for them. And last I tell him about the emails he’s been sendinglately and our conversation at the gallery. When it feels like an hour or two have passed, an officer comes in to steal Grange away for what feels like another hour.
“Well, your driver confirmed you both were in the car the entire time he took you and your friends from Slice to Graham’s to the hotel, and confirmed the time, which lines up with the shooting. We should have the security footage from the hotel and restaurant in a few hours.”
“A few hours? But I’ve already been here for like three?”
“These things take time,” he says. “But like I said before, you’re not under arrest—you could leave at any time. But if you want to help us catch the person behind this, you’d better stay.”
I think of the two names left in the journal, Tristan and Wesley. “Okay, I’ll stay.”
We talk about the two of them, and Grange assures me they’ll be protected. We then go through the journal again from the beginning, this time in more detail. I give them a DNA sample. By the time they get the hotel and restaurant footage that verifies I was there when I say I was, and Grange finishes up his questions, it’s past 7 p.m.
Asher must be freaking out right now.
“Wait, did you get the fingerprints for the gun?” I ask when he stands up, concluding our session.
“Some things take more time,” he says. “Now, I have a lot of work to do, and you’re free to go. For now,” he adds.
“And you’re going to look into Miles and Kate? And make sure nothing happens to Tristan and Wes?”
“Yes, we are going to do everything we can.”
“Well, I can help you—”
