“I'm not awake during the day very often. I'm sort of a night owl. If you haven't realized, we are having this conversation at four in the morning.” Well, 3:54. If it was 4:00, he would be having a conversation with the linoleum.

The two detectives take this in and I ask, “So who is Callie Freig?”

Cal squints his distaste at the role reversal. Ray takes a deep breath and says, “Twenty-four-year-old female. Has been renting the house from the Clemens – who spend half the year in Florida – for the past three months. Craigslist post. Fifteen hundred bucks a month. Steep, but they gave her a good deal. No Facebook. No Instagram. Very little credit history. No next of kin. Parents unknown.”

I'm left trying to synthesize all this information, pondering how and when she met the President of the United States, when Ray asks me for a glass of water.

I nod at the kitchen and say, “Help yourself.”

A cupboard opens and shuts and she asks, “Where?”

I walk into the kitchen.

“Funny thing,” Cal says behind me. “We never did find Callie Freig's cell phone. And even funnier thing, last night, my partner said she heard two phones ringing, after you — and this is the funniest part — after you said you only had the one.”

I pull a glass from the cupboard, fill it with water, and hand it to Ray.

“And you think I stole her phone,” I say, trying to buy myself some time.

Cal grins.

“I'll be right back.” I head to the bedroom.

It is 3:57 when I exit the bedroom. I have three minutes to get them out. Three minutes to convince them that I didn't kill Callie Freig.

I hold out my hand to Ray. “I still use it as an alarm. Check it.”

She takes the original iPhone from me and clicks on the alarm clock. It is set to 3:55 a.m. She hits it and chimes play. It isn't exactly the same as the ring on Callie's phone, but it is a close enough approximation.

“Why do you have an alarm set for 3:55 a.m.?” scoffs Cal.

“Tokyo markets close at 4:00 a.m. I set the alarm so I can remember to get my last trades in.” I have no idea what time the Tokyo markets close, but as Tokyo is on the other side of the globe, it seems rational.

“Why not use the alarm clock on your new phone?” asks Ray.

“Uh—” I stall. “I made a lot of money while I had that phone. Good luck charm, I guess.”

It is 3:58.

“Speaking of, I have to make a last minute trade. Thanks for stopping by.”

The two reluctantly head toward the door.

“Oh, another thing,” remarks Ray. “We found a bunch of cat food across the street, but, well, no cat.”

I look at Lassie sitting on one of the chairs at the table, curled in a ball.