Just Watch Me: a Novel by Jeff Lindsay

Author:Jeff Lindsay [Lindsay, Jeff]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Penguin Publishing Group
Published: 2019-12-03T00:00:00+00:00

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Katrina had seen enough cop shows on TV to know that it was never good news when the detectives asked you to “come down to the station and answer a few questions.” It usually meant they thought you were guilty. But of course, she was not guilty, so really, what was there to worry about? There wasn’t really any point in calling Tyler, her lawyer. This was just a formality, probably taking no more than an hour. And in all honesty, Katrina’s kind of wealth—enormous and inherited—has an insulating effect. Even if you are a very good person, a vast fortune makes you tend to believe, consciously or not, that you are protected against being arrested or otherwise inconvenienced.

So Katrina was a little bit alarmed to receive the invitation to answer a few questions, but not really worried. And the two detectives were so polite, asking if she was comfortable several times as she rode to the station in the back seat of a patrol car. She told them she was, thank you. But Katrina was not comfortable. Not at all. Not because the car’s seat was lumpy. Her discomfort came from her thoughts. First, because her husband was dead from a violent murder. Of course, that would make anybody uncomfortable. Even if they didn’t really like their husband.

But far worse was wondering if somehow Randall was the killer. He certainly had a motive—and she had heard Michael yelling at Randall! Right before the front door slammed. He could easily have killed Michael and then hurried out.

But then the alarm had gone back on—after Randall left! Only Michael knew the code, so he had to have been the one who turned it back on. Randall couldn’t possibly have done it—and so he couldn’t possibly have killed Michael. But that meant the killer was already in the house—except how and when did the killer leave the house? After the place was swarming with cops?

Katrina could not make sense of it. And the two detectives with their constant fake concern for her comfort didn’t help. And it didn’t stop. They were even polite when they took her fingerprints—“Would you be willing?” and it was “just a formality.” Katrina agreed, thinking it would help prove her innocence when none of her prints were found in Michael’s office.

The politeness continued when they took her to an interrogation room. They even gave her a cup of coffee. True, it was really terrible coffee. But it was not at all the kind of rough treatment she’d seen on TV shows, and for that, at least, she was grateful, and she sipped from a Styrofoam cup as they all sat at the table.

“Mrs. Hobson,” the older detective said in a kind of sympathetic way—although he did emphasize the name a little, as if to remind her that she was married—had been married—to a person who had just been murdered. “I’m Detective Sanders. This is Detective Melnick.” They both nodded courteously. “It must have been a terrible shock for you.

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