conversation cannottechnically constitute an “interrogation,” and therefore no Miranda warningsare required. What, they forgot she practiced criminal law for almost threeyears?

“I’ll answer whatever you’d like,” she says.

Joe Czerwonka is a large, weathered man who seems to have agentle side, too, which makes her think he’s a grandfather. Or maybe it’s justdealing with females. If she were a man, this guy might be breathing down herneck. Instead, he turns away from Allison, talks to his partner as if sheweren’t in the room. “It’s just-confusing to me,” he says. “See, Mrs. Pagone’sdaughter, Jessica, told us that Allison came home about two in the morning onSunday.”

“Yeah,” Detective Aiken confirms, referring to his notes.“Yep, she said, ‘Two in the morning.’ She said she got to Mrs. Pagone’s houseat about eight-thirty, Saturday night, and her mom wasn’t there. She said Momdidn’t get home until two.”

“That’s almost six hours unaccounted for,” Czerwonka says toAiken.

“You talked to Jessica?” Allison looks at them sharply. “Youdidn’t notify us.”

“She’s twenty years old, Mrs. Pagone. She doesn’t needparental notification.”

“What did Jessica tell you?” Allison pounds the table. “Tellme what she said.”

Aiken looks at his partner. This is Czerwonka’s call.“Well,” the senior detective says, “your daughter seems to remember you cominghome and not looking so hot. Upset. And dirty, I guess. Mud on you. And shesays you threw up when you got home.”

“Jessica said that?” Allison asks, feigning surprise.

“Yeah, she did. And she said the next day, you told heryou’d been dating Mr. Dillon. The two of you were having a romantic, shall wesay, relationship.”

“That is confusing,” Aiken says to Czerwonka. “Mrs. Pagonehere says she was home all night and she wasn’t sleeping with Mr. Dillon. Herdaughter says just the opposite.”

“Maybe it’s a mix-up,” Czerwonka says to his partner. “Maybewe misunderstood what Mrs. Pagone here has been telling us.”

Allison says nothing.

“Well,” Czerwonka continues with Aiken, “when you talked toJessica, did she give any indication she was confused?”

“No,” Aiken says. “No, she was crystal clear on it. We wentover that point over and over again. Mom came home about two, looking all outof sorts. And then she spilled it-that she was having an affair with SamDillon.”

“Well, did she know it’s a crime to lie to a policedetective?” Czerwonka asks.

“That’s enough,” Allison says.

“Yeah,” says Aiken. “She knew she had to tell the truth.Otherwise, it’s obstruction of justice. Yeah, Jessica understood that she couldget in all kinds of trouble for lying to me.”

“I want you to stop this.” Allison stands up.

“It’s no act, Mrs. Pagone.” Czerwonka laces his handstogether. “One of you is lying about this. You or Jessica. Should we pick herup for lying to a police officer?”

“Leave her out of this. She has nothing to do-” Allisonlooks away.

“Nothing to do with what?” Aiken asks.

“Nothing.”

“Look, Mrs. Pagone. Take your seat if you would,” Czerwonkasays. “Let me make this easier for you. We know you went to Sam Dillon’s officedownstate last Friday-the day before he was murdered. We know you were upset.”

Allison holds her breath. Something she can’t control, whathappened at Sam’s office.

“You went to his offices up here, first, then you drove allthe way down to the capital to find Sam Dillon. You already told us, when westarted this interview, that you didn’t have business with Dillon. You saidthat already. So why the rush to go down there? It’s personal. Of course, it’spersonal. Okay.”

Allison sits down, as previously requested.

“You rush into Sam’s office and close the door. Okay, youwant privacy. But you didn’t quite get privacy, Mrs. Pagone.”

The words pierce her heart. Her body accelerates. She isready to say it right now, if necessary. Something in her-caution, perhaps, orsimply the inability to speak-forces her to keep quiet for the moment.

Somebody heard her conversation with Sam?

“There was an aide at the office,” Czerwonka continues. “Youmay not have noticed him in your haste. He heard what was going on in there.”

“You don’t understand,” she says.

“Then help me out here.”

No. No. Let him take the lead. She closes her eyes. Theyknow, she thinks with a mounting horror. They know I made Sam fire Jessica.They know Jessica had a thing for Sam and he rebuffed her. They probably knowJessica was upset, upset enough to-

“ ‘This isn’t working out.’ ‘Mat’s a friend.’ ‘This iscrazy.’ ”

Allison opens her eyes to a satisfied Detective Czerwonka.

“Sound familiar, Mrs. Pagone?”

Something’s not right. Those were the words Sam used, on thephone with Jessica, but the look on the detective’s face tells her he ismisreading it.

“He dumped you, Mrs. Pagone,” Czerwonka concludes. “You’renot the first. I can say that from personal experience.”

He dumped-me. Me, not Jessica. Allison’s heart leaps. Theoffice aide heard the words but didn’t know the context. He didn’t know Sam wason the phone, talking to Jessica.

Sam dumped me. Yes!

“But then you deny you were involved with Sam,” thedetective says. “And it looks bad for you. Because it’s so obvious to us thatyou two were an item.”

“And that means, score one for Jessica,” Aiken adds. “Shewas telling the truth. Which means she was probably also telling the truthabout you coming home at two in the morning on the night Sam Dillon wasmurdered.”

“We need you to explain this to us, Mrs. Pagone. You’ve liedto us twice. There’s an innocent explanation for that? Great. I’m ready tobelieve it. But you’ve given me nothing to believe, so far.”

Allison brings her hand to her forehead. “It’s-complicated,”she says.

“Life is complicated,” Czerwonka responds. “Explain this tous.”

Allison gets back to her feet. “You said I’m free to leave.”

Czerwonka freezes. His partner looks at him.

“Yes,” Czerwonka says, to keep the record clear on thispoint. A good detective is always thinking about keeping a confession legal.“But this is not the time. Right now, you should be putting our minds at ease.”

“I’m leaving, then.”

“Mrs. Pagone.” Czerwonka stands, along with his partner.“I’d advise you not to leave town any time soon.”

“I’d advise you to get a law degree, Detective.” Allisonhikes her purse over her shoulder. “You can’t make me do anything.”

There will be a time,” Father said, “when they will want youto risk your life. That,” he added, “is when your true dedication shows.”

Ram Haroon drinks his beer slowly. He is the onlynon-Caucasian at this place on the west side. It is close to midnight. Thedozen or so people inside are getting louder, growing more boisterous in theirinebriation. This was an asinine choice, this spot. Haroon sticks out, as theAmericans say, like a sore thumb. And it could well be only a matter of timebefore one of these drunken idiots decides to tap him on the shoulder and tellhim to go back to his own fucking country.

Ram drains his beer at ten to midnight. He walks toward thebathroom, ignoring any stares that might be coming his way. He turns down thesmall corridor where the restrooms are located but passes them, goes to theexit door and pushes it, steps out into the alley.

Larry Evans is standing there, awaiting him.

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