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“It’s Neil Lemaire’s cat, isn’t it?”
I swallowed hard. “Yes, I heard it needed a home so I took it in.”
“We spoke with Lillian Duvall, the bookkeeper at Runstan. She said you went to his house with her. Is that correct?”
Ugh. “Yes.”
“That’s a lot of interaction about a man that you didn’t even know.”
“It wasn’t about Neil Lemaire, it was about the cat. I was with my brother and father at Runstan, and Lillian told me the cat needed a home.”
“So it’s about a cat?”
“Yes.”
“I see.” Detective Willoughby met my gaze with apparent directness. “TJ, I’ll be straight with you. We’re thinking you’ve gotten yourself jammed up. If so, your best option is to get ahead of this. You know how it works from the last time around. If we can talk, maybe we can arrive at a deal.”
My heart began to pound. “What fix do you think I’m in?”
“Why don’t you tell us?”
“There’s nothing to tell.”
“I see.” Detective Willoughby shrugged again. “Lillian said you spent some time in Neil Lemaire’s office at home and at work.”
Gulp.“Not much. I was at the house with her and we were lookingfor the cat, who wouldn’t come out. She likes to hide, as you just saw. And at the office I was just talking to Lillian, comforting her. She was upset about his death. That’s all.”
“I see.”
I stayed silent.
“Then it won’t matter to you, one way or the other, that we’re reopening the investigation into Neil Lemaire’s death.”
“It doesn’t,” I told him, masking my surprise.
“Our investigation is in the early stages, and we wanted to come to you in an informal way. We want to remind you that if you have any involvement in any type of crime, inanycriminal conspiracy whatsoever, it’s a violation of your parole. For you, that means you go to jail.”
I felt a bolt of fear that was almost electrical. “Of course, yes, I know that.”
“Let me give you some advice. Windows open but they don’t stay open. They close, too. Do you know what I mean?”
“Right, I know.” I struggled to look unflustered. He was trying to turn the screws.
“So, last chance, let’s talk turkey.” Detective Willoughby crossed his legs. “Have you been involved in anything you want to tell us about?”
“No, I haven’t.” I used to be a good liar, but the stakes had never been this high. Meanwhile my phone rang silently again, my mother’s smiling photo flashing on my home screen, incongruous right now.
“Our problem is that the circumstances raise a lot of questions. We were hoping you could answer them.”
“What kind of circumstances?”
“The ones we just talked about. Your involvement with Lemaire and Rigel. We thought you could fill in some blanks.”
“I don’t think I can, I’m sorry.”
“You’re not going to be the only person we approach, you know. The early bird gets the worm.”
“Okay,” I said noncommittally. They evidently thought I was working with others. I wondered if they knew about Fake Elliott Thompson.
