Think Twice

“Some neighbor,” Myron said.

“There are a few good people in this world, Mr. Bolitar.”

“There are,” Myron said. “Okay, and Mrs. DeChant was gone when you arrived?”

“Yes.”

“For how long?”

“I called her fifteen minutes before I got back. She said she was just leaving, that Dad was down for a nap.”

“So you get home. What happened next?”

“I started making dinner for when Dad woke up. I was home maybe half an hour when the doorbell rang. It was two police officers. They said that a Remington rifle had been stolen from someone in the building. They asked if we owned one. I told them yes. They asked if maybe it was mine. I said let me take a look. I think that surprised them.”

“They probably figured you’d jump on the stolen-gun story,” Myron said. “They figured you’d disposed of the rifle after the murder — that’s what most killers would do — and would come up with some weird excuse that would help them get you. So what happened? Did they ask to come in?”

“Yes. I told them I kept the rifle in my closet.”

“And they followed you there?”

Jackie Newton nodded. “I opened the closet and pushed back the big overcoat in the back and yep, there it was, the rifle, leaning against the wall. Then I said, ‘Nope, the stolen one isn’t mine,’ but they were already freaking out. One took out his gun.”

“What did you think was happening?”

“I didn’t have a clue. I said, ‘Whoa, whoa, calm down, the rifle isn’t even loaded.’ Then I saw that they had gloves on. The cop with the gun called for backup. The other told me not to move. I asked him what was going on. He asked me if I knew Ronald Prine. At that stage, I figured this was just more Prine harassment — that he’d sent them to torment me. I got mad and said, ‘Yeah, I know the prick. What, do you guys work for him or something?’ And then the cop asked again, slower this time, ‘Do you know Ronald Prine?’ and now I really didn’t like the tone in his voice. So I stopped talking. I said I wanted a lawyer.”

“They tested the rifle,” Myron said.

“Yeah, I know.”

“Had you fired it lately?”

“No. No one has fired that gun since Dad took it to a shooting range maybe five, six years ago.”

“You said the rifle was in the closet.”

“Yes.”

“Like readily visible?”

“No, it’s way in the back behind my dad’s old overcoat.”

“So how often do you see it?”

“What do you mean, the rifle?”

“Yes,” Myron said. “We know you were set up. We know that rifle was the murder weapon. This means at some point the killer gained access to your house and took the rifle. So I’m asking when was the last time you saw the rifle.”

“I’m not sure. Months ago probably.”

“Okay, so the killer could have taken it anytime in the past few months. We won’t really be able to narrow that down, but we do know that they had to have returned it sometime between the murder and the time you got home. That’s a pretty narrow time frame. Our best guess is, the killer shot Prine, drove straight to your place, and put the rifle back into the closet. I assume your father’s home alone a lot. Would he hear someone sneaking in?”

“He sleeps a lot,” Jackie said. “He’s in his room most of the time with the door closed. Someone could have sneaked in if they had, I don’t know, a key or something.”

Myron turned to Gallagher. “The building have CCTV?”

“Only on the street.”

“We have to comb through all that footage.”

“It’s a busy street,” Kelly Gallagher said.

“But how many people would be carrying a rifle?” Myron asked. “I don’t mean out in the open. But they’d have to have it in a guitar case or something. It’s too warm for a long coat to cover it, but we could look for those people too.”

“Wait, if we can find video of Jackie taking public transportation to her TaskRabbit job and she’s not carrying a rifle—”

“Won’t help,” Myron said. “They’ll say she carefully planned this. She took the rifle from her closet days or weeks ago. She planted it near the spot where she would commit her crime.”

“Sorry,” Jackie said, “but this whole scenario is insane. Why me? I don’t mean this in a whiny way — but I’m a nobody. I mean, I’m less than a nobody. Why pin it on me?”

Gallagher looked at Myron. “That’s a good question. And I suspect you have a theory.”

“I do, but let me get to it my way, okay?” Myron turned back to Jackie. “Do you have any enemies?”

“Ronald Prine,” she said. “But my guess is, he didn’t do it.”

“Any others? How about an ex?”

“The last guy I dated was a pharmacist from Bryn Mawr. He dumped me because I spent too much time with my dad. Mr. Bolitar?”

“Call me Myron.”

“What aren’t you telling me?”

“I’m trying to help you, Jackie.”

“Why are you so sure I didn’t do it?”

It was then that Myron felt his phone buzz. He had turned off all other settings. The buzz could only be used by his wife, parents, Win, or Esperanza and only for something urgent. He pulled out his phone and checked. It was a text from Terese.

Come out now. I’m across the street.

Chapter Thirty-Two

Win stood in front of four Vermeer paintings.