wouldn’t really know,” Camille muttered. She hadn’t realized that both of her hands were balled up in tight fists until she felt the pain from her fingernails. Something about Detective Graham had immediately rubbed her the wrong way.
“And man, was he proud of you,” Graham mercilessly continued. “He had FBI banners and decals all over his cubicle. You would have thought he was the agent.”
Sullivan chuckled, though it was peppered with a nervous edge.
“Thank you for the kind words,” Camille said with a tight half smile. Then she looked at Sullivan.
The detective quickly took the cue. “I was just wrapping up with Ms. Grisham. She was able to shed some light on the victim’s state of mind during the final twenty-four hours before her death.”
“So you were with her yesterday?” Graham asked Camille before his partner could continue.
“Yes. I already told Detective Sullivan that.”
“I understand. But just for my own clarification. Approximately what time did you last talk to her?”
Camille sighed and shot another quick look to Sullivan. “She was at my house – my father’s house – for most of the day and left about four p.m.”
“And was that the last time you talked to her? When she left your father’s house?”
“Yes. Well, actually, she did call me later. But I missed the call.”
Graham suddenly pulled out his own notepad. “And what time was that?”
Camille paused to search her memory. “If I had to guess, I’d say about eight-thirty.”
Graham wrote in his notepad then looked at Sullivan. This time there was little doubt about the smirk.
“Did she leave a message?” Sullivan chimed in, seemingly irritated that she hadn’t gotten this information before now.
“No.”
“Did you call her back?” Graham asked.
Camille took in a deep breath. She had conducted her fair share of interrogations, and this was beginning to feel a lot like one. “No. It had been a long day and I was getting tired. We were planning on meeting up tonight for dinner, and I figured that whatever it was could wait until then.”
Graham nodded as he continued writing. “Was there something specific you were supposed to meet about?”
Sullivan cut in. “It’s all in my notes, detective. If you want to review them we can go back–”
“Why would I want to review notes when I have the witness right here in front of me?” Graham asked curtly.
“Like I told your partner, Julia and I hadn’t seen each other in a long time and we wanted to catch up.”
Graham looked at Sullivan as if he expected her to fill in the blanks.
“The victim indicated that something was troubling her, though she didn’t say what. She and Ms. Grisham were supposed to talk about it today,” Sullivan reported.
“Is that correct?” Graham asked Camille.
Camille shook her head in disbelief that she was answering these questions again. Graham was the worst kind of cop: an arrogant asshole who had no idea of how much of a hack he truly was. Idiots like him made her disdain for local police feel completely justified. “Just like it says in Detective Sullivan’s notes.”
Camille saw something harden in Graham’s face.
“I was just about to give Ms. Grisham my card,” Sullivan said to Graham. “I thought it would be best for her to let the smoke clear then have her come in so we could talk more about Julia and their scheduled dinner.”
“Unfortunately we don’t have the luxury of letting the smoke clear, Detective Sullivan,” Graham said with a stiff glare that looked completely at home on his leathery, bloated face. Then he turned to Camille. “I know this is a very difficult time, and I’m truly sorry for the loss of your friend. But as Detective Sullivan may or may not have told you, we don’t have much to work with right now. Any information we can get about Ms. Leeds, no matter how seemingly insignificant, will be extremely useful. Hell, you’re a former federal agent. You know better
“And man, was he proud of you,” Graham mercilessly continued. “He had FBI banners and decals all over his cubicle. You would have thought he was the agent.”
Sullivan chuckled, though it was peppered with a nervous edge.
“Thank you for the kind words,” Camille said with a tight half smile. Then she looked at Sullivan.
The detective quickly took the cue. “I was just wrapping up with Ms. Grisham. She was able to shed some light on the victim’s state of mind during the final twenty-four hours before her death.”
“So you were with her yesterday?” Graham asked Camille before his partner could continue.
“Yes. I already told Detective Sullivan that.”
“I understand. But just for my own clarification. Approximately what time did you last talk to her?”
Camille sighed and shot another quick look to Sullivan. “She was at my house – my father’s house – for most of the day and left about four p.m.”
“And was that the last time you talked to her? When she left your father’s house?”
“Yes. Well, actually, she did call me later. But I missed the call.”
Graham suddenly pulled out his own notepad. “And what time was that?”
Camille paused to search her memory. “If I had to guess, I’d say about eight-thirty.”
Graham wrote in his notepad then looked at Sullivan. This time there was little doubt about the smirk.
“Did she leave a message?” Sullivan chimed in, seemingly irritated that she hadn’t gotten this information before now.
“No.”
“Did you call her back?” Graham asked.
Camille took in a deep breath. She had conducted her fair share of interrogations, and this was beginning to feel a lot like one. “No. It had been a long day and I was getting tired. We were planning on meeting up tonight for dinner, and I figured that whatever it was could wait until then.”
Graham nodded as he continued writing. “Was there something specific you were supposed to meet about?”
Sullivan cut in. “It’s all in my notes, detective. If you want to review them we can go back–”
“Why would I want to review notes when I have the witness right here in front of me?” Graham asked curtly.
“Like I told your partner, Julia and I hadn’t seen each other in a long time and we wanted to catch up.”
Graham looked at Sullivan as if he expected her to fill in the blanks.
“The victim indicated that something was troubling her, though she didn’t say what. She and Ms. Grisham were supposed to talk about it today,” Sullivan reported.
“Is that correct?” Graham asked Camille.
Camille shook her head in disbelief that she was answering these questions again. Graham was the worst kind of cop: an arrogant asshole who had no idea of how much of a hack he truly was. Idiots like him made her disdain for local police feel completely justified. “Just like it says in Detective Sullivan’s notes.”
Camille saw something harden in Graham’s face.
“I was just about to give Ms. Grisham my card,” Sullivan said to Graham. “I thought it would be best for her to let the smoke clear then have her come in so we could talk more about Julia and their scheduled dinner.”
“Unfortunately we don’t have the luxury of letting the smoke clear, Detective Sullivan,” Graham said with a stiff glare that looked completely at home on his leathery, bloated face. Then he turned to Camille. “I know this is a very difficult time, and I’m truly sorry for the loss of your friend. But as Detective Sullivan may or may not have told you, we don’t have much to work with right now. Any information we can get about Ms. Leeds, no matter how seemingly insignificant, will be extremely useful. Hell, you’re a former federal agent. You know better
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