“Yes.”
“I need your statement. If the rest of you would excuse us.”
“She’ll not be talking tae the police without an attorney present. We’re acquiring one for her as we speak,” Edwin said.
This was not what the police officer wanted to hear, but he didn’t argue. “All right.” He sat in a chair next to me. “I’ll wait right here.”
It was an awkward half an hour, but fortunately not much longer than that.
FIVE
I’d been right. Inspector Raymond Pierce was originally from Duluth, Minnesota, which happened to be the same place my first college roommate had been born and raised. Our short conversation of small talk, interspersed in between all the awkward, went something like this:
“You’re from the States?” he asked.
“I am. Kansas. You?”
“Duluth, Minnesota,” he said.
There were a million more questions that should have followed and would have in any other setting, but neither of us asked those questions. The strain (on my part mostly; Inspector Pierce seemed practiced at waiting out uncomfortable moments) went on way too long. I was relieved when Tom and the attorney finally rushed through the bookshop’s front door. The attorney moved with a dramatic flourish; Tom followed behind with less flourish and more concern. I sent him a quick smile to tell him I was okay. He seemed to relax a bit.
Gaylord Buchanan didn’t look like an attorney. He looked more like a pub owner who’d been awakened too early; I’d seen such a thing before. His messy dark hair and jeans and T-shirt made me wonder where he’d been when Tom had called him.
Introductions were made, and I didn’t miss Inspector Pierce’s tight eyebrows when he realized I wasn’t the only one who’d been in the shop the night before. He looked at us before the formal questioning began and asked, “Anyone else?”
We both shook our heads.
Edwin, Rosie, Hamlet, and Hector removed themselves from the back table and left it to the four of us. My coworkers stepped outside the shop, where more people in white coveralls were gathering, coming out of the close, I thought.
I was given a moment alone with my attorney—a man I, surprisingly, found to be more soft-spoken than any attorney I’d ever met. He listened with intense eyes that made me almost uncomfortable. I was glad he was on my side.
He’d gotten a rundown of the night from Tom. After I told him about my time at the pub with Sophie, Rena, and Mallory, and my version of the events, he said, “Just stick tae the facts and the truth. Do not give your opinion about anything, including what you think the women thought of each other or what they might have truly thought about the doctor. Don’t offer up anything about the possible affair, but if you’re asked specifically about it, just answer honestly and without putting your own interpretation into it.”
These were all things I knew, but I sensed that actually doing them correctly might end up being a challenge.
As the four of us sat down together, the moment suddenly felt over the top. Tom and I had done nothing wrong, and I just wanted the police to know what we knew, or at least that we’d been at the shop and hadn’t seen anything suspicious. From a distance, I knew that having an attorney present whenever you talked to the police was the only smart way to go. Up close and in person, it was stressful and seemed unwarranted, even if he was on my side.
“The both of you were here together last night?” Inspector Pierce began.
Tom and I nodded and I added, “And I was at the same pub the victim—if it’s who I heard it was—was at last night.”
Inspector Pierce sent me a blink.
“You were at the pub too?” Inspector Pierce asked Tom.
“No, I met Delaney here afterward,” Tom said.
“All right then, let’s start from the beginning,” Inspector Pierce said as he looked at me. “How did you know the victim, and what were the two of you doing together last night?”
Doing my best to stick to just the facts, I relayed what had happened at the pub, except for the part about the possible relationship between Sophie and Dr. Eban. I did mention that the women seemed to respect their professor even though they also seemed to be bothered by him being there, in the middle of their night out. Because it would be so out of context without the mention of the alleged possible affair, I also didn’t mention Rena’s request of me to watch over Sophie if something happened to her.
“And you two searched the … warehouse for some scalpels?” Inspector Pierce asked.
“We did,” I said.
“Did you find any?”
“We did.”
“Where are they now?”
“Still locked inside the warehouse, in a desk drawer, as far as I know. I haven’t been over to check.”
“You didn’t know the victim? We have confirmed that the deceased’s name is Mallory Clacher.” He looked at Tom, emphasizing Mallory’s name.
“I didn’t know her.”
“These scalpels, would they be worth killing for?” Pierce asked.
“I don’t know their true value. And I don’t understand what’s behind killers’ motives anyway. I’d have to research to put some sort of monetary value on them,” I said.
“The warehouse is real, but you told the doctor and the others that it didn’t exist?” Pierce said.
“That’s correct. We don’t advertise it, and it has become somewhat of a legend, I guess.”
“Is it a secret because of the value of the items inside?”
“Yes…” I answered.
“Delaney?” Inspector Pierce continued.
“Right. Well, kind of. It’s Edwin’s personal world, a place he created full of things that interest him. He’s not about the money so much as he is protective of his passions. As you probably saw, that side isn’t as well taken care of. The steps are worn, there’s more grime on the windows. It might not be considered safe.” It was probably perfectly safe, but that felt like the right thing to say.
However, the attorney,
