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“Iamtelling you the truth. Why else would I be here? Why would I have called the police when I found the dead body?”
“I don’t know, Ms. Gibson. There are reasons on both sides why you would.”
“What do you mean, ‘both sides’?”
“Those that favor you being innocent. And those that favor you being involved in the murder of Daniel Pottinger.”
“So hewasmurdered? I could see no wound,” said Gibson.
“Your driver’s license says you live in Williamsburg?”
“Yes, with my two young kids, as I mentioned before. And my mother is watching them and will be expecting me back. This was a spur-of-the-moment thing and I had to call her in to be the babysitter. I thought I was going to be spending the day chasing down assets on the internet, not finding a murdered man in a gloomy old mansion.”
“Well, it would have been much better for you if you had stuck to being a digital detective. It’s a lot more dangerous out here.”
“What happens now?” asked Gibson.
“I’ll follow you back to your house. And then we can talk some more and I can check on some things that, hopefully, will exclude you from the suspect list.”
“Do youreallybelieve I had something to do with this murder?”
“You were a detective once. How would you answer that?” asked Sullivan.
Gibson sighed. “Everyone’s a suspect until it’s proved conclusively that they’re not.”
“Good that you still remember that.” He took her firmly by the arm. “Let’s go.”
CHAPTER6
ON THE DRIVE BACK GIBSONkept looking in the rearview mirror at Sullivan in his sedan. She was trying to gauge whether the man seriously considered her a suspect in the murder or not. His look was focused yet distant, as though he had a great many scenarios flitting through his head. He reminded Gibson of herself on a case, consuming all the facts of a crime scene, but then taking the time and distance to weave them into plausible theories that might, or might not, turn out to be supported by the facts.
When they arrived at her house, Gibson introduced Sullivan to her mother, but didn’t elaborate on why he was here.
“It’s work-related, Mom. Can you hang around a bit to watch the kids? I have some things to go over with Detective Sullivan. Thanks.”
Dorothy Rogers eyed her daughter and then glanced at the tall and attractive Sullivan and smiled. “Well, I’ll just leave you twoalonethen.”
Gibson had to work extra hard to keep the groan inside her from coming out.
He doesn’t want to date me, Mom, he wants to figure out if I’m a murderer.
She took Sullivan into her office and slipped out her iPhone. “Thisis my business phone.” She scrolled down the screen. “Here’s the number she called me from. It didn’t have a name because it wasn’t in my contacts, or a location tag, but I usually answer because my job pretty much requires that.”
Sullivan punched in the number on his phone and held it to his ear. It rang and rang but no one answered. “Probably a burner or something like it. Or voice-over-untraceable-IP bullshit. We’ll try to track it, but don’t hold your breath.” He looked around at her office setup and the two monster screens. “So this is where the investigatory magic happens?”
“If you want to call digital drudgery that, yes it is.” Gibson sat down, took off her shoes, and rubbed her feet. “Sorry, not used to wearing even low-heel pumps anymore.”
Sullivan sat down across from her. “Anything else you can remember from the call?”
Gibson knew he could have asked her all this back at Stormfield, but he obviously wanted to see if her suburban mom story checked out or not.
“I’m naturally skeptical like any good ex-cop, but she played every beat perfectly. She threw in the conversation with Zeb first, which took away any doubt I might have had.”
“Which means either your boss is in on this—”
“—or she does work there, used a fake name and phone and overheard the conversation,orshe tapped Zeb’s phone or mine and got the necessary intel that way.”
Sullivan nodded appreciatively. “You’re not showing any rust at all from your detective days.”
