Chapter 6: The Second Question

He looked lost for a second, so I pressed on. "Alright, Detective, here’s my second question: There are millions of ordinary people—why me?"

He paused, then realized the conversation had flipped. "Dr. Harris, I’m the cop here. Why are you grilling me?"

"Because you came to me. Whether or not I’m the killer, you need something from me. Sometimes being a detective means knowing how to blend in and listen."

He narrowed his eyes. "Why should I believe you have the answers I want?"

I barely looked up. "Because you came to me. And if you want the truth, you’ll have to ask the right questions."

I checked my watch. The leather band left a mark on my wrist—a reminder of how long I’d been running this race.

"Sorry, Detective. My wife and daughter are waiting. When you figure it out, come find me again."

I left the café, the bell chiming behind me, stepping into a night sweet with the scent of creosote after a rare desert rain.