“I don’t have to answer shit.”
"It would help us eliminate you as a suspect,” I said.
"A suspect in what?”
"The murder of Abigail Jordan.”
That hung there for a moment.
Noah’s eyes widened, and his jaw dropped. He shook his head and stuttered, "What!? That’s not possible.” He started to tremble. "How?"
"I'm not at liberty to discuss details of the investigation at this time.”
Dazed, Noah tried to process the information. "I don't understand. I just talked to her the other day.”
"When?”
"I don't know. Three or four days ago. We broke up, and I had been trying to get in touch with her. She wouldn't take my calls. She didn't return my messages or texts.”
Noah’s skin went pale, and a thin mist of sweat formed on his brow. He was in a state of shock.
"You were about to tell me where you were last night," I said.
"I was here.”
"All night?”
Noah nodded.
"Can anyone verify that?”
He thought for a moment. "No. I guess not.”
"What about the night before last?”
He hesitated. "Same.”
"You didn't go to work?”
"I couldn't." He frowned, and his eyes filled. "I loved her. When we broke up, it was like a punch to the gut. I couldn't function. I called my manager and took a few days off.”
"Did it make you mad when she broke up with you?”
His brow knitted, and he glared at me. "What do you think? She was screwing around on me with that guy. Who knows how long it had been going on? Of course, she tried to tell me she wasn't sleeping with him, but I know she was. I could see it on her face. In her eyes. I could always tell when she was lying to me.”
Sadness gave way to anger, and his face flushed red. The veins in his neck pulsed.
“Do you own a motorcycle?” I asked.
Confusion wrinkled his face. “Yeah, why?”
“I ride too. Just curious. What kind of bike?” I was looking for common ground to connect.
“I got a 600 CXR.”
“I’m looking for a new helmet. What are you rocking?”
“An Impact XT.”
