David knows this about me. He even once admitted it’s what he likes about me. Tonight, however, he’s the detective and I’m a person of interest. I don’t blame him for wanting the truth, but I can’t afford to provide that. I wouldn’t even know where to begin.
“Was there anyone else here when you arrived?” he asks.
“No.”
“Why is there blood on your hands?”
“I’m sorry,” I say, looking down at my recently washed hands. They’re still pink with the stain of blood. I nod in the direction of where Lupe still lies. “I wasn’t thinking when I checked to see if she was okay.”
“You know better than to touch a body at a crime scene.”
“That body,” I say angrily, “was my friend.” I realize he has a job to do, but I’m getting tired of him treating me like one of his usual suspects. We go back a long way, and he should know me better.
David pulls away, and I can sense his regret for pushing too far. Despite his tough-guy attitude, I know he cares about me. He scans the room again. “Sorry. And I’m sorry about Lupe, but you and I both know you’re not telling me everything.”
“Can I be perfectly honest with you?”
His demeanor softens. For a moment, the old David I know is standing before me. “Of course.”
It kills me to keep him at bay, but I have to. “I’ve given you my full and complete statement. And that’s all I’m going to say tonight.”
David has lived in Los Angeles for the past twelve years, but he’s a true New Yorker. He grew up in Brooklyn—Vinegar Hill, to be exact. Life wasn’t easy for him when he was young. He was in constant trouble because of his big mouth and quick fists. Having spent his life fending for himself on Flushing Avenue, he didn’t exactly develop the temper and patience of a Tibetan monk. So I expect David to rip me a new one, but he doesn’t. He just scratches his perpetual day-old beard and shakes his head.
“I don’t know what happened,” I add after an uncomfortable silence. “I don’t know who did it. I came here tonight and found her. Found this.”
Another detective approaches us. He walks with a swagger as if to bring attention to his masculine stride. The horseshoe moustache is another component of his macho facade. He wears a more expensive suit than David but is stiff and uncomfortable in it despite his lean build. Judging by the can of Coke in his hand, I’m guessing he’s not much of a coffee drinker. His hair is thickly unnatural with a too-perfect hairline—probably courtesy of some hair plugs that have since healed. I can’t decide if he looks great for sixty or terrible for forty.
David stiffens and mutters, “Try not to be a smartass for two minutes.”
That remark stings. I mean, it’s true, but still…
“How’s it going?” the detective asks us.
“Ed, this is Darcy Caine. Darcy, this is my new partner. Well, I’m his new partner. Detective Ed Snyder.”
I nod a hello.
Snyder barely offers a grunt my way before turning to David. “What’s her story?”
“She’s all right, Ed.”
“She’s a suspect.”
“She’s a witness,” David counters.
It’s a relief to hear that I’m actually not suspect number one. At least, not in David’s eyes. He shifts slightly, placing himself indirectly between Snyder and me. This subconscious gesture doesn’t go unnoticed by me. He knows I can handle myself, but that doesn’t stop him from protecting me. It’s one of the things I love about David.
Sorry, not “love.” It’s one of the things I like about David. That’s what I meant. Like.
Instead of giving Detective Snyder a piece of my mind, I bite my tongue out of consideration for David. He’s the junior detective, and the only reason he’s questioning me is because of our history. Otherwise, Snyder would be trying to sweat me.
Snyder shoots me a look. “Then let’s hear it, witness. What time did you get here?”
“Nine o’clock.” I glance at David. See? No smartass remark.
“Why didn’t you call the police?”
“By the time I found Lupe, you guys were already outside.”
“What were you doing all the way down the hall, sitting against the railing with blood on your hands?”
“I was being emotionally distraught,” I say.
“That supposed to be funny?”
“My friend was murdered tonight, so no. I’m sorry if I don’t remember all the details. I’m still in shock.”
Snyder glares at me then turns to David. “The captain is going to want a full report first thing in the morning. We’d better make sense out of all this crap. If we don’t get an arrest soon—”
His threat is interrupted by commotion from an antechamber next to the rotunda. I can hear voices calling out. Officers start moving toward a doorway.
“We found the guard!” someone shouts.
A group of officers emerge from the hallway that leads to the gallery. A black security guard limps forward, resting his weight on two uniformed cops who walk on either side. He holds a white bloodstained cloth to his head, but he is very much alive and conscious. It’s Terrell.
Snyder hurries toward the group. I instinctively move to follow, desperately wanting to hug Terrell and see if he’s okay. A hand grabs me by the elbow gently but firmly. David reels me in and leans into my ear. “Just wait.”
Despite my normal tendency to ignore sound advice, I do as he instructs and stand by his side. Snyder exchanges a few words with Terrell, who is dazed but nods and shakes his head in response. I can barely make out what he says from across the room.
“No. Someone attacked me from behind… hit me on the head… I was able to make it to the rear hall and lock the employee door behind me. I called 911. At least, I think I did. I don’t know what happened next. Then I woke up, and you guys were here.”
He suddenly seems to notice the covered body in
