other crimes,” Avery said. “It’s a long shot, but we have to do everything possible.”
“Did the search teams find anything?”
“No.” Avery played with a crystal paperweight. “We did manage to locate his point of entry into the tunnels from the refurbished sewer pipe, but he was gone by then.”
“You couldn’t follow his trail?” Emilie asked.
“What trail?” Avery snorted. “The two inches of standing water washed away any footprints, and police aren’t exactly equipped to go trolling in the tunnels. We don’t know the system very well. We focused the search on the culverts and washes—the drainage ditches—in hopes of catching him or finding a witness.”
“And you found nothing?” Emilie couldn’t keep the anger out of her voice.
“I promise we’re exhausting every resource to find this man,” Ronson said. “The sketch is the first step. I’ll go get Officer Mallory.” She left, and Emilie was stuck alone with Avery.
He hefted the crystal paperweight off his desk and rolled it around in his hand like a squish-ball. “Let’s talk about past acquaintances. Is there anyone you can think of that made you feel uncomfortable? A customer that acted inappropriately? A date you refused?” The detective’s gaze slipped to Emilie’s bare calves. “A man you may have shunned at some point?”
“No.” She stood up and walked to the window. “There’s no one like that.”
“You weren’t seeing anyone? What about the bank president? Lisa Craig said you two are close.”
“Excuse me?”
“What’s your relationship with Jeremy Vance?”
“We’re friends.”
“That’s not what Ms. Craig thinks.”
“She’s a vindictive bitch.”
“So you’re not having an affair with your boss?”
Emilie couldn’t believe the detective’s brazenness. She snapped her head back and forth, unable to speak.
Avery set the paperweight back down and folded his hands in his lap. “We need to know about your relationships.”
“Jeremy’s a good friend. So is his wife, Sarah. I’m not sleeping with her, either.”
“We can’t help you if you don’t cooperate. Acting like a smart-ass isn’t going to get you anywhere. Is this part of your psychosis?”
“What are you talking about?” Emilie ground her teeth in an effort not to shout.
“We got a warrant to pull your financial and medical records yesterday. Protocol since you were in charge of the bank–you could have been an accomplice. You had a stay in a psych ward shortly after your divorce. Care to elaborate?”
“I spent three days in a psychiatric ward, self-admitted.” Emilie felt violated. Her fingernails dug into her palms. She loosened her clenched fists. “And no, I don’t. It’s none of your business and irrelevant to the case.”
“On the contrary, it’s very relevant. You were in a psych ward exposed to individuals with serious disorders. Any one of them could be a suspect. And of course, we have to consider your mental health now. Are you currently seeing a psychiatrist?”
“No.” Emilie barely got the words past her pinched lips. “But you already know that since you’ve no doubt scoured my charts. And I wasn’t in the part of the facility where they were treating the most serious patients. I was depressed, not psychotic.”
“Doesn’t matter. You were there. We’ll be tracking down as many people as we can, but you need to think about the people you came in contact with there.”
“Easy. The staff. A therapist and I talked about my divorce. That’s it.”
“I’ll need the therapist’s name. You didn’t fraternize with any other patients?” Avery tapped his index finger on the desk, his raised eyebrows matching the smug slant of his mouth.
“No.” Emilie fumed. “Why are you treating me like I'm suspected of some wrongdoing?”
“Just doing my job. I don’t think you’re telling me everything. You sure none of your cohabitants in the psych ward could have come looking for you?
“Did the search teams find anything?”
“No.” Avery played with a crystal paperweight. “We did manage to locate his point of entry into the tunnels from the refurbished sewer pipe, but he was gone by then.”
“You couldn’t follow his trail?” Emilie asked.
“What trail?” Avery snorted. “The two inches of standing water washed away any footprints, and police aren’t exactly equipped to go trolling in the tunnels. We don’t know the system very well. We focused the search on the culverts and washes—the drainage ditches—in hopes of catching him or finding a witness.”
“And you found nothing?” Emilie couldn’t keep the anger out of her voice.
“I promise we’re exhausting every resource to find this man,” Ronson said. “The sketch is the first step. I’ll go get Officer Mallory.” She left, and Emilie was stuck alone with Avery.
He hefted the crystal paperweight off his desk and rolled it around in his hand like a squish-ball. “Let’s talk about past acquaintances. Is there anyone you can think of that made you feel uncomfortable? A customer that acted inappropriately? A date you refused?” The detective’s gaze slipped to Emilie’s bare calves. “A man you may have shunned at some point?”
“No.” She stood up and walked to the window. “There’s no one like that.”
“You weren’t seeing anyone? What about the bank president? Lisa Craig said you two are close.”
“Excuse me?”
“What’s your relationship with Jeremy Vance?”
“We’re friends.”
“That’s not what Ms. Craig thinks.”
“She’s a vindictive bitch.”
“So you’re not having an affair with your boss?”
Emilie couldn’t believe the detective’s brazenness. She snapped her head back and forth, unable to speak.
Avery set the paperweight back down and folded his hands in his lap. “We need to know about your relationships.”
“Jeremy’s a good friend. So is his wife, Sarah. I’m not sleeping with her, either.”
“We can’t help you if you don’t cooperate. Acting like a smart-ass isn’t going to get you anywhere. Is this part of your psychosis?”
“What are you talking about?” Emilie ground her teeth in an effort not to shout.
“We got a warrant to pull your financial and medical records yesterday. Protocol since you were in charge of the bank–you could have been an accomplice. You had a stay in a psych ward shortly after your divorce. Care to elaborate?”
“I spent three days in a psychiatric ward, self-admitted.” Emilie felt violated. Her fingernails dug into her palms. She loosened her clenched fists. “And no, I don’t. It’s none of your business and irrelevant to the case.”
“On the contrary, it’s very relevant. You were in a psych ward exposed to individuals with serious disorders. Any one of them could be a suspect. And of course, we have to consider your mental health now. Are you currently seeing a psychiatrist?”
“No.” Emilie barely got the words past her pinched lips. “But you already know that since you’ve no doubt scoured my charts. And I wasn’t in the part of the facility where they were treating the most serious patients. I was depressed, not psychotic.”
“Doesn’t matter. You were there. We’ll be tracking down as many people as we can, but you need to think about the people you came in contact with there.”
“Easy. The staff. A therapist and I talked about my divorce. That’s it.”
“I’ll need the therapist’s name. You didn’t fraternize with any other patients?” Avery tapped his index finger on the desk, his raised eyebrows matching the smug slant of his mouth.
“No.” Emilie fumed. “Why are you treating me like I'm suspected of some wrongdoing?”
“Just doing my job. I don’t think you’re telling me everything. You sure none of your cohabitants in the psych ward could have come looking for you?
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