What was he accusing me of? Insurance fraud? Something worse?
“No. I didn’t. Not yet.” I could feel his gaze. I supposed he was waiting for an explanation. “I came over to see my friend, Michelle.”
McNearny nodded at me, then at his partner. “Jones, this is Ms. Connolly.”
Jones was younger than McNearny, with kind eyes and short dark hair that was gelled back. He smiled sympathetically at me.
McNearny gestured toward the wineglasses. “Did you have wine with her?”
“No. No! I just got here. She didn’t answer the door. I tried her phone and left a message. I saw her through the window. . on the floor. I. . the door was open. I thought maybe she passed out.”
Inspector McNearny squinted at me, then pulled a small notebook from his breast pocket. “You looked through the window? What window?”
I pointed to the dining room stained glass window. McNearny walked into the dining room and peeked out. “It’s high.”
“I know. I had to move the planter box and climb up.”
McNearny scratched his chin, still looking out the window. “You moved it?”
I nodded. Jones looked around the living room. “How did you gain access to the house?”
“The front door was open,” I repeated.
“I don’t get it. Why look through the window?” Jones asked.
“Well, I rang the bell. She didn’t answer. I didn’t think to try the door. Who leaves their door unlocked in San Francisco? So, I wanted to peek through a window.”
“Why?” McNearny countered. “Why didn’t you leave? Maybe she wasn’t home.”
“But she was home. Sort of. .”
“Do you normally climb planter boxes to look through people’s windows when they don’t answer the door?” McNearny asked.
“No. I just. . her husband-”
“Was murdered. Yes.” McNearny nodded.
“I was worried about her.”
“Why?” Jones asked.
I shrugged uselessly. “The last time I saw her, she told me she was scared.”
“Scared of what?” McNearny scowled.
I stared at him. “Scared that whoever killed her husband would come after her.”
“Ah,” McNearny said, tapping his pencil on his notebook. “And did she tell you who that was?”
I took a deep breath. “No.”
A uniformed officer bent over Michelle, measuring something. I averted my eyes, pressing on them to keep from crying.
McNearny walked over to Michelle’s body and studied her for a moment. “You found her like this?”
“Yeah. No. I mean, she was facedown. I turned her over.”
“Can you tell us what you’ve touched?” Jones asked.
“The phone, the door, Michelle.” I spun around, taking inventory of the room. “I think that’s it.”
“What happened to your pants?” McNearny asked.
I felt the back of my pants. They were torn around my hamstring. “I tore them when I fell off the planter,” I said, rubbing at the bruise I was sure was forming on the backside of my leg.
McNearny grunted, making no effort to conceal his skepticism. He scribbled something into his notebook, then indicated a pair of prescription glasses on the coffee table. “What about those glasses over there? Are they yours?”
“No.”
“Are they Michelle’s?” Jones asked.
My stomach churned. “I don’t know.”
McNearny made a note, then looked up at me. “I thought she was your friend.”
“She was my friend. I just hadn’t seen her for a long time. I don’t know if she wore glasses.”
The front door squeaked open and Nick Dowling, the medical examiner, poked his head through. “Got a call.” His eyes landed on Michelle. “I see I’m in the right place,” he said, nodding at McNearny and Jones.
McNearny and Jones nodded back. I tried my best to look inconspicuous.
Dowling spotted me. “Mrs. Connolly! Didn’t think I’d see you so soon.”
McNearny’s and Jones’s heads spun toward me so fast I was afraid they’d break their necks. I smiled despite gritted teeth and raised my eyebrows in acknowledgment to Dowling.
McNearny, Jones, and Dowling all exchanged glances, then McNearny barked, “Downtown!”
Jones crossed to me, while McNearny and Dowling huddled over Michelle.
“Mrs. Connolly, I know how upsetting all this can be,” Jones said. “Finding your friend and all. Maybe it’s best if you come downtown with me to the station. We’ll be more comfortable and I’ll be able to take your official statement.”
I froze.
Downtown?
“I. . I have a newborn,” I stuttered. “I have to get home and feed her.”
Suddenly I felt nauseated. What had I gotten myself into?
Jones was expertly maneuvering me toward the front door. “A newborn? Really? I got a nine-month-old. Aren’t they great?”
McNearny instructed another officer to start dusting for fingerprints.
Jones pulled open the front door. The fresh air relieved my nausea, a bit. We walked in silence down the front steps.
Once on the curb, Jones gestured to a car parked nearby. “This your car?”
I shook my head and pointed to my Chevy Cavalier parked down the street.
“You want to follow me downtown?” he asked. “Or you want to ride with me?”
“I can drive myself?”
“Sure, no problem. You’re going voluntarily, right?”
Was I?
From the relative safety of my car, which I was happy to see had not been broken into again, I dialed home and instructed Mom to give Laurie a formula bottle.
The only good thing about my initially being rated “poor” at breastfeeding in the hospital was that, upon hearing this, Mom had immediately run out and bought formula. When I caught her smuggling it into my pantry, she had mumbled, “Just in case.”
Which I took to mean: “Just in case you’re too lame to get the hang of what every mother has been doing naturally since the beginning of time.”
Outwardly I was a little offended; inwardly I was relieved. Just in case I was too lame, there was no reason for Laurie to starve. Besides, you never know when you’re going to stumble across a dead friend and need your mom to feed the baby.
At the station, I was escorted by Jones to a small room with a mirror, a table, and a few chairs. On the table was a box of tissues, a couple of notepads, and a small recorder. Jones sat across from me and hooked a microphone into the recorder.
“Do I need a lawyer?” I asked nervously.
Jones smiled. “For what?”
I shrugged.
“Mrs. Connolly, you are not under arrest. I just want to get a statement from you. You want coffee or something?”
“No.”
“Water? Soda?”
“Water would be nice.”
Jones continued fussing with the recorder. A female officer appeared in the doorway with my water. I glanced from her to the mirror. Two-way mirror? Who else was watching me?
“I need a few things from my desk, okay?” Jones said, “Drink the water. Relax. I’ll be back in a minute.” He left me alone in the room.
I drank my water and waited and waited. My breasts were starting to burn. I glanced at my watch. It was feeding time. I doubled-checked myself in the two-way mirror. Thankfully my breasts hadn’t leaked through my blouse; otherwise, I’d have given whoever it was on the other end quite a show.