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George squirmed in his seat, his hands wringing together nervously. "I–I don't want to get involved in all this," he stammered, his gaze darting around the room as if seeking an escape. "I don't want to be a witness in court or talk to reporters. I just want to be left alone."
"Mr. Chapman," Sheila said softly, trying to put him at ease, "we're not asking you to go to court or speak to the media. All we need is for you to tell us what you saw or heard last night, if anything. It might help us find justice for Juliette."
As she mentioned Juliette's name, something in George's expression shifted—a flicker of sympathy, perhaps. He let out a shaky breath and finally met Sheila's gaze.
"I was up late, working on a crossword puzzle by the window. That's when I spotted the figure walking down the street."
"Can you describe this figure?" Finn asked, his eyes narrowing with interest.
"Uh, well, all I can recall is that they were wearing a black hoodie." George fidgeted with his glasses, his voice strained. "The figure approached Juliette's door and rang the doorbell. I watched because I was curious who it might be. Juliette opened the door, they spoke briefly, and then the stranger pushed their way inside. That's all I saw."
"Did you think to call the police at that moment?" Sheila asked.
"No," George admitted, shame evident in his voice. "I didn't realize something was wrong until a few hours later when I noticed the door still open. I called the police then, but…anonymously. I didn't want to get involved."
"Thank you for sharing that with us," Sheila said, offering him an understanding smile. "Now, can you remember anything else about last night? Anything else that was out of the ordinary?"
George hesitated, furrowing his brow in concentration. "I… No, I don't think so. It's hard to recall everything."
"Take your time," Finn said, leaning back in his chair. "Sometimes the smallest detail can make a difference."
It seemed as if George was about to dismiss their request when his eyes widened with sudden recollection. "Wait, there was a car—I almost forgot. It was parked down the street."
"Can you describe the car?" Sheila asked, her heart racing with anticipation.
"Um, it was a dark-colored sedan, maybe a Toyota Camry?"
"Excellent," Finn said, jotting down the information. "This could be a significant lead."
"Is there anything else you can remember?" Sheila asked gently, hoping George's memory might offer them more clues.
George shook his head, looking exhausted. "I'm sorry, that's all I've got."
"Thank you for your help, Mr. Chapman," Sheila said sincerely. "You've given us valuable information."
"Are you sure I won't have to go down to the station or anything like that?" George asked, wringing his hands together.
"We'll do our best to respect your privacy," Finn reassured him. "But if we need further assistance, we may have to contact you again."
"Alright," George said reluctantly. "I understand."
With their questioning complete, Sheila and Finn stood up to leave. As they walked to the front door, Sheila felt grateful for George. Though he was clearly a private man, he had still managed to provide them with potentially crucial information.
"Thank you again, Mr. Chapman," she said as she put on her boots. "We'll be in touch if we need any more information from you."
"It's a terrible thing, what happened to Ms. Reed," he said. "And as much as I prefer to be left alone, I'm glad you two came. She didn't deserve what happened to her."
"No," Sheila said softly. "She didn't."
Sheila and Finn stepped outside. They had just descended the porch steps when George called to them.
"Good luck catching whoever did this," he said, his voice grave. "Because until you do…I'm not sure any of us are safe."
CHAPTER SEVEN
Bess Bergeron, a heavyset woman with graying hair pulled back into a messy bun, limped alongside Sheila and Finn. Her face was flushed from the effort of walking, and she clutched her purse tightly to her side as if it were a lifeline. Each step she took was slow and deliberate, the weight of her body shifting heavily onto her good leg before the other followed suit.
"Like I told you," she wheezed, struggling to catch her breath. "The car's been sitting in my parking lot all night. Haven't seen anyone near it."
