“Used to?”
“I changed the locks after a plumbing contractor lost a key last year.”
“Hidden spare?”
“No.”
She looked toward the street.
“What about neighbors?”
“Absolutely not.”
We checked the side window beside the mudroom.
Closed.
Then Officer Brooks crouched near the back door.
She pointed at the lock.
“Scratches.”
I bent closer.
Tiny silver marks surrounded the keyway.
“Someone picked it?”
“Possibly.”
My stomach tightened.
This was planned.
Not a burst of anger.
Not a teenager with a rock.
Someone had entered my home.
Taken my clothes.
Worn them.
Destroyed my greenhouse.
And relied on cameras and Claire’s statement to make it appear I had done it myself.
But why?
What possible story was Claire trying to create?
Officer Brooks asked Claire to come speak with us again.
She approached reluctantly.
Derek was now standing in her doorway across the street.
He wore a gray hoodie and watched without expression.
Brooks held up the tablet.
“Ms. Dawson, earlier you stated you saw Mr. Bennett outside.”
“Yes.”
“How clearly?”
“Clearly enough.”
“You saw his face?”
Claire hesitated.
“I saw Michael.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
“I saw his clothing.”
“His face?”
“Not exactly.”
I almost laughed.
Officer Brooks continued.
“You told Officer Greene you were positive it was him.”
“I recognized him.”
“From across the street?”
“Yes.”
“Yet Mr. Bennett was at work.”
Claire folded her arms.
“Maybe the time is wrong.”
“It isn’t.”
“Cameras make mistakes.”
Brooks gave her a flat look.
“Not forty minutes.”
Claire looked toward her house.
Derek was gone from the doorway.
Officer Brooks noticed.
“So about this tattoo.”
“I told you, I don’t recognize it.”
I said, “You did.”
Claire looked at me.
“Stay out of this.”
Officer Brooks stepped between us slightly.
“Ms. Dawson.”
Claire inhaled.
“It could be anything.”
“Does your son have a tattoo on his left wrist?”
Silence.
It lasted three seconds.
That was enough.
Claire’s eyes flicked toward the house.
Brooks saw it.
So did I.
Officer Brooks spoke carefully.
“Does Derek have that tattoo?”
Claire shook her head.
“No.”
Again, too fast.
Across the street, a door closed.
Brooks turned toward her partner.
“Go talk to Derek.”
Claire moved immediately.
“No.”
Everyone froze.
Brooks looked back at her.
“Why not?”
“He has nothing to do with this.”
“You said you don’t recognize the tattoo.”
“I don’t.”
“Then why are you worried about us talking to him?”
Claire opened her mouth.
Nothing came out.
Officer Greene crossed the street.
He knocked.
No answer.
Knocked again.
“Derek Dawson? Police.”
Still nothing.
Then Mrs. Walters, who lived two doors down, called from her porch.
“He just went out the back.”
Officer Brooks started running.