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Sergeant Hopkins began the interrogation while his partner, Sergeant Cruz, sat across from us taking notes. We were seated in Debbie’s living room, or what they called a parlor when the house was built. The original living room had been converted into bedrooms during the Second World War when the house had been a boarding home until the mid-fifties. It was difficult to keep my eyes off Sergeant Cruz and concentrate on Hopkins’ questions. I realized my original impression had been tainted by the Victorian house. She had a lot more in common with the famous actress, Penelope Cruz, than with Morticia Addams. She could have been Penelope’s sister.
“You say Ms. Johnson fired you this morning. How did that make you feel? Were you angry at her?” Hopkins asked.
I’d seen enough cop shows to know where this was going. “No, and I didn’t kill her, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
Sergeant Cruz looked up from her pad, looking at me the way a cat does when it’s watching a bird drink from a fountain. Her dark, penetrating eyes were hypnotic. “What makes you think she was murdered, Mr. Martin?” she asked.
“I... I just assumed that’s what this is all about.” I hadn’t stuttered since I was a kid when my older sister would always finish my sentences for me. “Are...are you telling me she killed herself?”
Hopkins answered for her with another question. “Can you tell us where you were yesterday ...” he paused to look at his notepad, “between noon and three?”
This time, I waited a few seconds before answering. It was how I had learned to overcome stuttering years ago. “I was home, officer, and I not only have a witness to verify that but if you care to check Debbie’s phone, you will see I called her twice from my cell phone. And as you know, cell phone calls can be tracked by the location of the nearest cell phone tower, which will prove they were made in Evergreen. And I’m sure Debbie’s neighbor has already verified that Debbie was alive and well after I left, for I saw her watching me leave when Debbie was going over to give the neighbor a piece of her mind. You know, if I were in your shoes, I’d be interrogating the neighbor. She and Debbie were not on the best of terms.”
Cruz put down her pen and looked straight into my eyes. “Except who’s to say someone else didn’t make the call for you.”
“Because I didn’t text her. I’m sure your techs can verify it’s my voice and not someone else’s.” I answered immediately this time without repeating a single word.
I noticed her face soften a bit with the hint of a smile. “And would you please give us the name of who you were with between the hours of nine and three?” There was a hint of a smile forming at the corners of her mouth, making me think that perhaps she realized they weren’t interrogating a stuttering idiot after all. She held her pen ready to write my response.
“My neighbor, Bonnie Jones. She lives right below me on Columbine Circle. 3400, I think. I have her number in my cell if you need it.”
“That’s Evergreen?”
“Yes. Which as you know is an hour from here in a fast car, but takes nearly two in my old Jeep because I have to stop for water at least once because of a leaky radiator. I guess I should have fixed it...”
“Yes, we know.” It was Hopkins who cut me off this time. At least I didn’t stutter, but realized I made myself look guilty by rattling on over nothing important.
Both detectives were silent for a moment before Sergeant Cruz glanced at her notebook before asking the next question. “Tell me about the neighbor, Mary Jane Mitchell. How well do you know her, Mr. Martin?”
“Never met her, and you can call me Jake. It’s what all my friends call me.”
“Then how do you know Ms. Walker and Ms. Mitchell didn’t get along, Mr. Martin?”
“They had some kind of border war going on, according to Debbie. It all started when Debbie had me put up a fence between them. Mary wasn’t happy about it.”
Sergeant Cruz tilted her head slightly, waiting for me to continue. Her dark eyes gave no hint at what she was thinking. I wondered if the pause was standard operating procedure. “And why do you say that?” she asked after a few awkward moments.
“Because Debbie told me.”
“So you must have been more than a contractor to Ms. Walker. Were you romantically involved?” Hopkins asked.
Here comes the good cop, bad cop routine, I thought. I shifted my attention toward him. “No, not that it’s any of your business. And I told you. I’m a handyman, not a contractor.”
“So you weren’t sleeping with her?” Cruz cut in.
“What?” I asked, feeling the blood rush to my face. She caught me totally by surprise. I found myself thinking, so much for the good cop, bad cop routine. They were both bad cops.
Cruz finally smiled. “Sorry, Jake, but I had to ask.”
“Why would you have to ask a question like that?”
“For the same reason we need your permission to take a DNA sample,” Hopkins said. He was holding a swab in his left hand. I had no idea where it had come from but realized why the questioning had turned toward sex.
“Was she raped?” I asked, standing so Hopkins could get his sample.
“Please hold your mouth open, Mr. Martin,” Hopkins said, ignoring my question.
Cruz rose from her chair after Hopkins swabbed the inside of my cheek. “Thank you, Mr. Martin. We’ll be in touch if we need anything else.”
I rose, too, and reached out to shake her hand, even though it hadn’t been offered. “When can I pick up my tools, Sergeant? I’m sort of unemployed until you let me have them.”
She moved closer to return the handshake and surprised me with her firm grip. I also caught a whiff of her perfume. It wasn’t overpowering or offensive, but I knew it instantly as the brand Julie had worn. “Tomorrow perhaps. Do you have a business card with a number where you can be reached?”
I gave her my card and left. I had been too mesmerized by Cruz and forgotten to offer a handshake to Sergeant Hopkins, but something told me he wasn’t the kind to shake a suspect’s hand anyway.