investigating a murder,” Hammer said.
“A murder?” June swallowed hard and leaned forward. A murder?
“Yes. Of a human being,” Hammer clarified. He raised his gaze from the blank sheet of paper on his open notepad to meet hers. “Not a parrot.”
“NOT FUNNY,” JUNE SAID, meeting his direct stare. Why the lame stab at humor? Did he want to disarm her, put her at ease? Maybe distract her from the fact that two cops wanted to talk to her about someone’s death?
“Why do you think I have any information about a murder?” she asked.
“Because the victim was killed in this man’s hotel room.” Hammer placed an eight-by-ten black-and-white photo of two men on the desk before her. “The one on the right.”
June picked up the photograph and examined it. Two men were conversing, but what— “Oh, my God.”
“You recognize someone?”
“One of them is the man who released the birds in the pet shop.”
Hammer made a note. “You still say you never saw him before yesterday?”
“No. I swear. I don’t know him.”
“Please study the image carefully.”
Stunned by Hammer’s revelation, June scrutinized the photograph. The subjects didn’t seem to know they were being watched, so maybe the shot was taken by a telephoto lens. Either that or a security camera. Before yesterday, she’d never seen either man before in her life. Or had she? She studied the image again.
“Where was this taken?” she asked.
“The lobby of a hotel.”
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I don’t know who he is.”
“His name is John Smith.”
“That’s a common name.”
“And probably not real. What about the other man, the one on the left.”
“He looks like—I don’t know.” She glanced up at Hammer and then his partner. “Like maybe he’s a bit down on his luck.”
“You’re right. He was a street person.”
“Was? You mean—”
“He’s our victim.”
June swallowed a bad taste in her mouth. “When did this happen?”
“This morning. That shot was taken late yesterday afternoon.”
June looked back to the image, realizing the poor man had been murdered just hours after this photograph. How quickly life could change. She shook her head. But of course she already knew that.
“You’re sure you don’t know John Smith?”
“I’m sure.” She replaced the photograph on the desk. “Both men are strangers to me.”
“Too bad,” the partner said.
“Have you remembered anything else about John Smith from the pet shop that might help us?” Hammer asked.
“Like what?”
“A tattoo, some jewelry, maybe a limp?”
She shook her head. “I was totally focused on the birds. I all but ignored him.”
Hammer nodded. “Is it possible he’s in one of your do-gooder organizations?”
“Do-gooder?”
“You know what I mean. Rescue groups.”
“Of course it’s possible, but—” June studied the photo again. When she looked up, Hammer watched her as if she were prey. “You think I’m lying, don’t you? You think I know this John Smith.”
“And just yesterday you told me that you never lie,” he said in an intimate tone, one a date might use over a glass of wine.
She sucked in a breath and glanced at the partner, who returned her gaze without changing his expression. Maybe my life is about to change again.
“I have no reason to lie,” she said.
“Ma’am, we’re just trying to understand the facts,” Hammer said, totally professional again.
Is he trying to confuse me? “I understand, but—”
“Don’t you see how we find it odd that this man would release the very birds you’re trying to rescue and you don’t know him?”
“Yes, I admit it’s strange. I thought it was bizarre yesterday, but I swear that’s what happened. He did say something to me as I was taking photos, but I couldn’t make it out and thought he might be trying to stop me.”
The detective made a note, a sour expression on his face.
“Do you think I’m involved with this homeless man’s murder?”
Hammer met her gaze and stared right through her as if trying to peer into her very soul. Unable to look away, June held her breath, wondering what he saw. Was he trying to decide if she were a murderess? Maybe that was why he’d been watching her so carefully. He didn’t know her and wondered if he were dealing with a stone-cold killer.
Damn, she might not be perfect, but no one had ever suspected her of murder.
A light rap on the door broke the moment. “Come in,” June said, relieved.
Dr. Trujillo cracked the door and stuck in her head. “Can I interrupt for just one minute?”
June jumped to her feet. “I’m sorry, Doctor. Do you need me?”
The doctor stepped into her office. Both policemen stood.
“Sit, sit,” she said. “Sarah Weksler canceled, and I just want to get my cell phone.” After throwing June a questioning glance, the doctor stepped out of the office with her purse. The policemen took their seats.
“Hope we haven’t gotten you in trouble with your boss,” Hammer said.
“Yeah, me, too,” June replied. “But you didn’t answer my question. Am I a suspect in this murder?”
“No, ma’am,” Hammer said. “You’re what we call a person of interest.”
“Because you think I might have information to help you solve the case?”
“That’s what we were hoping.”
“I’m
