“But feel free to check,” I add. “If you’d like to print me, I’d be willing.”
“That’s not necessary.”
“I’m offering. Really. A DNA swab, too. The whole works. We can go down to the station right now—”
“We already have your fingerprints, Simon. And your DNA.”
Her partner, Andy Tate, looks up from notes he’s scribbling, as if surprised that Jane just revealed that to me.
“Oh. Oh, okay.” I sit back. “St. Louis P.D., right? Okay, now I’m getting the picture. Well, I guess you guys think you have this all figured out, then. I killed my father and then, all these years later, I killed Lauren. ‘Revenge is a dish best served cold,’ is that it?”
“I don’t suppose you made any phone calls to your therapist the morning after Halloween,” she says.
I clap my hands, mock applause. “So you actually think I did this?” I say. “You think I killed Lauren?”
“I think you’re a very smart guy who takes his time before he does anything,” she says.
“Somehow, I don’t think that’s a compliment.”
How far along are these cops, anyway? It’s Thursday. The third day of the investigation. Have they found Nick’s body yet?
“Do you know someone named Christian Newsome?” she asks.
That answersthatquestion.
“No.”
“What about Nick Caracci?”
“No.”
“Can I ask what size shoe you wear, Simon?”
“My... shoe size?” I might as well act surprised by that question. “Uh, well—usually ten and a half or eleven.”
Not thirteen!
“You spend much time in the Bucktown/Wicker Park area?” she asks.
“Not so much these days, no. But I run all over the city. I definitely run through that area sometimes. I mix it up.”
“You been there recently? Like, y’know, the Milwaukee-Damen-North area. Right around there. When was the last time you were there?”
“I... I don’t remember.”
“Were you there within the last week? You’d rememberthat.”
“I don’t remember being there within the last week,” I say. “I suppose it’s possible. If I knew it would be important, I’d have kept a journal or something.”
(I like to amuse myself, even if it’s a private joke.)
“You run much, Jane?”
“Me? These days? Nah. The only exercise I get is when I jump to conclusions, right?”
I smile. “Then you must be getting some exercise right now.”
She bows her head a bit. “Touché. But, Simon, back to Wicker Park—you run through there, you said. You don’t stop there? Hang out? Grab a beer? Anything like that?”