Phoebe lowered her head as she felt tears well in her eyes.
“Miss Hall,” Michelson urged. “We need to hear your story. It’s essential for our investigation.”
She obliged, taking them through every detail she could think of, knowing it all could be important. At the end she thought to add that the only vehicles she’d seen in the driveway were the Honda and the pickup truck, which she assumed were both Hutch’s since they’d been there on her previous visit. For the first time she wondered how the murderer had arrived at the cabin.
“And you can’t make a guess whether the person who chased you was a man or a woman?” Michelson asked.
Phoebe shook her head. “Last night I thought it must be a man because the head seemed so smooth—as if he was bald. But since then I’ve realized it could have been a cap or the hood of a sweatshirt.”
“Any revealing characteristics?”
Phoebe shook her head. “Not really. I’m not sure of the height because I couldn’t see where the ground began. My sense, though, is that the person wasn’t short. Or particularly large.”
Michelson glanced down at his notebook, thumbed back a few pages, and then looked back up.
“And what were you wearing last night?”
“Wearing?” Phoebe asked, puzzled.
“Yes,” Michelson answered bluntly, not bothering to elaborate.
“Jeans, a sweater . . . um, a wool peacoat. They’re probably in there.” Phoebe pointed her chin toward a closet. Huang jumped up, crossed the room, and opened the closet door. Everything was there and folded, except for her coat, which drooped forlornly from a hanger. She saw that the left sleeve had been sliced open by someone who’d treated her last night, but she had no memory of it.
“That’s it—no hat, gloves, scarf?” Michelson asked.
“Some gloves,” Phoebe said. What was this about, she wondered. “I assume they’re still in the coat pocket.”
“All right, let’s switch gears now,” Michelson said as Huang returned to his seat. “What prompted you to visit Mr. Hutchinson last night?”
His tone had suddenly shifted from courteous enough to plain blunt. Phoebe could feel her head start to throb again.
“I’m glad you got to that, because it may be relevant,” Phoebe said, though she knew Michelson would be ticked once she came clean. “As Wesley Hines may have told you, I spoke to him last week. I then shared what I’d learned with Mr. Hutchinson. He asked me to come over to discuss it.”
Michelson looked incredulous at this news. “It’s hard to imagine how a faculty member came to be pals with the former campus police chief,” he said, frowning.
“On behalf of Dr. Johns, I’ve been checking out some of the problems created by the River Street bars—and I ended up speaking to Mr. Hutchinson for background. He had interviewed Wesley last fall after the river incident, and we talked about whether it might be connected to the drownings. Hutch—er, Mr. Hutchinson, thought he’d found something important.”
“Are you saying Mr. Hutchinson was investigating?” Michelson said. His face seemed to get even pinker. She realized that his blue, blue eyes and hot pink skin were a color combo that definitely appeared in nature—pink-tinged clouds on the horizon at sunset, for instance—and yet it just didn’t work well on a human face.
“Not investigating per se,” Phoebe said. “Hutch was worried that he might have been wrong to dismiss Wesley’s story last year, and so he’d reviewed his old notes. Can you pass me my handbag?”
Huang retrieved it from the cabinet. With her right hand, Phoebe dug out Hutch’s notes and handed them to Michelson, glad she’d made a copy since she was sure she wasn’t getting these back. She didn’t have a copy of her own notes to give him but she saw no reason to bring it up. The exact same things had been underscored by Hutch in both sets of notes.
“He told me a lightbulb went off for him when he saw the notes again,” Phoebe said as Michelson scanned the pages intently. “He didn’t want to discuss it until we were face-to-face.”
“As far as you know, did he share these notes with anyone else?”
“He didn’t say. But of course, now I’m wondering if he had.”
“I’ll keep these, then,” Michelson said, folding the notes and tucking them into the inner pocket of his jacket. “And I’m going to tell you just this once, do you hear me, Ms. Hall? Let the police handle this business.”
“Yes, of course,” Phoebe said, trying to look contrite. “I never meant to interfere. I thought I was just helping the college.”
“There’s one other matter we need to discuss—these incidents at your home. As you can imagine, I wasn’t happy to learn that the first ones hadn’t been reported to the police.”
Phoebe started to offer an explanation but bit her tongue. The less said the better, she knew. Besides, she wasn’t sure exactly how Ball had worded his excuse.
“Well, I’m glad you can investigate now,” she said. “I hope you can find someone to look at my kitchen. There’s still blood in my dishwasher, and the spoons are on the counter.”
They made arrangements, and Phoebe handed over her front door key, which Michelson promised to return as soon as possible. He also said he would have the police deliver her car to her house.
Michelson rose from his chair then; Huang followed suit just a second behind him, as if, like the perfect sidekick, he’d picked up an infinitesimal cue. As Michelson buttoned his coat, he trained his eyes directly on her.
“You live alone, correct, Ms. Hall?” he asked.
His tone was ominous, almost disapproving.
“I do,” she said. “Why?”
“You need to be very careful going forward. Do you understand?”
“Are you saying you think the Sixes might try to pay me another visit?”
“I have no idea. But there’s a chance that the person who murdered Mr. Hutchinson will.”
22
“I DON’T UNDERSTAND,” Phoebe said, flustered. “What threat do I pose to the person now? They managed to hightail it away from the scene of the crime.”
“If Mr. Hutchinson discovered something incriminating in the notes and alerted the person, it may be the reason he was killed. And the person, having seen you at the cabin, may suspect you’d been talking to Mr. Hutchinson about what he’d found and are still putting two and two together.”
Phoebe swallowed hard. “Tell me. Were Lily and Trevor murdered?” she asked. “If you think Hutch’s death is connected to the drownings, then you must suspect those drownings weren’t accidental.”
“Ms. Hall, it seems you like playing Nancy Drew. You need to stop.”
His comment was almost as good as a yes.
“I’m not playing detective now,” Phoebe said. “I’m simply trying to assess what kind of risk I’m facing.”
“I think you need to take this seriously—that’s all I’ll say. If possible, stay with a friend for a few days just to play it safe.”
Fat chance, she thought. She basically knew only two people well in Lyle, and she wasn’t on wonderful terms with either of them at the moment.
“Good day, then,” Michelson said. “And just so you know, we’re not sharing your involvement last night with the press. It’s a detail we want to keep under wraps for now, partly for your own protection. And of course, we expect you to remain mum about what you know of the crime.”