130 Fact Check (1/2)
”Yeah…” McCain pursed his lips. ”If I knew who she was meeting that day… even the name of the boyfriend, I would tell you in detail. Whenever it was… I would tell you.”
Silence.
”I went to her house and thought about talking to her. And she threw me out a few minutes later.”
”So, you went into the house and spoke to her. You said something and she started panicking. She wanted you out of the house, so you left, right?” I confirmed again.
”That's all that happened.”
”You said she looked distressed. When you went in and she looked distressed, what did she first tell you?”
He shook his head from side to side. He had already answered this question. He just needed to remember it.
He just needed to keep telling us the same thing until we could point out how awkward it was for her to be distressed about a meeting. We had to make him realize that we knew he was the cause of her distress, not something else.
”Uh… that she needed to be at a meeting.”
”Other than that, what did she tell you?” Nash was casual once again. The hot and cold would give McCain a whiplash.
”She said she had been busy the whole day, that she had met people.”
Nash showed a spark of interest. ”Did she tell you where she met these people?”
”She may have told me, but I didn't understand her. She was very distressed.”
Again.
”Did she tell you to come back some other time?” I asked.
He was stumped for words. ”I don't think she did that.”
”She didn't give you another time to come over… to see her and your son?” He looked at me sharply. ”That must have been disappointing. I can't imagine being so lonely and lost and being treated like that.” I sighed. ”But she is not a person of this world, so we shouldn't hold it against her. She must have had her own reasons.”
”As he said, Maya looked very distressed,” Nash prompted helpfully.
”Do you remember what kind of clothes she was wearing?” I asked. ”Was she wearing a suit, an evening gown…” I trailed off. I beckoned him to contradict his statement.
He looked up at the ceiling. ”Wasn't my type of clothes, I can tell you that,” he said cheekily.
”What do you mean it wasn't your type of clothes?” I asked curiously.
Nash pressed a finger to his brow.
”Just… plain, suitable.” His voice was flat now.
”So, she was wearing something not to your liking,” Nash stated. ”Do you remember the color of the clothes? Because she was standing in front of you all this time.”
”And what kind of bag did she have on her? You said that she was going to meet someone. She wouldn't go without a bag, right?” I asked.
He looked puzzled for a second. ”IS the bag of importance in her murder?” he said softly.
I blinked. ”If we get the bag, we'll be able to tell who she was meeting. Another suspect or witness.” I said it simply, but the implication was that he could get out of this suspicion the police had of him.
”Uh… are there different kinds?” he asked calmly.
”There are a lot of styles out there,” Nash commented.
”It was a simple purse. Like every other purse on the planet. Don't remember the details.”
I pressed my eyes closed. Nash beside me was conniving something. And I couldn't wait to hear what it was.
There was silence for a few minutes.