Butz picked up the notepad and tapped it against the table. “That’s it. Thanks for coming in. If there’s something else, we know where to—” He stopped, interrupted by a light tapping at the door. It opened immediately after the knocking stopped. Chief Bailey poked his head into the room and waved Butz to step out.
Believing she was finished, Ramsey started to rise. The chief gestured to her to return to her seat. She did, frowning. She sat with her hands folded on the table and waited for someone to return and give her her walking papers. When the door opened again, it wasn’t Butz or the chief who came through. She recognized the officer as one of those on the drug task force who’d been at the Ridge. She nodded politely as he introduced himself as Lieutenant John Goodfellow with the State Police. Ramsey automatically offered her name in response.
“Oh,” she said, a touch embarrassed. “I suppose you already know who I am.”
“I do, but it’s good to meet you formally.” The lieutenant smiled genially as he took the seat that Butz had occupied. Taller and broader than the officer before him, he pushed the chair back to make room for himself at the table. He was dressed casually in jeans and a black polo shirt. His badge was attached to his belt. In his forties, his dark hair was spiked with gray threads but showed no signs of receding. He had an angular, clean-shaven face with a knob of chin that sported a dimple front and center. “I’ve seen you at the courthouse from time to time and someone told me what you do at the Ridge. I guess you were there to provide testimony.”
Ramsey was fairly certain he meant to put her at ease, but the opposite was true. She had no idea why an officer from the task force would be interested in anything she had to say. “I’m sure that’s it,” she said. “It’s the only reason I have to be at the courthouse. Well, that and the occasional speeding ticket, but that’s magistrate’s court.” She was blathering. It was official. Goodfellow’s genial smile was still in evidence. To Ramsey, that meant he was humoring her. She decided to get him to the point of whatever this was.
“You were at the Ridge this afternoon,” she said. “I saw you in paints.”
“That’s right.” He pointed to the camera with one hand as he slipped the other under the table. “Just so you know, I’m making a recording of our conversation.”
Ramsey looked up at the red light and then back at Goodfellow. “I don’t understand.”
“I have some questions, and I’d rather record than write. Are you okay with that?”
Ramsey wasn’t sure her answer mattered. She decided to go along with it for now. If there was one word she knew how to say and when to say it, the word waslawyer. She nodded her assent.
Goodfellow rubbed his dimpled chin. “Were you working at the Ridge today?”
“No. I was shopping.”
“Ah. What do they call it when you spend your time off doing something similar to your work?”
“A busman’s holiday.”
Goodfellow snapped his fingers. “That’s right. A busman’s holiday.” He considered that a moment before he said, “So it was a coincidence that you were there when the task force arrived.”
Ramsey frowned. “I’m not sure what you’re getting at. Is that a question?”
“It can be.”
“Then, yes, it was a coincidence, and right now I’m regretting I didn’t go to Kroger.”
“You weren’t tipped off? That’s a question, by the way.”
“Tipped off? You mean did Iknowthe task force was moving in today? How would I know something like that?” As soon as the words were out, she did a mental head slap, and then realized that judging by the gently mocking expression on the lieutenant’s face even a mental head slap left its mark. Still, she wasn’t going to make it easy for him. If he had an accusation, he needed to be clear about it. She pressed her lips together to keep from saying another word.
“All right,” he said when she offered nothing else. “I understand that you and Officer Day are seeing each other. Dating. In a relationship. Whatever it’s called. I’ve been married sixteen years. I don’t know any longer.”
“We’re friendly.” She gave him a wan smile. If Goodfellow wanted to know if they were sleeping together, he damn well would have to ask. Apparently, that was TMI or immaterial because the lieutenant was finally coming to his point.
“He’s new to the task force. Did he tell you that?”
“Yes.”
“What about today’s raid? Did he mention it?”
“No.”
“But you were his source for the lot numbers on the paint cans.”
“There you go, detective. That’s statement, not a question.”
“Were you his source?”
“Yes. That was before he was asked to join the task force.”
