Page 172 of Secrets Hidden In The Glass
“This is a great start. I would love to talk to you. I’m hoping we might be able to set up a time to meet.”
“Like at the police station?”
He heard the nerves tightening her voice. “No. We could meet in Roxbury—at a coffee shop.” He thought of the press. “Or at your residence, where we would have more privacy.”
The line stayed silent. “I don’t know.”
“You’re not in any sort of trouble. This would be informal—an opportunity for me to find out more about Samantha. I want to help Callie.”
“You’re her boyfriend? Is that true?”
He didn’t want to give Danielle any information about his personal life, but he was trying to establish trust, so he was going to have to give up something. “Yes. We live together here on the island.”
“But I thought she lived in New York.”
“She’s spending time here with me while we try to figure everything out. I would like to bring her with me if you’re okay with that.”
“But she’s probably going to hate me.”
“No one’s looking to place any blame. We just want to help Callie find out who she is and get to the bottom of what happened to Samantha.”
“I wanted to call a long time ago—the detective in Connecticut—but I was afraid.”
He opened his mouth to ask her what she’d been afraid of. He had a million questions—was eager for the whole story—but he wanted her to tell him in person, where he could gauge her body language and read her facial expressions. “You called now. This is an excellent start.”
“I’ll meet with you and Callie.”
He exhaled the breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding. “What are you doing tomorrow?”
“I work at a bank. I usually do the Saturday morning shift, but I can take the day off.”
“Only if that’s convenient for you.”
“Can you come midmorning?”
They would fight the elements and leave right now if they had to. He wanted to get to their hesitant witness before she changed her mind and he was forced to bring her into the station. He wanted her as relaxed as possible when he questioned her. “We can do that.”
“I don’t want the press involved. I don’t want anyone knowing who I am.”
Hearing that went a long way toward easing his mind about her intentions, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t be moving forward without caution. “I’ll get us out of here without that being a problem.”
“I live on M.L.K. Jr. Boulevard in the housing across from the Roxbury Sports Complex off Washington Street. I’ll keep an eye out for you and wave when I see you.”
She still didn’t trust him. “We can meet around ten if that’s a good time for you.”
“Yes. That would work.”
“Great. I’ll send you a text when we get there.” He fiddled with his pen. “Before I let you go, would you happen to know Samantha’s birthdate?”
“Yes. April 3, 1972.”
Twenty-three. Samantha had been even younger than Nate realized. “What about Callie’s?”
Danielle sighed. “She doesn’t know her birthday,” she said quietly—more to herself than to him. “Yes, she was born on June 4, 1991.”
“In Mass?”
“Yes, at Boston Medical Center.”
