sorry, no. I was...thinking. What did you say?”
He pulled another folding chair over and sat across from her. He held out his hand and she automatically took it.
“I’m Detective Dillon Gray. I know you’ve already been interviewed, but I wanted to ask you a few more questions. Are you up to it?”
She shook his hand, but when he mentioned asking questions, all she could think about was the knife sticking out of the shooter’s throat. She clutched his hand instead of letting go.
He didn’t seem to mind. He held her hand and simply scooted his chair closer, resting his forearm across his knees.
“How long have you worked at Gibson and Gibson?”
She shook her head. “I don’t work here. I mean, not for the company. I’m an independent consultant, an auditor. I work short-term contracts. I came here three weeks ago—no, four. Tomorrow...tomorrow would have been my last day.” She shivered.
A look of interest lit his blue-gray eyes. “Were you brought in because of a problem? Did you find anything that concerned you when you performed the audit?”
“No, on both counts. Mr. Gibson—” she nodded toward the owner, who was being escorted to his car by one of the policemen “—he applied for a substantial loan to expand the business. The bank hired me to perform a routine audit before granting the loan. Everything checked out. I was going to recommend the loan move forward. I was supposed to finish the formal report today.”
A coroner’s van pulled up to the front of the building. Bile rose in Ashley’s throat.
“Ignore them. Focus on me.” Gray’s deep voice was low and soothing, but it had the bite of authority.
She looked away from the van and met his gaze.
“I’m almost done,” he said, his voice gentle. “Then you can go.”
She nodded. When she heard the squeaky wheels of the coroner’s gurney rolling toward the front door, she clutched his hand harder, using him as her anchor.
Another gust of wind, stronger than the rest, slapped the detective’s pants against his legs. He looked up at the sky, which was casting a dark pall over the parking lot. “Looks like the weatherman was right. We’re in for a heck of a storm.”
He smiled at her again, and somehow the tension squeezing her chest eased, if only a little.
“I’ll make this quick,” he said. “You said your time here was temporary. Where’s home?”
“Nashville. I’ve got an apartment there.”
“Made any enemies in Nashville that might have come here looking for you?”
She blinked in surprise. “Me? You think the shooter was after me, specifically?”
“Routine questions. Just exploring all the possibilities.”
The panic that had started inside her faded beneath his matter-of-fact tone. “The answer is no. I don’t have any enemies. Not that I know of.”
“You didn’t recognize the shooter, correct?” he asked.
“I’ve never seen him before.”
“Did he speak to you, call you by name?”
“No. He just...smiled, this really creepy, spooky smile.”
His brows lowered. “What do you mean?”
“I was at the copier, with Stanley Gibson. The shooter shot Stanley, and when I turned around, he looked directly at me and...smiled. That’s when I ran. I hid and kept going from aisle to aisle as he went through the room. I tried to stay a step ahead, but he caught up to me. He was on my aisle, but he was crouching down. I climbed over the wall to the next aisle before he reached my cubicle.” She shivered and tugged her hand out of his grasp. The wind was colder now, making her shiver. She wrapped her arms around her middle.
Detective Gray motioned to one of the uniformed policemen nearby. “Get Miss Parrish a jacket, please.”
“That’s not necessary,” she said. “If someone could please...get my purse...out of my cubicle inside, so I can get my car keys, I’ll just go home. If you’re finished with your questions?”
“By the time the officer retrieves your purse, I will
He pulled another folding chair over and sat across from her. He held out his hand and she automatically took it.
“I’m Detective Dillon Gray. I know you’ve already been interviewed, but I wanted to ask you a few more questions. Are you up to it?”
She shook his hand, but when he mentioned asking questions, all she could think about was the knife sticking out of the shooter’s throat. She clutched his hand instead of letting go.
He didn’t seem to mind. He held her hand and simply scooted his chair closer, resting his forearm across his knees.
“How long have you worked at Gibson and Gibson?”
She shook her head. “I don’t work here. I mean, not for the company. I’m an independent consultant, an auditor. I work short-term contracts. I came here three weeks ago—no, four. Tomorrow...tomorrow would have been my last day.” She shivered.
A look of interest lit his blue-gray eyes. “Were you brought in because of a problem? Did you find anything that concerned you when you performed the audit?”
“No, on both counts. Mr. Gibson—” she nodded toward the owner, who was being escorted to his car by one of the policemen “—he applied for a substantial loan to expand the business. The bank hired me to perform a routine audit before granting the loan. Everything checked out. I was going to recommend the loan move forward. I was supposed to finish the formal report today.”
A coroner’s van pulled up to the front of the building. Bile rose in Ashley’s throat.
“Ignore them. Focus on me.” Gray’s deep voice was low and soothing, but it had the bite of authority.
She looked away from the van and met his gaze.
“I’m almost done,” he said, his voice gentle. “Then you can go.”
She nodded. When she heard the squeaky wheels of the coroner’s gurney rolling toward the front door, she clutched his hand harder, using him as her anchor.
Another gust of wind, stronger than the rest, slapped the detective’s pants against his legs. He looked up at the sky, which was casting a dark pall over the parking lot. “Looks like the weatherman was right. We’re in for a heck of a storm.”
He smiled at her again, and somehow the tension squeezing her chest eased, if only a little.
“I’ll make this quick,” he said. “You said your time here was temporary. Where’s home?”
“Nashville. I’ve got an apartment there.”
“Made any enemies in Nashville that might have come here looking for you?”
She blinked in surprise. “Me? You think the shooter was after me, specifically?”
“Routine questions. Just exploring all the possibilities.”
The panic that had started inside her faded beneath his matter-of-fact tone. “The answer is no. I don’t have any enemies. Not that I know of.”
“You didn’t recognize the shooter, correct?” he asked.
“I’ve never seen him before.”
“Did he speak to you, call you by name?”
“No. He just...smiled, this really creepy, spooky smile.”
His brows lowered. “What do you mean?”
“I was at the copier, with Stanley Gibson. The shooter shot Stanley, and when I turned around, he looked directly at me and...smiled. That’s when I ran. I hid and kept going from aisle to aisle as he went through the room. I tried to stay a step ahead, but he caught up to me. He was on my aisle, but he was crouching down. I climbed over the wall to the next aisle before he reached my cubicle.” She shivered and tugged her hand out of his grasp. The wind was colder now, making her shiver. She wrapped her arms around her middle.
Detective Gray motioned to one of the uniformed policemen nearby. “Get Miss Parrish a jacket, please.”
“That’s not necessary,” she said. “If someone could please...get my purse...out of my cubicle inside, so I can get my car keys, I’ll just go home. If you’re finished with your questions?”
“By the time the officer retrieves your purse, I will