She closed her eyes and dragged in a long breath. She didn’t like the police, didn’t trust the police, but right now she needed the police.
* * *
THE BOSTON PD COP, Officer Bailey, scratched his chin with the end of his pencil. “It looks like suicide, ma’am. There’s gunpowder residue on the doctor’s hand, the shot to the temple looks like it was done at close range.”
“And the condition of the office?” Sophia brushed the hair out of her face with the back of her hand. “He ransacked his own office, ran back in here and shot himself because he couldn’t find a pencil? That’s ridiculous. And I already told the detective that his computer’s missing.”
“Had you noticed a change in his demeanor lately? Depressed?”
“He was...” She pressed her lips together. She didn’t want to betray Dr. Fazal, but she didn’t want to withhold any information that might help the investigation into his murder—because this was a murder. “He’d been agitated the past few days, distracted.”
“Was anyone hanging around the office? Disgruntled patients? Problems with the wife?”
“Dr. Fazal was a widower. I already told the detectives.”
“You have my card, Ms. Grant. The detectives on the case will have more questions for you later.” He circled his finger around the reception area where he’d been questioning her. The coroner hadn’t removed Dr. Fazal’s body from the office yet. “We’ll finish up here and barricade it as a crime scene. Are you expecting patients tomorrow?”
“It’s Saturday. No. But I’ll call Ginny Faraday, our receptionist, to let her know what happened. She can start calling our patients.”
The cop tapped his notebook. “That’s the name and number you gave me earlier?”
“That’s right.” She hugged the framed picture she’d taken off the floor next to Dr. Fazal’s body.
Officer Bailey noticed the gesture and pointed to the picture. “What’s that?”
She turned it around to face him. “I-it’s a picture of Dr. Fazal congratulating me on an award I won last year.”
“Was it in his office?”
“On the floor. He must’ve knocked it over when he fell.” She pressed it to her chest again as one tear rolled down her cheek.
“Sorry for your loss, ma’am. You can take that with you.”
Bailey asked her a few more questions, double-checked her contact info and asked her if she wanted an escort to her car.
“I do, thanks.” The cops might think Dr. Fazal had committed suicide, but she knew his killers were on the loose out there somewhere.
Bailey called over another officer on the scene. “Nolan, can you walk Ms. Grant down to her car in the parking structure?”
“Absolutely. Lead the way.”
Sophia took one last look at the office where she’d spent just about the happiest year of her life and sucked in her trembling bottom lip. Dr. Fazal hadn’t killed himself. He wouldn’t have left her like that—not like everyone else had.
When Officer Nolan touched her back, she jumped and then barreled out the office door. A detective was questioning Norm by the elevator.
Sophia stabbed the call button and then turned to Norm. “Did you tell the detective that you heard someone on the stairwell right before I came back, Norm?”
“I sure did, Sophia.”
“They think it was suicide.” She snorted. “No way. You should’ve seen the office.”
“D-do you think that was the doc’s killer on the stairs?” Norm’s eyes bugged out.
The detective questioning Norm raised his eyebrows at Officer Nolan. “I’d like to question the witness in private.”
“Sure, sure.” Nolan’s face turned red up to his hairline and he prodded Sophia into the elevator when the doors opened.
When she got inside, she slumped against the wall, folding her arms over the framed picture. “I just wanted to make sure Norm told the detective about hearing someone on the stairwell. That could’ve been the killer.”
“You’re convinced Dr. Fazal didn’t kill himself?”
“He wouldn’t do that.”
To me, the voice inside her head screamed. He wouldn’t do that to me.
She lifted her shoulders and dropped them. “Besides, why would he search his own office like that?”
“Maybe he was looking for something, couldn’t find it and decided to end it all. Did you know he kept a gun in his office?”
“Who said it was his gun? Maybe the killers shot him in the head and planted the gun in his hand.”
“I guess we’ll know more when the homicide detectives look into everything and we get the ballistics report and the autopsy.”
The elevator reached level two of the parking garage and the doors opened on an empty aisle.
Sophia grabbed the officer’s arm. “Wait a minute. When I was returning to the office, a car came careening around the corner, tires screeching and everything. Do you think it might be connected?”
“What kind of car? Did you get a look at the driver?”
“It was an old car, beat-up, midsize and dark. I didn’t see who was driving, but can you tell the detective?”
“I’ll tell him and you can tell him yourself when you talk to him again. This lot is straight in-and-out, right? No attendant?”
“If you’re a visitor, you take a ticket on your way in and pay at a machine before you leave. There should be some record around that time.” She slipped the photo into her purse.
“I’ll pass it on. This your car?”
It was the only car left in the aisle, maybe on the entire level.
“This is it. Thanks.” She hit the key fob, and the officer waited until she got into the car. She waved at him in her rearview mirror as he stepped back into the elevator.
Then she broke down.
Her messy cry lasted a good five minutes. When she got it all out, she bent forward and reached into her glove compartment for some tissues.
As she straightened up, she heard a whisper of movement behind her. Her eyes flew to the rearview mirror and she met the steady gaze of a man in her backseat.
Austin held his breath. He had to play this right or this emotionally overwrought woman just might go ballistic on him. And he’d deserve it.
He held up both hands. “I’m not here to hurt you. I’m a friend of Dr. Fazal’s, and I think I know what happened to him.”
One of her hands was gripping the steering wheel and the other was covering the center where the horn was located. If she drew attention to them, to him, it would be all over.
Her breath came out in short spurts and her gaze never left his in the mirror. “Do you have a gun on me?”
He could tell her he did and she’d probably do whatever he asked, but he didn’t want to frighten her any more than he had—any more than she had been by tonight’s events.
“I don’t have a gun on you. You can lay on that horn and I’ll hightail it out of your car, out of your life, but you may never