Chapter 50
They keep Roy in prison, for now. They let me go back to the house to get some personal items, but there were no personal items that I wanted.
I moved back to the little studio above the Chinese restaurant. I’m just killing time until the trial. Until I know what will happen to him. And to me.
Detective Bates comes to see me, glancing around the room with pity in his eyes.
“How is your face?” he asks.
I still wear a lot of makeup, so you couldn’t tell if the swellings were still there, but they’re not.
“I went to a doctor and had the fillers taken out. It’s fine now.”
“Good, good. May I?” He points to the chair.
“Of course.”
I like seeing Detective Bates in my little apartment, with his arms like Popeye and hands that could crush a semi-trailer.
He has returned to give me an update on the case.
I put down a plate of freshly baked chocolate chip cookies.
Freshly baked because the moment Detective Bates called me to ask if he could come and visit, I started baking.
“How is Roy?” I ask.
“Still in jail, if that’s what you’re worried about.” I push the plate toward him.
“Any particular reason he hasn’t been released on bail?”
He takes a cookie. “Given the nature of the crimes he’s accused of, and that—” He takes a bite, then stares at the cookie. “These are spectacular.”
“Thank you. You were saying?”
“We’ve got CCTV of him driving his car to Ms. Greenwood’s house the night she died.”
I nod thoughtfully. “I see. And you’re sure it’s him?”
“It was dark. The footage is grainy, but there’s enough there to show it’s him—the peak of his cap, his hands—gloves, I should say—on the steering wheel.
So yes, we’re 99 percent certain.” He reaches for another cookie.
“People don’t realize, Mrs. Davies, but these days, there’s always a camera watching.
There’s always someone watching. And the video he took of Deborah Davies doesn’t do him any favors either,” he adds, engulfing the cookie in one go.
“What about Deborah’s murder?” I ask. “We know he did it.”
He chews the last bite, then clears his throat into his fist. “It’s not up to me, but again, it’s an older case.
We’re going to reinterview the neighbors, check any CCTV from the area, although, by now, it’s unlikely we’ll find any footage of the night.
We’ll talk to everyone we possibly can, I promise you.
But unless we come up with any new witnesses, it’s going to be very hard to prosecute.
So unless you know someone who might have seen something… ”
I shake my head, but my heart is racing. As it happens, I may know someone.
At the door, I say, “Thank you for coming to tell me this.”
He shrugs. “It’s my last case. I’m retiring in a minute. I’d like to get this one right.”
Twenty minutes later, I ring the doorbell at Meredith’s front door. It’s the second Monday of the month, so I’m pretty sure she’s at her monthly hair appointment.
Dolores opens the door.
“Jodie!” She grabs my hand, pulling me in. “I am so sorry, so sorry about everything that’s happened. I asked Mrs. Meredith for your number but she said she didn’t have it. I wanted to tell you how very sorry I am for what you went through.”
By now, thanks to the press, everyone knows that I am Deborah’s sister. Meredith—who absolutely has my number—has given interviews claiming she always suspected that because we looked alike, and she never trusted Roy anyway. “Too suave,” she said. “I always had a bad feeling about him.”
“Is she home?” I ask.
“No, she’s at the hair salon.”
“Good,” I say. “It’s Mikey I want to talk to. Is he here?”
“Yes, but why do you want to talk to Mikey?”
I have prepared myself for this question. When talking to Detective Bates earlier, I remembered Mikey’s face that day in my kitchen when I asked him if he had seen Deb the day she died. Something in his eyes told me he knew something. Maybe he even saw something.
I’m so screwed.
“Because he was Deborah’s friend,” I tell her, “and I really need to know if he knew something.”
“I don’t think Mikey—”
I take her hand. “Please. I need to know.”
Dolores nods, then goes upstairs to fetch him, and we sit together at the kitchen table.
“Hello,” I say.
He smiles.
Then I ask Dolores to sign for us.
“I know you were Deb’s friend,” I say. “We talked about it a few weeks ago. I need to ask you, Mikey, because the police are going to interview everyone around here, and that probably will include you.”
Dolores was signing but she stops abruptly and whips her head toward me. “Mikey didn’t do anything wrong.”
“No, he didn’t. There’s nothing to be afraid of. But they’ll want to know if he saw something the day she died.”
She nods, then returns to signing.
Mikey nods.
“I asked Mikey if he was there the day she died,” Dolores says. “He says he was.” She doesn’t look happy.
My stomach twists.
“Did you see Deb?”
He hesitates, glances at his mother, then shakes his head. No. He signs quickly. Dolores signs back. Now, she looks absolutely furious.
“What is he saying?” I ask. She ignores me. She’s still signing frantically.
“What is he saying!” I ask again.
Dolores sighs. “I didn’t know this. I want you to know.”
“Okay.”
“Mikey says Mrs. Davies—Mrs. Deborah—gave him the code for the back door and told him to let himself in and help himself to the kitchen. I am very angry, Jodie. I can’t believe Mikey would—”
I put my arm on hers. “She was his friend,” I say. “She said it was all right. Mikey did nothing wrong.”
It takes her a moment, but finally, she nods. She takes a breath. “Mikey was there, but he didn’t see Mrs. Davies.”
“When’s the last time he saw her?”
She signs. Mikey shrugs, signs back.
“He doesn’t remember, but it was at least a week before she died.”
I sigh. “Did he see anyone else that day?”
He takes a second to reply, then gives one quick nod.