Chapter 4
Back in Harvey’s office, across a desk from the two men, Paul tries to keep his rapidly vanishing cool.
He’s worried about going to jail for stealing groceries, sure, but he’s more worried this officer will remember his name from the Judith Stanley case and will haul him in to be requestioned.
This time with much keener interest. If he’s one kind of criminal, after all, he might be another.
Paul Sorenson? the officer—Officer Prager—will say. That name rings a bell…
Thankfully, no such thing happens. Officer Prager covers grocery theft—not high-profile murders.
He may have heard the suspects’ names in passing—or not—but he doesn’t seem to recognize Paul’s.
It helps that Paul’s name was never batted around in the news coverage; he was mainly identified as a “person of interest,” and once or twice as “Judith’s photography instructor.
” It was Tom’s name they liked the most—along with the classic husband-murders-wife storyline.
Instead, Paul observes indifference in Prager’s eyes, alongside a loosely veiled impatience with Harvey the store manager.
Harvey is oblivious, though. He sits straight-backed beside Prager, trying to borrow some of the man’s swagger, scowling at Paul as if he’s already been arrested, tried, and sentenced.
This little prick, Paul thinks. But it doesn’t matter.
Prager looks at Paul and sees a well-dressed middle-class white man—a professor, Paul made sure to tell him—and probably thinks Harvey has wasted his precious time.
Paul sniffs the opportunity, then seizes it.
“Officer Prager, I didn’t steal anything. I paid for the groceries, and I just forgot to pick up my receipt. I was in a hurry, my fiancée is in the hospital. She’s waiting for me right now. The old lady at the cash register—”
“She isn’t that old,” Harvey interjects. Paul gives the officer a meaningful look.
“Well, sir, she’s old enough that she didn’t remember me, even though I’d just been through her line and talked with her about her family. I’d say that’s somewhat elderly behavior.” Paul sees the exasperated look on Prager’s face and knows he’s already won.
“Harvey, I don’t think you’ve got a thief here. I think you’ve got a misunderstanding. Right, Professor?” Prager asks.
“Absolutely. And believe me, it’s the last time I leave without a receipt, and the last time I spare the grocery bagger, too.”
“I think that’s a good plan. Are you good with this, Harvey?
Can the man leave with his groceries now?
” He sounds deeply annoyed. Harvey’s round face is red as a beet, but he eventually nods.
He looks less like a prick and more like a chastised child, but he keeps his eyes trained furiously on Paul’s face.
Once Paul has shaken hands with Officer Prager, who strides away on more pressing business, Harvey follows him all the way out of the store.
“Don’t come back here, Professor,” he spits. “This is my family’s store, and I’m adding your name to our blacklist.”
Paul barely stifles a laugh—but it’s a nervous one.
“All right, Harvey. Sorry to have caused you such trouble. You have a nice day now.” He could torment the man a little, but he leaves it. As he pushes the full cart of stolen goods to the car, Paul knows without looking back that Harvey, stuffed into that pathetic green vest, is glaring after him.