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Chapter no 7 – NATALIE

The Coworker

I SCREAMED FOR ABOUT A MINUTE.

Thatโ€™s my estimate. Based on about how long it felt, and also how much my throat feels scratchy right now. I screamed for a full minute, then I managed to get it together enough to dial 911 with shaking hands.

Needless to say, I got the hell out of that house.

Now the police are here. They are swarming around the house, dusting for fingerprints or whatever else policemen do at a crime scene. I donโ€™t want to know. Iโ€™ve been sitting in my car since they got here. Iโ€™m not supposed to leave, but I donโ€™t want to go anywhere near that house again.

I called Seth to let him know what was going on and that I wouldnโ€™t be back at work. He sounded rattled, but thatโ€™s nothing compared to how I feel. I usually tell Kim everything, but I didnโ€™t want to tell her about this. Sheโ€™d just treat it like interesting gossip, which would be disrespectful. So instead, I text Caleb. Heโ€™ll say the right thingโ€”I know it.

Sure enough, I get a text back right away:

Holy crap! Are you okay?

 

Not really.

 

Iโ€™ll be reliving what I saw in that living room until the day I die. All that bloodโ€ฆ

Do you want me to come over there?

 

Iโ€™ve been trying so hard not to be a clingy girlfriend. Nothing is a bigger turnoff. But Caleb doesnโ€™t seem like the kind of guy who obsesses over something like that. And heย offered. Plus, I want to see him. I want to bury my face in his chest. So I reply:

Yes please.

 

Just as Iโ€™m texting him the address, I am interrupted by the sound of tapping at the window of my carโ€”thereโ€™s a man at the driverโ€™s side window. Heโ€™s wearing a dark gray suit and tie, and I remember him briefly introducing himself as a detective before I went to hide in the car. I roll down the window.

โ€œMiss Farrell?โ€ he says. โ€œYesโ€ฆโ€

โ€œI gotta talk to you. Can you get out of the car please?โ€

One of the uniformed police officers asked me a few questions before I ran out here. I suppose the detective has a bunch more questions. And maybe some answers, Iโ€™m hoping. Anyway, I donโ€™t have much of a choice, so I climb out of my car.

The detective is in his forties, tall and attractive in a craggy sort of way, with dark hair receding just enough to be noticeable. โ€œDetective Santoro,โ€ he says.

I nod wordlessly.

โ€œSorry I gotta do this, Miss Farrell,โ€ he says.

The detective has a heavy Boston accent. As somebody who grew up in Massachusetts, itโ€™s a comfort to hear it. When he told me to get out of the car, he said โ€œcaah.โ€ And if we were eating lobster for some reason, it would be โ€œlobstah.โ€ I donโ€™t have much of an accent myself, although Caleb claims he hears it. He says itโ€™s cute.

โ€œItโ€™s okay,โ€ I manage. โ€œIs Dawnโ€ฆ did youโ€ฆ find her?โ€

He shakes his head slowly and I let out a sigh of relief. When I saw the massive amount of blood on her carpet, I was certain she was lying somewhere in the house dead. โ€œNo sign of her. Just the blood.โ€

โ€œSo maybe.โ€ I bite down on my lower lip. Too hardโ€”I taste a hint of blood myself. โ€œMaybe she hurt herself. Got a ride to the hospital.โ€

Santoro nods. โ€œYeah, weโ€™re checking out that possibility. Calling all the ambulance companies and hospitals. So far though, weโ€™re not finding her.โ€

Iโ€™m not surprised, but itโ€™s still a blow. โ€œI seeโ€ฆโ€ โ€œSo why did you come to Miss Schiffโ€™s house?โ€

โ€œWell, she was late to workโ€ฆโ€ As Iโ€™m saying it, I see the skeptical look on his face, so I quickly add: โ€œAlso, she sent me this weird email yesterday, telling me she needed to talk to me about something important.โ€ He still doesnโ€™t seem convinced, so I add the clincher: โ€œPlus her phone started ringing on her desk, and when I picked it up, it sounded like she was asking for help. Like she was in trouble.โ€

โ€œI seeโ€ฆ did you hear anyone else on the line?โ€ I shake my head. โ€œNo. Just her voice.โ€

โ€œDid anyone else hear the phone call?โ€

Thatโ€™s a strange thing to ask. What does it matter if somebody else heard the phone call? โ€œNo, just me.โ€

โ€œSo you and Miss Schiff were friends then?โ€

A gust of November wind goes through my blouse and I shiver. โ€œYes.

We were coworkers andโ€ฆ friends.โ€ โ€œClose friends?โ€

โ€œSort of.โ€ Itโ€™s not true, but Dawn didnโ€™t really have any friends. Iโ€™d believe it if somebody told me I was her closest friend.

โ€œDo you know if there was anybody who was threatening her? Anyone she was afraid of?โ€

โ€œNo. Nothing like that.โ€

โ€œDoes she have a boyfriend?โ€

I almost laugh at how ridiculous the question is, but of course, he doesnโ€™t know Dawn. I canโ€™t envision her having a boyfriend. I canโ€™t envision her even kissing a man. Iโ€™m almost 100% certain sheโ€™s a virgin, and she gives off the vibe that she isnโ€™t interested in everย notย being a virgin anymore. Like the way she always wears these shapeless work outfits that look tailored for a man, with giant tortoiseshell glasses that are too big for her narrow face. Never even a scrap of makeup.

But I would never say any of that to a detective. โ€œNo. She didnโ€™t have a boyfriend.โ€

Detective Santoro gives me a funny look. It takes me a second to realize why. โ€œI mean, sheย doesnโ€™tย have a boyfriend.โ€

Oh God, I just referred to her in the past tense. Dawn is going to be okay. Theyโ€™re going to find her and sheโ€™ll be fine. No past tense. Present tense, all the way.

But there wasย soย much blood. How could she be okay if there was so much blood? And that phone callโ€ฆ

Help me.

โ€œWhen was the last time you saw Miss Schiff?โ€ he asks. โ€œAround five oโ€™clock yesterday,โ€ I say. โ€œWhen I left work.โ€

โ€œAnd she didnโ€™t show up for work this morning?โ€ I nod, although he seems to be asking the question rhetorically. He already knows this is true. โ€œSo something happened to her between five oโ€™clock yesterday and this morning atโ€ฆโ€

โ€œA quarter to nine,โ€ I supply. โ€œThatโ€™s when she always shows up at work. Like clockwork.โ€

โ€œSheโ€™s wicked reliable, eh?โ€ โ€œOh yes.โ€

One corner of the detectiveโ€™s lips quirks up. โ€œI like that. Iโ€™m the same way. Itโ€™s good to be punctual.โ€

I very much doubt this detective is anything like Dawn, but Iโ€™m not going to say that. He wonโ€™t understand what sheโ€™s like.

โ€œSo I have to ask you,โ€ he says, โ€œwhere were you between five oโ€™clock yesterday and this morning?โ€

My eyebrows shoot up so fast, my forehead gets whiplash. โ€œMe?โ€ His smile is apologetic. โ€œI have to ask.โ€

I try not to be too offended by the question. Except I donโ€™t know what they think I did. Do they think I killed Dawn, made up a phony call where she asked for help, then went back to her house and โ€œpretendedโ€ to find all that blood on the floor?

โ€œI was with my boyfriend,โ€ I finally say. โ€œHis name is Caleb McCullough.โ€

โ€œAll night?โ€

I wasnโ€™t with Caleb all night. We were together for part of the night, then he left my house. I open my mouth to tell him that, but a nagging voice in the back of my head stops me. My fingerprints are all over Dawnโ€™s house

now. The detective keeps giving me a funny look, like he doesnโ€™t quite believe me.

And thereโ€™s one other thing nagging at me.

โ€œThatโ€™s right,โ€ I say. โ€œI was with Caleb the whole night.โ€ There. That should wipe the suspicious look off Santoroโ€™s face. โ€œAnd this Caleb,โ€ he says, โ€œdoes he know Dawn too?โ€

I lift a shoulder. โ€œA little. Heโ€™s been doing some part-time work for a company we work for. So he knows her, but barely.โ€

โ€œAnd that phone call this morningโ€ฆ you said it came from the phone on her desk?โ€

โ€œThatโ€™s right.โ€ I get a sick feeling in my stomach thinking of how terrified Dawn sounded on that call. Iโ€™m so glad I didnโ€™t ignore it like Seth told me to.

He rubs his chin thoughtfully. โ€œWeโ€™ll see what calls were placed to that number. Find out where the call was coming from.โ€

Wherever Dawn is, I hope they can track her down based on that phone call. If sheโ€™s being held captive, she mustโ€™ve managed for a few seconds.

Detective Santoro grills me with a few other questions about how I knew where Dawn lived, how I got into the house, and also about the broken glass on the floor of the kitchen. Even though Iโ€™m still feeling awful, I at least feel like the investigation is in capable hands. This detective knows what heโ€™s doingโ€”I can tell how serious he is based on the fact that his eyes didnโ€™t stray south of my face while we were talking. Heโ€™s going to find Dawn, wherever she is.

I hope sheโ€™s okay.

Just as heโ€™s finishing up and about to go into the house, a uniformed police officer comes out of the front door. He makes a beeline straight for the detective.

โ€œDetective,โ€ the police officer says. โ€œWe got into the computer in her bedroom.โ€

Santoro rubs his chin. โ€œOh yeah?โ€

โ€œYeah. It was password-protected, but she had the password written on a Post-it note under her mouse pad.โ€

Despite everything, I canโ€™t help but let out a little snort. That isย soย Dawn. So incredibly careful about everything, yet careless about other things. I bet her password was something like โ€œpassword1.โ€

But snorting was probably the wrong thing to do. Detective Santoro gives me a look like Iโ€™m being inappropriate, and heโ€™s probably right. But like I said, he doesnโ€™t know Dawn the way I do.

โ€œAll right,โ€ he says. โ€œLetโ€™s see whatโ€™s in there.โ€ โ€œDo you still need me?โ€ I ask.

โ€œNah, youโ€™re good.โ€ He waves his hand. โ€œBut do you got a business card or something?โ€

I reach into my purse and pull out one of my business cards (or โ€œcahds,โ€ as he said it). As I pass it to the detective, I notice he takes it only with the tip of his fingers. It strikes me as a little odd, but I try not to get too paranoid.

The detective and the policeman disappear into the house, leaving me alone. Goodโ€”I can finally get the hell out of here. I turn around to walk back to my car just as the slightly beat-up green Ford pulls up in front of the house next door.

Caleb. Thank God.

I sprint over to him as briskly as my too-tight Louboutins will allow me. Caleb is getting out of his car and I throw myself into his arms before he can even get the door closed. I bury my face in his chest, the tears gathering in my eyes. This is the worst day ever.

โ€œHey.โ€ His large hand strokes the back of my head. โ€œItโ€™s okay, Nat. Iโ€™m here.โ€

โ€œSomething terrible happened to her,โ€ I murmur into his shirt. Iโ€™m probably getting tear stains and mascara all over him, but he doesnโ€™t seem to care.

โ€œDonโ€™t say that.โ€ He squeezes me to his chest. โ€œI bet sheโ€™ll turn up.โ€

I pull my face away from him to stare up at him. Even in my heels, heโ€™s nearly a head taller than me. Iโ€™ve always liked tall guys. โ€œWhat are you basing that on?โ€

โ€œUmโ€ฆโ€

โ€œBecause if you saw how much blood was in her living room, you wouldnโ€™t be saying that.โ€

โ€œLook, I donโ€™t know.โ€ He offers a helpless shrug. โ€œI just think the best we can do is hope sheโ€™s okay. You know?โ€

I feel guilty for snapping at him. He didnโ€™t deserve that after running out here for me. โ€œIโ€™m sorry. Iโ€™m just so shaken by everything.โ€

โ€œYeah,โ€ he breathes. โ€œI know. Itโ€™s awful.โ€

I rest my head back against his chest. His heart thumps reassuringly in my ear. We remain that way for a good two minutesโ€”me pressed against him, him gently stroking my hair. More points for Calebโ€”heโ€™s kind to me during a tragic event. This is taking our relationship to the next level.

โ€œHey,โ€ I say.

โ€œYeah?โ€

โ€œI need you to do me a favor.โ€ โ€œYou need a ride home?โ€

I would love a ride home. But my car is here, and thereโ€™s no way Iโ€™m going to leave it here. So I have no choice but to get back in there and drive back through the treacherous rush-hour traffic. โ€œNo, thatโ€™s okay.โ€

โ€œSo what do you need? Anything you want.โ€

I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear as I pull away from him. โ€œI need you to tell the police we were together all night last night.โ€

Caleb stiffens. โ€œWhat?โ€

โ€œItโ€™s so stupid.โ€ I shake my head. โ€œThe police were asking me where I was last night. Like I need an alibi or somethingโ€ฆ As if I could have done something to Dawn! Itโ€™s just a formality, Iโ€™m sure. I was there, so they had to ask me. So anyway, I told them we were together all night last night.โ€

โ€œButโ€ฆโ€ He scratches his chin. โ€œWeย werenโ€™tย together all night last night.

I left around 9:30.โ€

โ€œWell, so what? We were together most of the night. Thatโ€™s good enough.โ€

โ€œSo thatโ€™s what Iโ€™ll tell them. That we were together most of the night and I left at 9:30.โ€

I narrow my eyes at him. โ€œIs it that big a deal? I mean, you work with Dawn too. It helps you also to have an alibi.โ€

His eyebrows scrunch together. โ€œBut itโ€™s a lie.โ€

โ€œItโ€™s a white lie. Neither of us did anything to hurt Dawn. So it will just confuse the investigation if we donโ€™t have an alibi.โ€

โ€œI donโ€™t know, Nat.โ€ He rubs the back of his neck. โ€œI donโ€™t feel right lying to the police. Why is it so important that we have alibis? Theyโ€™re not going to think either of us did anything to hurt her.โ€

I fold my arms across my chest. โ€œRight, but I already told him we were together. So if you donโ€™t go along with it, I look like Iโ€™m lying.โ€

โ€œBut youย wereย lying.โ€

There is a stubborn tilt to his jaw thatโ€™s pissing me off. Caleb is a decent, honest guy. I always thought that was aย goodย quality. Now Iโ€™m realizing itโ€™s not necessarily a positive thing.

โ€œCalebโ€ฆโ€ The tears that had started to dry up spring back to my eyes. โ€œThis has been an awful day. Look, theyโ€™re probably not even going to ask you. But would it really be so awful to go along with my story?โ€ Hesitation is in his eyes, and I squeeze his arm. โ€œPlease?โ€

After what feels like an interminable pause, his shoulders sag. โ€œFine. I guess itโ€™s not that big a deal.โ€

Iโ€™m surprised by the rush of relief I feel when Caleb agrees to confirm my story. I mean, itโ€™s not like I would be a murder suspect or something. But given everything, itโ€™s better to have an alibi.

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