them possessed the same blank looks. The policemen from the hospital, Officers Brady and Williams,
stood adjacent to his family in front of the fireplace.
Josh had been blind to the patrol car parked curbside outside his house.
“Oh, hi, I didn’t see you there,” Josh said.
The policemen nodded in acknowledgment.
“Please excuse my condition. I’ll just have a quick shower and I’ll be with you.” Josh smiled.
Nobody returned the smile.
“If you could be quick, sir. We have some details to go over with you and we do have other calls to make,”
Officer Brady said.
“Of course. I’ll only be a minute.” Josh shot up the stairs. He hoped they had good news about finding evidence on Mitchell, but judging by the look on everyone’s faces, it didn’t look like good news. He had no
idea what else could have gone wrong.
Josh showered and dried himself swiftly, but not
thoroughly. The T-shirt soaked up the damp patches from his body and a dark ring of wetness showed on his neck from where his hair had dripped. The jersey shorts did a similar drying job to his lower half. Barefoot, he returned to the living room. The two police officers were sitting on the couch opposite his wife. The
room was in silence.
“Sorry to keep you waiting,” Josh said.
“Not a problem, sir,” Officer Williams said.
Josh sat on the arm of the couch next to Kate. “So you got my phone call?”
“Josh,” Kate said, and placed a hand on his arm.
“Could we go somewhere a little more private? I prefer not to discuss this in front of your family,” Officer Brady said.
Kate squeezed his arm. Josh looked at her and saw fear in her eyes. She nodded at him.
“We could go into my office,” Josh suggested.
“Sounds fine,” Officer Williams said.
Josh led the policemen to the small office toward the rear of the house. The policemen’s boots squeaked on the hardwood floor. The way they walked on either side of him made him feel like the proverbial dead man walking, being led to execution.
Josh sat at his desk. The two officers bulged from the amply filled loveseat on the opposite wall. He asked the policemen if they wanted a beverage. They declined his offer.
“So you received my phone call at the beginning of the week about the man who ran me into the river?
Well, like I said, I met—”
“Mr. Michaels, we aren’t here about the traffic accident,”
Brady interrupted.
Josh was confused. “Then why are you here?”
“We’re here regarding the threatening phone calls you made from this house,” Brady said, and started to read Josh his Miranda rights.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
“What?” Josh’s feel-good high drained out of him and a tingle of fear ran down his spine. He shifted in his seat. It no longer seemed to fit the contours of his body.
He struggled for words to respond. Panic and guilt swam through his mind, bumping into things. Had Bell made some trumped-up accusation against him about their phone call? Could she have recorded their phone call? He couldn’t remember if he’d said anything that could be construed as threatening. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Margaret Macey alleged she received a threatening phone call. One in which a man claiming to be from an insurance company became abusive and made threats on her life,” Williams said, reading from his notes.
Hearing the name, Josh relaxed. The name meant
nothing. Whoever made the call, it had nothing to do with his problems.
“What can you tell us, Mr. Michaels?” Brady asked.
“Nothing. I have no idea what you’re talking
about.”
The policemen didn’t look as if they were going to accept Josh’s denial as a defense. Brady eyeballed Josh with a stare hard enough to crack concrete. Josh felt the man didn’t believe a word he’d said from the moment they’d met.
Brady sighed, “Mr. Michaels, you are the only male in the house.”
“Yes.”
“Then I find it difficult to accept you couldn’t have made the call,” Brady said.
“Why? I’ve never heard of this woman.”
Josh showed signs of guilt. More than just water
from his shower moistened his clothes—sweat appeared under his arms. He didn’t know the woman, so
why did he feel so damn guilty? His palms were sweating and he wiped them on his shorts under the cover of the desk, but fresh sweat immediately sprang from his dryed palms.
“Telephone records tell us the call was made from this house.”
Brady leaned forward, placing more weight on his
accusation. It was a cheap intimidation tactic and it worked. Josh felt a noose tightening around his neck.
“So how do you explain who made the phone call
from here?”
“I don’t know what to tell you. Honestly, I don’t know anything. Maybe I misdialed her number and
she’s confusing it with her threatening caller.”
“A fifteen minute wrong number conversation?”
Brady said. “I don’t think so, Mr. Michaels. Your call was the only one she received on Saturday night.”
“Saturday night?” Josh’s panic dissipated.
“Yes, Saturday night. Can you tell us what you were doing from seven forty-two p.m. until seven fifty-seven p.m.?” Williams asked.
“I was having a birthday party,” Josh said.
here?” Brady asked.
“Here.”
“And you have witnesses that will verify you weren’t on the telephone at the times stated?” Williams asked.
“To the minute, I don’t know,” Josh snorted. “All I can tell you is that I was at my party and there are plenty of people who can confirm it.”
“I’m afraid that isn’t enough.”
“Then what is?”
“There’s nothing to say that you weren’t on the
phone to Mrs. Macey. You could have easily slipped out from your party to call her and returned with no one being the wiser,” Brady said.
“That’s a bit of a stretch, Officer,” Josh said.
“Then what’s your explanation, sir?” Brady asked.
Flecks of spittle appeared on his bottom lip.
Brady worried Josh. The cop was convinced he was
lying about something and he didn’t see how he could shift the guilt. If he weren’t careful, he’d end up getting arrested for something he didn’t do.
“There were lots of people here—any one of them
could have done it.”
“That’s not particularly nice, Mr. Michaels, placing the blame on your friends,” Brady said. “Who needs enemies?”
