“Thanks for seeing me,” the woman said, her words slurring. “I hope you’ll forgive me. After the break-in, I had a couple glasses of wine to fall asleep, and when I woke up, I came straight here, so I’ll admit, I’m a little bit…”

Claire held up a hand. “What, exactly, can we help you with?”

The woman took a long, slow breath. “I left a tip about, um, Ryan Hooks, in relation to the murder that took place on Oak Street on Saturday. I have reason to think that he might be involved.”

“Why do you say that?” Claire asked.

“Because I actually dropped him off there about a week ago. I drive for DAC, and I picked him up at the Renouvelle Hotel before dropping him at that same apartment.” The woman shook her head. “But let me back up.”

She launched into a long, drawn-out story about the elderly couple she had dropped off at Lurie Children’s; her husband, whom she was taking care of; Ryan Hooks, whom she claimed to drop off at the Oak Street apartment without recognizing him; and a break-in at her apartment earlier that morning. When she was done, Claire leaned forward.

“Ms. Wilson—” she said.

“Mrs.,” the woman said with a small shrug.

It was the fourth time she’d mentioned her husband since she’d arrived, and Claire made a note of it on the paper in front of her.

“Okay, Mrs. Wilson,” Claire said, sneaking a glance at Greg. “Is there anything else you can tell us about what happened on the night you dropped him off? You said you thought Mr. Hooks seemed nervous when he got into your car. Do you still feel that way?”

The woman made a face, but she covered it quickly. “Yes, he was so…” She paused. “Fidgety. I guess you could describe it as nervous. I can’t really explain it, but I could tell something was wrong.”

Claire felt her anger rise as the woman stared at them innocently. She wanted to reach across the table to shake her, to demand that she tell the truth, but she also knew they had the upper hand by not letting on that they knew who she was. Not yet, at least.

They’d take their time, confirm she was who they thought she was, and get as much information out of her as they could.

“I really wish you could explain it.”

Claire watched as the woman froze.

“So why exactly are you sharing this information with us?” Claire asked. “If you’re insinuating that Mr. Hooks had something to do with the incident on Oak Street this past weekend, you must realize how serious of an accusation that is.”

The woman still did not say anything; she just sat there frozen, looking back and forth between Claire and Greg.

“Are you okay?” Claire asked.

Still no response.

“Mrs. Wilson? Are you all right?”

Nothing.

“Mrs. Wilson?”