“I don’t know what to say,” I answered, my voice cracking. “It’s logical, but it didn’t happen.”
“Can you prove it?”
“Of course not. How can I prove something didn’t happen? We were due to sign the letter of agreement yesterday. I told you what happened when I got there.”
“I understand. But it’s going to be a problem.” He tapped his pen a few times on the table, staring into the middle distance, his eyes narrowed in concentration. “Probably Alverez is looking into it right now. If he can find evidence that you lost the account, he’s got a motive.”
“What should I do?” I asked quietly.
“Tell the truth. Just like you’ve been doing. Keep repeating that you didn’t do it. Alverez is a good man, Josie. He’s not looking to railroad you.”
I nodded.
“Any questions?”
“No,” I answered.
“Let’s call Alverez in,” Max said. “Remember… tell the truth. And the shorter your answers, the better. Explain the whole thing, including how you came to take the knife.”
I felt dazed and only half listened as Alverez asked if it would be all right to tape my explanation about the knife for the record, and Max agreed. I watched as Alverez plugged in the tape recorder and wiggled the cord, tugging gently, making certain it was secure. It was as if I were watching a movie. It seemed to have nothing to do with me. Alverez pointed to the machine.
“Are you ready?” he asked me.
I looked at Max and he gestured that I could begin. Alverez spoke the date and time, gave our names, and told me to begin. As I spoke, I kept my eyes on Alverez, alert for clues to his thinking. He nodded encouragingly, and smiled a little when I spoke about Oscar, the poltergeist. I felt relieved, convinced that he believed me, and that therefore I was well on my way to clearing my name.
“So let me be sure I understand,” Alverez said when I’d finished. “You had a cup of tea and, directed by Mr. Grant, you put the cups, saucers, and plates in the dishwasher. Is that right?”
“Yes,” I answered. “That’s right.”
“Why didn’t you put the knife in the dishwasher, too?”
His handsome face gave away nothing. He either flat-out thought I was lying or he was trying to trap me. Fear morphed into anger. “You don’t put good knives in the dishwasher,” I answered sharply. “You wash them by hand.”
“Did Mr. Grant tell you that?” Alverez asked, unmoved by my tone.
“No,” I countered. “He didn’t need to. Everyone knows that.”
Alverez paused to think. I heard the soft whirr of the tape recorder and a heavy thud from outside as a truck lumbered by.
Finally, Max asked, “Is there anything else? Can we go now?” Alverez stopped the recorder. “How about if we plan on meeting again in the morning?” he asked Max.
I touched Max’s elbow before he could respond, and whispered, “No. I have to get ready for my regular Saturday tag sale and the Wilson auction preview starts tomorrow.”
“What hours will you be working?”
“I’ll start setting up the tag sale around seven. The auction preview starts at ten and runs until nine in the evening. Both the auction and the tag sale are on Saturday.”
“That makes for a couple of long days, doesn’t it?”
“Yeah,” I agreed. Calling them long days was an understatement. I’d be running full tilt from dawn until late evening both days.
“Keep your cell phone on and with you at all times. Even when you sleep. Agreed?” he asked, his urgency palpable even in a whisper.
“Okay,” I said.
“No excuses? I’m about to promise our availability. Don’t make a liar out of me. Okay?”
“I promise. My cell phone will be with me always.” I gripped the edge of the table, sort of angry, but mostly intent and ready to respond.
“Tomorrow won’t work for us,” Max said to Alverez, and explained my situation. “I’ll keep my cell phone on, and Josie and I have arranged it so I can reach her on an as-needed basis. I think you have my number, but just in case, here.” He reached into his jacket pocket for a business card and slid it across the table.
Alverez picked up the card, but looked at me. I met his eyes, trying to look nonthreatening. I couldn’t read him at all. I realized that he might be weighing whether he should arrest me on the spot or let me go, thinking that maybe if he gave me enough rope I’d hang myself. Nonetheless, I was relieved when he turned to Max, and said, “Okay.” To me, he asked, “You won’t be leaving the area, right?”
“No,” I replied, swallowing. “I’ll be here.”
Alverez nodded and stood up. “All right, then.”
Cathy wasn’t in sight as we passed through the central room, but two young men in uniform were. They stared at me as I walked by. I was glad to escape to the parking lot, but didn’t feel free until Max had driven us away and the police station was out of sight.
I watched the ocean as we drove. The tide was high, so I could see waves roll in through breaks in the dunes. “Max…” I said.
“Yeah?”
“I’ve had a thought…”
“What’s that?”
“Maybe I’m not the only antique dealer that Grant contacted after all. I thought I was, but maybe the motive you suggested-losing the Grant deal-is true, but applies to someone else, not me.”
“That’s interesting,” Max agreed. “How much money are we talking about, anyway? For whoever got the deal.”
“Who knows? Mr. Grant wanted to sell items that would have fetched at least hundreds of thousands of dollars at auction. Maybe more than a million. To a dealer that represented tens or hundreds of thousands of dollars in commissions. Plus a worldwide reputation as a power player.”
“Sounds like motive enough to kill.”
“Yeah,” I acknowledged. “Well, I wonder if mine were the only fingerprints they found.”
“On the knife?”
“Yes, on the knife. Or anywhere. Under the furniture, I mean. Think about it… if they found prints from another antique dealer, auctioneer, or appraiser in places where only a professional would look, well, that implies that I wasn’t the only person with something to lose. Wouldn’t that person have a strong motive to have killed Mr. Grant if he thought that I was about to close the deal?”
“Makes sense, Josie. Besides fingerprints, there’s another way of tracking a competitor down. Phone records. To see if Mr. Grant had contacted anyone else. If he called another dealer, or if another dealer called him.”
“That’s a great idea!” I exclaimed enthusiastically. “Maybe we could ask Chief Alverez to look at the records for us.”
“The timing’s wrong. I’ll make a note of both ideas, but I think we should hold off.”
“Why?” I asked.
“Well,” Max said and glanced at me. “In both cases, the fingerprints and the phone logs, what if the answer is no?”
“No” hadn’t occurred to me because I knew I was innocent. And if I was innocent, someone else was guilty. “Good point,” I acknowledged. “But should I just sit here and not defend myself?”
“From a strategic perspective, yes, you shouldn’t defend yourself, because you haven’t been charged with anything. If and when you are, we’ll hire private detectives to investigate. I don’t want to imply that our relationship with Alverez is adversarial, but it’s always a mistake to volunteer information. Remember what I told you? Short answers.”
“Thank you, Max,” I said. Having thought of a line of investigation that Max considered worth noting boosted my spirits a little. It was one thing to theoretically expect the best and prepare for the worst. It was another thing
