They were met at the door by a moping woman with brown hair. She showed them in, sat them in the lounge, and disappeared to fetch drinks—despite the fact they’d declined the offer.
While Bill stared glassy-eyed at the muted TV, Mason stood and paced the room. This apartment was incredible. It was a true penthouse; one entire curtain wall had a breathtaking vista of San Francisco.
The woman soon returned, alongside her husband, who introduced himself as Roger and sat down.
Mason ignored the drink that was placed down for him. “I want you to run me through what happened,” he said.
The woman cleared her throat. “I came home early from a trip, hoping to get an early night in our marital bed.” She emphasized marital and shot daggers at her husband, who wasn’t looking. “But Roger was here with some skank.”
“She was a very pretty lady, actually,” Roger added, as if it was a necessary detail.
“Oh, you really think so?” His wife raised her voice. “Is that what encouraged you to bring a whore into our home, you filthy little pervert!”
“Hey, there’s no need for—”
“Please,” Mason interrupted. “Can we just stick with the facts?”
“Sorry,” Roger said. “There was an altercation, of sorts. She and my wife had a bit of a fight while I was handcuffed to the bed.”
Mrs. Gibbons had a disgusted expression on her face and turned her head away.
“Why were you handcuffed to the bed?” Bill asked.
“It was the hooker’s idea.”
Bill nodded.
Mason continued to pace. “So, Mrs. Gibbons, you had your hands full. Did she hurt you at all? Perhaps give you any indication that she might be back? I mean, you hit her, right?”
She shook her head. “I only tackled her when she drew the knife.”
“She had a knife?” Bill asked.
“Hold on.” She left the room again.
Mason continued to pace, growing more impatient as he looked around the place. He was a split second away from complimenting Roger on his apartment, when he saw a disturbing image on the TV.
It was a photograph. Of him! The tagline underneath read EX-COP STILL WANTED. The anchor was giving details, but the sound was off. Mason walked over to the TV and stood in front of it, concealing it from the Gibbons and grateful it wasn’t wall mounted high above him.
Mrs. Gibbons returned with two things: a purse, which she held with a cloth so as not to put more prints on it, and a second item, something small, and now in a police evidence bag. “The officers told me to hand these to you—said you would file them accordingly?”
Bill took the purse, while Mason snatched the evidence bag.
This is Evie’s knife. His face flushed hot red as he double-checked it for the inscription. When he found it, he balled his hands into fists. He could only pray she was all right. “And the woman had this on her?”
The wife nodded, her husband going to the window and admiring the view.
“Thank you both for your time. We’ll go over this and be in touch,” Bill said.
You might be, Mason thought, but I have bigger problems.