I wake up in a good mood which lasts until I arrive at work and answer the phone only to hear Inspector Robinson’s voice on the other end. A phone call from the cops first thing in the morning, especially a Monday morning, especially a Monday morning at work, can really bring a person down. She has a few more questions that she wants to ask me, she informs me in a brisk tone. When I protest being disturbed at work, she points out that the alternative would be for me to come down to the precinct, which is precisely the last thing I want to do on my lunch break. I hem and haw, but finally give in. Even though I don’t want to be heard associating with the police, it’s the lesser evil which is exactly why the inspector brought up the point about me traipsing down to the precinct, I’m sure.
“When you and Mr. Frantz were outside, how long did you leave Ms. Bowers inside alone?” Now that she has gotten what she wanted, the inspector can afford to be friendly so she warms up her tone a fraction.
“Um, five minutes? No, probably longer than that. Maybe ten.” I tend to underestimate time, thinking less time has passed than actually has.
“And you’re positive that you left the bedroom after viewing the deceased before Mr. Frantz?” She sounds as if she’s reading the questions off a list, which she probably is.
“I told you, I can’t be sure,” I say, lowering my voice. I don’t want my boss to catch me talking on the phone to the police on company time. “Look, I don’t meant to be difficult, but could we do this another time? I’ll even come down to the station.” I’ve changed my mind. Anything is better than sweating it out over the phone, paranoid that one of my colleagues will overhear me.
“What a great idea. Be sure to bring Mr. Frantz with you so you can both sign your statements as well, which, as you probably forgot, you were supposed to do yesterday. Have a nice day, Ms. Liang.” She hangs up before I can ask her where exactly is the station. I suppose I’ll have to look it up on the internet. I call Paris at home to relay the message, but he’s not there.
“Paris? It’s me. We have to go to the police station today to make our statements, and Inspector Robinson wants to talk to me. Call me so we can—”
“Hello? Rayne?” It’s Paris. I should have known he would be screening his calls. He always does because he has too many complications in his love life to want to deal with them in person. “What the fuck?”
“We were supposed to give our statements yesterday, remember?” I am gloomy after talking to the esteemed Inspector Robinson. She was all business on the phone, not at all how I imagined our next encounter would be.
“Damn it, I wish we were done with this!” Paris says in disgust.
“Pick me up at four. I’ll see you then.” I am about to hang up the phone when I add, “Find out where the police station is while you’re at it.” I figure since he’s not at work, it’d be more expedient for him to do it than for me. We could probably walk if it’s in the Mission, but I’m not in the mood.