“You sure?” he said.
“I’m sure,” I said.
“You know that Leila Donnelly didn’t have surveillance cameras at her house,” he said. “Her only protection was the gun she was ultimately killed with.”
“I didn’t see cameras there,” I said. “But I didn’t look for them. We wanted to talk to her, and we did. We left. End of story.”
He nodded. “What would you say if I told you that a witness called local police yesterday, at around three-forty-five p.m.?” he said. “Said they were jogging by and heard screams coming from Ms. Donnelly’s house. On their return route, the jogger saw a limo in the driveway that had not been there before, and a woman fitting Ms. Hall’s description getting inside.”
I stared at him. My head felt light.
“What would you say, Ms. Randall?”
“I’d say…” I cleared my throat. “That’s a pretty steep road to jog on.”
He said nothing. His gaze drilled into me.
“This is the first time I’m hearing this information,” I said.
“That’s fairly obvious,” he said. “Anything else you want to say about this book?”
“No.”
He nodded and slipped it back into the briefcase. He removed his gloves. I did the same. If there was one thing I was sure of, it was that I needed to get out of there quickly. “You have any more questions for me?”
“None at the moment.” He gave me a business card. I looked at it. His first name was George. Usually, when cops introduced themselves to me, they gave me their first and last names. Not humorless Larry David, though. He’d been Detective Gleason from the start. “If you remember anything that might be of help, I’d appreciate a call,” he said.
“All right.”
“Do you have a card as well?”
I grabbed my purse and fished out a business card, willing my hands not to tremble. “I hope you’re looking at other people,” I said. “Melanie Joan Hall is not a murderer. I can assure you of that.”
“I’ll be in touch,” he said. I couldn’t have imagined a more disheartening response.
Thirty-two
When I was through with my interview, Gleason called Tony into the room. Spike was still waiting. “How did it go?” Spike said.
“It went,” I said.
“That good, huh?”
“I’ll tell you about it later,” I said. “Where’s Melanie Joan?”
“She and Charles left to get something to eat,” Spike said, explaining that, since the two of them hadn’t been charged with a crime, yet, they took full advantage and cut their interviews short. I was pretty sure that byget something to eat, Spike meantfind the best defense attorney money could buy. At least, I hoped so.
I texted Melanie Joan:I need to talk to you two ASAP.
She replied:Driving back to Boston.
I typed:Turn around!
For several seconds, there was no reply. Then those three dots, which pulsed for much too long a time. And then:OK.
I asked when they’d be back and Melanie Joan replied:About 15 mins. Which was good. That gave me just enough time to use the ladies’ room, grab a much-needed cup of coffee from the vending machine (Mr. Personality hadn’t even thought to offer me one), and get my gun back from security.
“You mind heading back with just Tony?” I said to Spike.
