Chapter 21

“I had,” said he, “come to an entirely erroneous conclusion which shows, my dear Watson, how dangerous it always is to reason from insufficient data.”

-Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, The Adventure of the Speckled Band

The male officer, Patterson, cuffed me then took down my name, address, phone, e-mail, social security, date of birth, mother’s maiden, where I worked, and other details. If he’d asked me the date of my death, I would have said today. I was ruined.

“How’d you gain access?” Patterson asked.

Before I could answer, Cook, the female cop, ran back into the library. We both heard her coming. Everything on her uniform jangled. She grabbed Patterson’s arm and whispered in his ear. They both glared at me. Patterson rushed out of the library while Cook trained her gun on me. She looked fierce, and I worried she might shoot.

Patterson returned, gun still drawn. “I’ll call the supervisor,” he said. “You go secure the scene. Get one of the outside guys to check the rest of the house. We don’t know exactly what we got goin’ on here. Be careful.”

She rushed out, jangling, and Patterson picked up one of the house phones. I wondered why he used that instead of his police radio until I overheard him say, “This is a heater.” When cops label something a “heater,” it means it’s a hot case. They don’t want the press to find out what’s going on. So they call the desk from a landline to keep the press from monitoring the transmission.

What the heck was up here? What did they think I’d done? What made this a “heater?” I was sweating profusely and my stomach was swirling. Then I heard Patterson say, “...found a body in the dining room.... bloody scene... have a suspect on the premises.”

Oh my God. He means me. What the hell had I gotten myself into?