“No, thanks,” I said.
“You?” he asked Max.
“I’m fine, thanks.”
He led us down a short hall to a cheerless room with a floor-to-ceiling wire-mesh cage partitioned in a corner. “That’s creepy,” I said, nodding toward it.
“Yeah. But necessary sometimes for our unruly guests.”
“I guess,” I said.
“Have a seat. I won’t be long.”
I sat so the holding cell was in back of me, out of sight. The chair was hard and uncomfortable. Max sat across from me and pulled a yellow legal pad from his briefcase. I leaned forward, resting my eyes on the heels of my hands, my elbows perched on the scarred wooden table. Max didn’t speak, but I could hear him turning pages on his pad. Unexpectedly, the door latch clicked home with a sharp snap. I looked up, startled by the sound, feeling as trapped as if I’d been locked in the cage behind me.
Without a watch, which I never wore since it always seemed to get in the way when I was working, I had no way of knowing how long Max and I sat. It seemed a very long time, but I felt a sense of unreality, so maybe it wasn’t long at all.
“Sorry to keep you waiting,” Alverez said when he came back, businesslike, carrying a collection of papers. “I have the medical examiner’s preliminary report. Before I tell you about it, though, let me get the recorder set up.”
“Recorder?” I asked.
“Tape recorder. So I don’t have to take notes.”
I looked at Max and he nodded.
“That’s fine. I’m assuming we can have a copy of the tape?” Max asked.
“Sure,” Alverez said.
I watched as Alverez positioned the small unit on the table and pushed a button. A red light appeared and I heard a whirring sound. Alverez gave our names, the date, and time.
“I appreciate your coming in to help,” Alverez said. “Just a formality, but I’m going to ask you to sign a form indicating that you’ve been advised of your rights.” Alverez slid a piece of paper across the table to Max and read me my Miranda rights. It felt hard to breathe. I forced myself to listen, and when he asked me if I understood, I answered that I did. Max nodded that it was okay for me to sign the paper. Never sign something you haven’t read, my dad had taught me. I read it and signed my name.
“Okay,” Alverez said. “So. The medical examiner. The preliminary report is in.”
“What did he say?” Max asked.
“She. Dr. Young said death occurred this morning.”
“When?”
“Between nine and noon, as best she can figure it.”
“Oh, my God!” I exclaimed. “I had a horrible thought before that it was while I was on the porch that he was dying, and now you’re saying it’s true!” Tears came again, but this time I let them fall.
Max patted my arm gently, and whispered, “Don’t speak.”
“I had an officer check things out,” Alverez said, looking at me, changing the subject. “We found your appointment in Mr. Grant’s diary. It lay open to today’s date on the kitchen table. Apparently, he hadn’t forgotten that you were to meet him.”
I shook my head. “Poor Mr. Grant.”
“And your message was still on the machine-apparently un-played.”
“How did death occur?” Max asked.
“What about it, Josie? Do you know?”
“What?” I asked, horrified as the implications of his question sunk in. He thought I knew something about Mr. Grant’s murder.
“Do you know how Mr. Grant died?” he asked again.
“No. Of course not.”
“Well?” Max prompted, tapping his pen on the table. “Fill us in.”
“Mr. Grant was stabbed.”
“Oh, God,” I exclaimed, and began to cry again. “How awful.” I used the sides of my hands and pushed gently under my eyes. The tears gradually stopped.
Struck by a sudden thought, I turned to Max and in a soft voice asked, “I just thought of something. How did they know he’d been killed?”
Max nodded and repeated the question.
Alverez leaned back in his chair, balancing for a moment on the back two legs, keeping his eyes on mine. “His daughter called from Massachusetts and asked us to check on him.”
“She did?” I asked, looking from Alverez to Max and back again. “I don’t understand. Why?”
“She got a call from his lawyer, Epps his name is. Mr. Epps was concerned that someone was trying to strong-arm Mr. Grant into selling his treasures for a song. The daughter, hearing this, was, of course, concerned, and immediately started calling him, but she couldn’t rouse him. Her messages were on the answering machine, too. She called a neighbor, but the neighbor wasn’t home. She called both her dad and the neighbor a few more times with no luck. So finally she called us.”
“Someone trying to strong-arm Mr. Grant! That’s terrible! Who would do such a thing? Did the lawyer give a name?”
“Yeah, he did. He told Grant’s daughter that it was a shark named Josie Prescott.”
CHAPTER TWO
I started, speechless. What Alverez said simply didn’t register. I watched as he waited for me to react. But I couldn’t. I felt frozen. I couldn’t think.
A shark. Epps had called me a shark. I shook my head, my confidence shattered. So much for my hopeful future, I thought, and fought back tears. I should have known not to trust in hope.
In the dark days after the price-fixing scandal hit the news, after I wore the wire that recorded my boss conspiring with his chief competitor to hold commissions steady, I’d learned that hope could be a mirage. Day after day, I’d maintained optimism as I joined thousands of other New Yorkers in expressing shock that such a well-respected executive as the CEO of Frisco’s would participate in such a dastardly crime. I cringed as I remembered going to work the day after the news broke, expecting to be treated as a hero for blowing the lid off the conspiracy. I’d been naive enough to expect my peers to admire me, and even after it became clear that they did not, I persevered in trying to win their acclaim. I’d developed a keen ability to deny facts that, to others who were less emotionally involved, were patently obvious. I’d learned the bitter lesson that, no matter what winning football coaches and inspirational motivational speakers claim, desire isn’t enough. My former colleagues turned their backs on me then, and here, today, I was being called a shark. A shark!
I took a breath, reminding myself of the promise I’d made as I drove my loaded rental van past Frisco’s en route to my new home in New Hampshire-never again would I allow despair to lead to wishful thinking. Paralysis lifted, replaced by righteous rage.
“A shark?” I snapped, outraged.
Max told me to be quiet.
“That’s what Epps said.”
“Britt Epps?” I asked, ignoring Max’s admonition.
“Yes.”
“The son of a bitch.”
“Josie,” Max repeated. “Be quiet.”
“You know him?” Alverez asked me.
“Josie,” Max said quietly, “Don’t speak.”
“I want to answer, Max. Yes, I know him. I thought we were friends. Well, sort of friends. Business friends. I like Britt Epps! Or I thought I did.” I couldn’t believe it. “I can’t believe it!” I said aloud. “A shark? He called me a shark?”
“Yeah,” Alverez said.
I heard compassion in his voice as he spoke that one word, and it made me uncomfortable. I hated the thought that my situation led him to feel sorry for me.
“How well do you know him?” Alverez asked.
I flipped a hand up. “I don’t know. I’ve met him here and there at fund-raisers and Chamber of Commerce breakfasts, things like that. I’ve been trying to get in to see him to pitch my company. I’m new in town, well, a couple of years, now, but that’s still considered new around here. So I’m trying to meet people. Anyway, most of my business comes from referrals from lawyers and he’s one of the most respected in town. So naturally I’ve been trying to get an appointment. He’s always been polite and friendly. I thought we’d never connected because of scheduling snafus. I can’t believe he called me a shark. I just can’t believe it.”