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"That I went to bed; or that I was talking to my parents?"
"Both."
"I called them about nine, and we talked for a couple of hours, I guess. Then I went to bed."
"About what time was that?"
"It was some time after eleven. Am I a suspect, detective?"
"To be honest with you, Mrs. Petrocelli," Jensen said, and then she paused. "I’m just trying to rule you out."
"Can you tell me what happened?"
"Of course we’re still investigating, but we think your husband’s murder was a crime of passion."
"What do you mean by that?"
"When the body was discovered by the housekeeper, Mr. Petrocelli was naked on the kitchen floor. The woman I asked you if you knew . . ."
"Yes."
"She was naked too. The housekeeper found her in the living room with her throat cut."
"Oh my God."
"We think that the killer came in and found them having sex, and killed them both."
"And you think I did that?"
"Like I said, Mrs. Petrocelli, I’m just asking questions; trying to eliminate you as a suspect. About the woman I asked if you could identify."
"Yes."
"Was that the woman you saw that day at your house?"
"No, it wasn’t."
"Are you sure? I only ask because of the way you were looking at her."
"At first, I wondered if it was. I had only seen her the one time, so I took a second look to be sure that it wasn’t her."
"And you’re sure?"
"Yes, detective, I’m sure. What happens now?"
"Well, right now, I’m going to check out your story. If what you told me is the truth, that you were home last night and on the phone, you’ll be free to go."
"I understand. I assure you, detective; I had nothing to do with any of this."
Jensen pushed a pen and paper at me. "Would you mind writing down your parent’s names, and their number for me?"
I wrote down the information she requested, and handed it back to her. "I promise it won’t take long to verify what you told me," she said, and left me alone in her office. Left me thinking who could have done this to Tyrone, and hoping that it wouldn’t touch me.
* * *
Chapter Twenty-eight
Qianna