Page 209 of Bound By Fire
For a long beat, I think he’s going to refuse. Then he pulls the chair out, sits, and folds his arms tight across his chest.
I take the seat opposite and open the folder I’ve been carrying. The first photograph goes face up on the table between us. Patel glances down, then up at me; his expression is blank.
“I’m not sure what I’m looking at.”
“It’s a footprint,” I say. “Recovered from the soft soil at the base of the exterior stairs at Dr. Keller’s apartment. It was taken the same night someone tried to break into her apartment through the slider. Forensics has confirmed the size and the make of the shoe.” I slide the second photograph across.
“What does this have to do with me?”
“This is the shoe. It is handcrafted in Italy and is a particular brand, not exactly common on the island. The print was of a size nine shoe.”
He looks at the photo for a moment.
“I own a pair. You saw me wearing them.”
“I remember.”
“I’m still not sure what this has to do with me.” His chin lifts a fraction. “I am a size eight. Carla orders our uniforms and our work footwear for personnel who require them. She has my size on file. You can verify this with her. It isn’t my shoe. It must be from someone else. Are we done now?”
“Not quite yet. Bear with me. I did verify your shoe size with Carla.”
I take out the printout Carla gave me and place it on the table.
“You are confirmed to be a size eight.”
“Then we are done.”
“Your wife told me an interesting story while I visited with her. She mentioned that she accidentally bought you the wrong shoe size. She was quite horrified that she had gotten it wrong. She bought you a size nine for Christmas.”
His arms tighten, and he changes position in his seat, looking decidedly uncomfortable. “That proves nothing.”
“It places a size nine pair of these particular shoes in your household.”
“That doesn’t mean I was at Dr. Keller’s apartment that night. I had nothing to do with any of this.” Red is creeping up from his collar. “What do you want from me?”
“I want the truth.”
“I have given you the truth.”
I let the silence hold for a moment before I speak again. “Did you leave your home during the night of Wednesday the eleventh, and did you take your wife’s car?”
“No,” he snorts. “I’m offended you would ask.”
“Did you drug your wife that night so that she wouldn’t wake up?”
His chair scrapes back an inch. “How dare you!”
“Answer the question, Doctor.”
“No! I did not drug my wife. I would never do such a thing. The suggestion is offensive.”
“Did she perhaps leave the house that night without your knowledge?”
“No, of course not. What are you suggesting? I am going to get up, I am going to walk out, and you can speak to my attorney. My wife and I are innocent of any wrongdoing. We were in bed. We stayed in bed. End of discussion.” His face has turned red.
Instead of answering, I take out the next set of photographs and place them face up, one next to the other.
He looks down, even though I can tell he doesn’t want to.
