direction opposite his office. As they enter the corridor that houses all the interrogation rooms, Jack gives the Chief a look, as if to say Why are we going this way? The Chief ignores him and keeps walking. He stops outside one of the rooms and motions Jack in. Three cops are seated inside at a table. The Chief follows Jack in and closes the door.
"Jack, please, take a seat. Would you like something to drink?"
Jack eyes the Chief warily. It's the first line they always give to certain types of suspects.
"No, thank you, I'm fine." He scans the faces of the other officers and tries to read them. To the Chief, he says, "What's going on? What do you need to talk to me about?"
"Please, take a seat." Gunner grabs a chair for himself and lowers himself into it. Jack is the only one standing now, so he finally complies.
"What's this about?" he tries again.
"We need to ask you some questions."
"Okay."
"Something's come up. We're sure it's probably a simple misunderstanding, but we're obligated to follow up, and—"
"What are you talking about?" Jack's voice is slightly louder than it should be, but something about this whole scenario is wrong. It's making him crazy that Gunner won't just get to the point.
The Chief turns to one of the officers.
"Tommy?"
Tommy leans forward a bit in his chair.
"Mr. Hilliard, can you—"
"Jack."
"Jack." He nods. "Certainly." He breathes in. "Can you tell us where you were on Saturday night?"
"I guess that would depend upon what time on Saturday night you're referring to." He's being smart, and they know it.
He stares at the Chief. "What's going on, Gunner? I'm the DA. Are you
interrogating me? Because if you are, I think you'd better damn well tell me that's what you're doing, and why."
Claire sits behind her desk and motions for the officers to sit in the chairs on the opposite side.
"Mrs. Hilliard," the female officer starts. Officer Caruthers, she said. She's petite but projects a confidence that probably results from years of having to prove herself. "We're so sorry to disturb you at work like this, but we need to ask you a few questions. Please understand that you're not in any trouble."
"Okay." Claire notes that the woman talks to her the way cops talk to laymen, as if she's forgotten Claire is a lawyer. But she isn't about to remind them.
"It's about Saturday night."
Claire tenses. She thinks of the incident with Michael and wonders if he lied to her and Jack. Did Michael and Celeste do more than just hang out in the woods and come home late? Was he even with
Celeste at all that night? She really doesn't know for sure, not for a fact.
"We're wondering if you can tell us where Mr. Hilliard was that night."
Officer Caruthers speaks softly and her gentle hazel eyes regard Claire with sympathy. And even though Claire knows exactly where Jack was, she's suddenly furious with him. But for him, she'd never have to be in another's presence and maintain the charade that neither remembered what her husband had done four years before. Has she forgiven him?
She thinks so, but she'll never be able to forget. Because no one else does.
She glances at the other cop. He eyes her coldly, his notepad in his left hand and a pen poised to write in the other.
Claire thinks he looks a little too eager.
"Are you referring to Jack? Or my older son?"
"We're asking about your husband, ma'am," the man says, deadpan. "The DA."
Claire is certain he didn't vote for Jack.
"He was at home with me. Why? What is this about?"
With a mere glance, Caruthers shoots a dagger at her partner. But her voice is still warm when she speaks to Claire. "Was there any point between, say, after dinnertime on Saturday evening and before breakfast on Sunday morning that he might not have been at home with you?"
An image of Jack flashes through her mind, sitting in the chair at the end of the couch in street clothes. In the middle of the night. She thinks of Jenny being back.
Did he see her even before the
"Jack, please, take a seat. Would you like something to drink?"
Jack eyes the Chief warily. It's the first line they always give to certain types of suspects.
"No, thank you, I'm fine." He scans the faces of the other officers and tries to read them. To the Chief, he says, "What's going on? What do you need to talk to me about?"
"Please, take a seat." Gunner grabs a chair for himself and lowers himself into it. Jack is the only one standing now, so he finally complies.
"What's this about?" he tries again.
"We need to ask you some questions."
"Okay."
"Something's come up. We're sure it's probably a simple misunderstanding, but we're obligated to follow up, and—"
"What are you talking about?" Jack's voice is slightly louder than it should be, but something about this whole scenario is wrong. It's making him crazy that Gunner won't just get to the point.
The Chief turns to one of the officers.
"Tommy?"
Tommy leans forward a bit in his chair.
"Mr. Hilliard, can you—"
"Jack."
"Jack." He nods. "Certainly." He breathes in. "Can you tell us where you were on Saturday night?"
"I guess that would depend upon what time on Saturday night you're referring to." He's being smart, and they know it.
He stares at the Chief. "What's going on, Gunner? I'm the DA. Are you
interrogating me? Because if you are, I think you'd better damn well tell me that's what you're doing, and why."
Claire sits behind her desk and motions for the officers to sit in the chairs on the opposite side.
"Mrs. Hilliard," the female officer starts. Officer Caruthers, she said. She's petite but projects a confidence that probably results from years of having to prove herself. "We're so sorry to disturb you at work like this, but we need to ask you a few questions. Please understand that you're not in any trouble."
"Okay." Claire notes that the woman talks to her the way cops talk to laymen, as if she's forgotten Claire is a lawyer. But she isn't about to remind them.
"It's about Saturday night."
Claire tenses. She thinks of the incident with Michael and wonders if he lied to her and Jack. Did Michael and Celeste do more than just hang out in the woods and come home late? Was he even with
Celeste at all that night? She really doesn't know for sure, not for a fact.
"We're wondering if you can tell us where Mr. Hilliard was that night."
Officer Caruthers speaks softly and her gentle hazel eyes regard Claire with sympathy. And even though Claire knows exactly where Jack was, she's suddenly furious with him. But for him, she'd never have to be in another's presence and maintain the charade that neither remembered what her husband had done four years before. Has she forgiven him?
She thinks so, but she'll never be able to forget. Because no one else does.
She glances at the other cop. He eyes her coldly, his notepad in his left hand and a pen poised to write in the other.
Claire thinks he looks a little too eager.
"Are you referring to Jack? Or my older son?"
"We're asking about your husband, ma'am," the man says, deadpan. "The DA."
Claire is certain he didn't vote for Jack.
"He was at home with me. Why? What is this about?"
With a mere glance, Caruthers shoots a dagger at her partner. But her voice is still warm when she speaks to Claire. "Was there any point between, say, after dinnertime on Saturday evening and before breakfast on Sunday morning that he might not have been at home with you?"
An image of Jack flashes through her mind, sitting in the chair at the end of the couch in street clothes. In the middle of the night. She thinks of Jenny being back.
Did he see her even before the
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