“Then you’ll just have to repeat what you’ve said. Do your best not to sound irritated, and don’t elaborate. That never does any good.”
“Okay . . . Do you think she’ll ask about Guy? About his dealings with Eve Blazer?” To my embarrassment, my voice catches as I speak.
“Yes, most likely. Again, keep your answers short and to the point.”
And now the question I hate having to ask. “What if she springs something on me about Guy and Eve that I’m not aware of?”
Maycock relaxes his professional demeanor and extends a sympathetic look.
“I know you’re concerned there might be land mines—Guy mentioned that to me—but your husband’s given me his word that there aren’t any.”
I take comfort from this assurance. It would be stupid for Guy to deceive his lawyer.
Maycock announces that it’s time to go and slips into the pin-striped jacket that’s been draped on the back of his chair. He suggests we travel in his car so we’ll have to secure only one parking space.
This time there’s no desk-side conversation. Detective Mazzola ushers us to an interview room painted soggy-dishrag gray, with nothing but a metal table and several folding chairs. Corcoran, dressed in an un-summery burgundy blazer, is waiting there, already seated at the table. After she checks out Maycock, I catch her shooting her partner a mocking look, one that seems to translate as, So Miss Smarty Pants lawyered up, too. Why am I not surprised?
“We’ve probably interrupted your Saturday plans, haven’t we?” Corcoran says as soon as we’re seated.
The comment seems weird. Because she clearly doesn’t mind interrupting my plans.
“Not a problem,” I say.
“It must be nice to be up here this summer, spending more time with your husband.”
“Yes, it is.”
“Up until now, you two have had a commuter relationship, right?”
I’m confused about where she’s going with this. Is it the small talk thing she always does in the beginning of an interview?
“Yes. It’s not a perfect situation, but we’ve made it work for us.”
She cocks her head. “I don’t know if I could do it myself. That’s got to be tough on a couple.”
Not good, I think. It sounds like this interview is going to revolve around Guy and me, not the money, as Guy suggested.
“Ms. Harper has already commented on this,” Maycock announces. “Can we move on?”
Corcoran pauses briefly but never takes her eyes off me. “Are you aware that before you moved up here, your husband had a drink at a bar with Eve Blazer?”
Okay, so here it comes. Stay cool, I warn myself.
“He mentioned that, yes.”
“At the time?”
“Pardon me?”
“Did he mention it the night it happened? Before he went out?”
“It came up after the fact,” I say carefully.
“Did that concern you? That he’d had drinks with another woman?”
“Because of his work, he often has drinks with people. There wasn’t any reason for me to be concerned.”
Can she spot I’m lying? Can Maycock? I’m certainly not going to admit to the contrary because it could end up fanning any suspicion that Guy was screwing Eve.
“And are you aware that, according to your husband at least, Ms. Blazer came on to him the night they had drinks?”
“He mentioned that. He said he wanted me to be in the loop about what had happened.”
I realize I’m elaborating, exactly what Maycock cautioned against, and I prompt myself to be more careful.
Corcoran purses her lips. “Didn’t it bother you that another woman was preying on your husband?”
It’s starting to get personal, and I’m not sure how to respond. I wish I could glance at Maycock and read advice in his eyes, but I worry that will make it look like I’m being calculating.
“Well, I certainly don’t admire women who behave that way,” I say.
“Speaking of women, we never did find the one who called you and told you to come down to the catering kitchen.”
So we’re finally back to that.
“I wish I could help. But I’ve told you everything I remember about the call.”
Corcoran drums the table lightly with her fingers and then locks eyes with me so intensely, it throws me off balance. Something’s wrong, I think, but I don’t know what. She lets her hand go still.
“And you’re sure there really was a call?” she says. “That you didn’t buy a phone and call yourself?”
I can’t believe what I’m hearing. She’s suggesting that I fabricated the call. Does she think my Saturday morning visit to Pure Kitchen was totally on my own initiative, an attempt on my part to exert more pressure on Eve about the missing money?
“What possible reason would Ms. Harper have for doing that?” Maycock interjects before I can respond.
I hold my breath, waiting for the answer.
“You tell me,” Corcoran says.
“There was a call,” I blurt out. “Yes, I was upset about the money, but it wasn’t like I needed to rush down there again and check on it.”