Page 21 of Fallen

“My money’s on Matson,” I tell him. “Journalists can’t afford clothes like that.”

“Or the car.”

Mona grasps the woman’s arm, stopping her. “This is a crime scene, ma’am. You need to wait outside the caution tape.”

“I’m looking for Rachael Schwartz.” The woman’s voice shakes. She’s noticed all the law enforcement vehicles—and the coroner’s van. “I need to know what’s going on.”

She’s wearing a black skirt and jacket that contrast nicely with artfully highlighted blond hair. Silky pink blouse that’s open at the throat. A body that regularly sees the inside of a gym.

“The police are investigating an incident.” Gripping her arm, Mona ushers her toward the crime scene tape.

“Incident? What incident?” The woman twists away. “I think Rachael was staying at this motel.” She thrusts a painted nail toward the door of room 9. “What in the hell is going on in there?”

Tomasetti and I reach them. I hold up my badge and identify myself. “Ma’am, what’s your name?” I ask.

She looks at me as if I’m some insect that’s landed on her arm and she’s thinking about crushing me with a slap. “Are you in charge? For God’s sake! Someone tell me what the hell is going on. I need to see Rachael Schwartz and I need to see her right now.”

She’s agitated, edging toward hysterics. She doesn’t seem to notice when Tomasetti takes her arm. “Come with me,” he says as he guides her toward the perimeter tape.

Mona hooks a finger around the yellow tape and holds it up as the three of us duck beneath it.

Realizing what’s happening, the woman chokes out a sound of dismay and twists away. “Please tell me something didn’t happen to her.”

I take her other arm. I’m aware of Tomasetti standing on the other side of her, not touching her. Mona stands guard at the caution tape, watching us. Backup if we need it.

“What’s your name?” I repeat.

“Andrea … Andy Matson.” She stutters the name, her attention fastened to the doorway of room 9. “Please tell me she’s not hurt.”

“What’s your relationship with Rachael Schwartz?” I ask.

“She’s my business partner. My roommate. For God’s sake, she’s my best friend.” She tries to wrench her arm from my grip, but I don’t let her go.

“I’ve been trying to reach her all day. Rachael always answers her phone. Last time I called, some dude picked up. Said he was with BCI. I knew something was wrong … so I just got in my car and drove.” The words tumble out in a rush.

Breathless, she thrusts her hand toward the motel, where the technician with the coroner’s office is closing the double doors of the van. “I arrive to see that!”

She tears her eyes from the van, divides her attention between me and Tomasetti. “You guys are scaring the hell out of me.”

“Rachael Schwartz is dead,” I tell her.

“Dead?” She recoils as if I struck her. “But … that’s crazy. She can’t be … I just saw her yesterday. I talked to her last night. She was fine.” She pauses to catch her breath. “What happened to her?”

“The coroner hasn’t made an official determination yet, but we believe someone gained access to her room sometime during the night and killed her.”

“Oh my God.” Breaths hissing, she bends at the hip, sets her hands on her knees. “Rachael. Shit. Shit.”

“Do you need to sit down?” I ask.

She spits on the ground, shakes her head.

I give her a moment, watching her for any telltale signs of deception, but she gives me nothing.

Feeling the tick of the clock, I touch her shoulder. “Ms. Matson, I know this is a bad time, but I need to ask you some questions.”

Straightening, she blows out a breath, her expression dark, mascara beginning to run. “Who did it?”

“We don’t know. We’re looking. It would be a big help if you could help us fill in some blanks.”