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"That’s not necessary," the officer said.
"Oh—okay. I’ll get my purse," I said, and left with the police. On the way to the station all kind of things rolled through my mind. First I had to decide how I felt about it. That wasn’t hard. What he did to me was wrong, but nobody deserves to die. Then I wondered who could have killed him. Did somebody break-in the house to rob it? Maybe Tyrone surprised them and they killed him.
Knowing that he could be an asshole sometimes, the possibility exists that he may have pissed somebody off enough to kill him. Or maybe it was his new blonde bitch.
"Do you know how he was killed?" I asked the officer.
"No ma’am."
"We’re just taxi service," the other officer said, and laughed.
After a long ride from Manhattan, we finally arrived at The City of Glen Cove Police Department headquarters, on Bridge Street in beautiful downtown Glen Cove.
When we got there I was met by a very attractive detective. "Mrs. Petrocelli, my name is Detective Jensen," she said, and offered her hand. "I’m very sorry for your loss. If you could come with me, we’d like you to identify the body."
I went with the detective, and before too long, we were standing over the body. I felt a rush of cold all over my body. Before all this began, I had come to love Tyrone very much, and the idea that he was murdered and I was there to identify him, shot through me.
When Detective Jensen pulled back the cover, I looked at Tyrone. All the color was gone from his face. I looked away and shook my head. "Thank you, Mrs. Petrocelli," Jensen said, and pulled the cover back over his face.
Thinking that we were done, I started to walk away, but Jensen stopped me. "I’m sorry, Mrs. Petrocelli." Jensen turned to the table next to the one Tyrone was on. "But would you mind taking a look at this body?"
Jensen pulled back the cover and I looked at the woman on the table. She was a white woman with long blonde hair. At first, I thought it could be the bitch he left me for, so I took a closer look. "Do you know her?"
"No," I said, and looked again. "I’ve never seen her before."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes, I’m sure. I’ve never seen her before."
"Thank you." Jensen covered the woman’s body and asked me if I would mind coming with her. "I have a few questions that I’d like to ask you."
When we got to her office she offered me a seat. "Once again, Mrs. Petrocelli, I’m sorry for your loss."
"Thank you," I said, more because I didn’t know what else to say. "Could you tell me what happened?"
Jensen opened her notes. "Your husband’s housekeeper, a Carmen Wilson, found the body when she came to work this morning. He had been stabbed in the chest with a kitchen knife." Jensen pushed a picture of the body in front of me. Tyrone was lying on the kitchen floor in a pool of blood. The knife was still lodged in his chest.
"You and your husband are separated, is that correct?"
"Yes, that’s right."
"And you maintain a separate residence in Manhattan, is that correct?"
"Yes."
"How long?"
"About eight months now."
"Your idea; his idea?"
"His. My husband began seeing another woman and told me he was filing for divorce. I moved out after that."
"How were things between the two of you since then?"
"We really hadn’t spoken much since then. For the most part, we communicate through our lawyers."
"I know that must have been tough on you."
