Contents (85)
- Contents
- Part I
- One
- Two
- Three
- Four
- Five
- Six
- Seven
- Eight
- Nine
- Ten
- Eleven
- Twelve
- Thirteen
- Fourteen
- Fifteen
- Sixteen
- Seventeen
- Eighteen
- Nineteen
- Twenty
- Twenty-One
- Twenty-Two
- Twenty-Three
- Twenty-Four
- Twenty-Five
- Twenty-Six
- Twenty-Seven
- Twenty-Eight
- Twenty-Nine
- Part II
- Thirty
- Thirty-One
- Thirty-Two
- Thirty-Three
- Thirty-Four
- Thirty-Five
- Thirty-Six
- Thirty-Seven
- Thirty-Eight
- Thirty-Nine
- Forty
- Forty-One
- Forty-Two
- Forty-Three
- Part III
- Forty-Four
- Forty-Five
- Forty-Six
- Forty-Seven
- Forty-Eight
- Forty-Nine
- Fifty
- Fifty-One
- Fifty-Two
- Fifty-Three
- Fifty-Four
- Fifty-Five
- Fifty-Six
- Fifty-Seven
- Fifty-Eight
- Fifty-Nine
- Sixty
- Sixty-One
- Sixty-Two
- Sixty-Three
- Sixty-Four
- Sixty-Five
- Sixty-Six
- Sixty-Seven
- Sixty-Eight
- Sixty-Nine
- Seventy
- Seventy-One
- Seventy-Two
- One
- Two
- Reading Group Guide
- A Conversation with the Author
- Acknowledgments
- About the Author
Twenty-Three
The house was massive, swallowing Colin without noticing, krill to a whale. But it wasn’t the size of it that had him off-balance. The place had an energy, and not necessarily a good one. There was a sense of occurrence here, though everything was still. Best he could compare it to was a crime scene. A silence reverberating with aftershocks.
He sat across from the woman he’d come to see and pressed the button on his recorder.
“Okay, it’s Thursday, October 15, approximately 14:30 hours,” he started. “I’m at 1734 Rum Hill Road in Bury, New Hampshire, speaking with Rose Yates. I’m not being assisted in this interview. Drew Simmons, patrol officer with the Bury Police Department, is in a squad car outside the residence. Ms. Yates is not in custody and has voluntarily elected to speak with me. The subject of this interview is case 18-33456, concerning Riley McKay, Ms. Yates’s late husband.”
She crossed her legs. “God, this all sounds so serious.”
“I know, and apologies for the formality of it all, Ms. Yates. I prefer to record conversations in conjunction with any case I’m working. Makes it easier to remember things. I’m a bit of a stickler for details and procedure.”
“You can call me Rose.”
“Thanks, Rose. And you can call me Colin, or Detective Pearson, whichever you prefer.”
“Well, then.” She leaned back and pulled a strand of hair off her face as he started asking questions.
He went light and easy, as was the plan, telling her he had a few routine follow-up questions in the matter of her husband’s death. He was only a few questions in when it became clear she wasn’t buying it.
“Routine things are usually handled through the phone,” Rose said. “But you came all the way from Milwaukee to New Hampshire. That means you had to get approval for a travel budget from your department, which I’m sure isn’t easy. And certainly not something approved for routine questions.”
Colin nodded rather than smiled; that would come off as patronizing. “I suppose that’s the mystery writer in you coming out. I imagine you’ve researched a lot of police procedure for your books.”
There was a brief widening of her eyes. She was surprised he knew she was a novelist, Colin guessed. “I have. Talked to a lot of cops, a few in your own department even. But not you.”
“Well, I normally don’t work cases like this. But I transferred from Madison not too long ago and I’m helping the department pick up some slack.”
Then followed a slight beat where Rose seemed at a loss for words, compensating by gesturing to the table between them.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I never offered you coffee. This is usually the time I have my last cup for the day. Can I get you some?”
“No, thank you, ma’am.”
“Rose.”
“No, thank you, Rose. But you go right ahead.”
The moment she left the room was when he felt the relief. Her relief. The relief of someone who didn’t want to be interviewed getting a brief reprieve. Rose didn’t want coffee, Colin thought. She wanted to get away.