The Temporary Detective

Chapter Five

After picking her way through yards of police tape and shredding half a packet of tissues sneezing from the ubiquitous fingerprint powder, Isobel arrived at her desk to find Detective Kozinski waiting for her.

"You're late," the policewoman said, pointing to the wall clock.

"I'm sorry. I didn't miss anything, did I?" Isobel asked.

"Your prints were on the stall," said Detective Kozinski curtly.

"I know. I pushed the door open."

"They were on the sink too, and the last stall."

"I threw up. Then I peed." Isobel set her Starbucks cup on the desk, then turned suddenly. "Wait a second. How do you know they're mine? You didn't take my fingerprints."

Detective Kozinski gave a little smirk. "We lifted them from the Purell bottle. We can do that, you know."

Great, thought Isobel. Now it looks like I was hiding something.

The policewoman perched on the edge of the desk and gestured for Isobel to sit down. "Why didn't you call for help immediately?"

"I was about to, when Paula came in. It took me a few minutes to pull myself together." She looked pointedly at Detective Kozinski. "As you can imagine."

"You knew your fingerprints would be in the bathroom," Detective Kozinski said. "Is that why you refused?"

"No," Isobel protested. "I just...didn't want to get ink on my pink blouse."

Detective Kozinski glared at her and walked away.

As if on cue, the phones started their symphony, but Isobel didn't bother to answer them. She wasn't entirely sure why she was back, except that the police had requested her presence. She tried Felice Edwards's extension, but there was no answer. Unsure what to do next, she took her cell phone from her bag and saw that a call had come in the night before from a number she didn't recognize. Curious to know whose it was, she dialed it back. A woman's voice answered.

"Hello?"

"Um, hi, this is Isobel Spice."

"Who?"

"Isobel Spice. You called me last night?"

"No, I didn't."

"This number came up on my cell phone."

"Well, I didn't call you."

"Are you sure?"

"Honey, I don't even know you," the woman said and hung up.

Isobel frowned at the phone and deleted the entry from the call list. Obviously a wrong number. She sat back, took a few sips of coffee, and looked around. The phone on the desk rang.

May as well start my day, she thought and picked it up.

"InterBank Switzerland, this is Isobel."

"How come you haven't called me? And what are you doing back there?"

It took her a moment to recognize James Cooke's voice.

"Oh my God, I'm so sorry! You'll never believe what happened here yesterday."

"I know all about it. It was on the news. I tried to call your cell last night, but you didn't answer."

"My cell? But I didn't—oh, wait! I did have a call, but I just called back and it was a woman—"

"What do you mean, you called back?" James said in a tight voice.

"The number wasn't familiar, so I dialed it. But the woman said she hadn't called me."