Page 157 of The Five Year Lie

“If you wouldn’t mind,” Hickson says, “this question has to be asked in private. Is that your office?” He points into the room that will eventually become our den.

“That room is amess. But sure.” If he wants to step over the belt sander and some wallpaper samples, it’s no skin off my nose.

Once we’re inside, he closes the door. “I promise to be quick. Can you tell me—maybe you keep a calendar on your phone—if you know where you were on the night of November sixth, 2015?”

I pull out my phone. “Seven years ago? Why?” But even as I speak the words, I remember what happened on November sixth, 2015. “That’s the date that Judge Kerry got set up in the warrant system.”

He nods. “Could you just have a peek at your calendar?”

I tap the calendar app. But as my finger hovers above the screen, I pause. “Why would you care where I was that night?”

“If you could just check, please.”

My stomach bottoms out. “Hold on. Do you think it wasmewho put that judge into the system? It wasn’t. Zain told me it washim.”

His face doesn’t change. “If you could just check your calendar?”

Oh my God.I start scrolling. But my mind is spinning faster than the dates on the screen. How could it beme? I worked maybe four shifts on the warrant desk, ever.

But I have the worst sinking feeling. And then November comes up on my screen. “Oh God.”

“Did you find it?” the jerk asks.

“No.” But also yes. My calendar readsFirst Friday party. Open Studio 6p-9p!

My heart takes a sickening dive. And I hand the phone to Agent Hickson.

“You were at a party?” he asks, skeptical.

“I was supposed to be. Portland has First Friday parties all the time...” I lapse into silence for a moment, remembering how it unfolded. I’d been to dozens of these Friday night gatherings. “But that night my boss—Larissa—had decided to host a cocktail event at our studio. She never does that.”

So I helped her clean the place and string fairy lights all over the windows. We bought boxed wine and fruit for a sangria punch bowl that was both generous and affordable. We went to BJ’s for cheese and crackers, and hors d’oeuvres we planned to heat in the annealing oven.

“... But that afternoon my father called and demanded that I work on the warrant desk.”

“Did that happen a lot?” Hickson wants to know.

My throat is suddenly so dry that it’s hard to answer. “Almost never. I tried to refuse, on the grounds that it was a big night for the studio. But he yelled at me. He reminded me that he paid my rent every month. And if I expected the arrangement to continue, I’d better show up.”

I wassoangry. But that wasn’t even unusual. And I gave in, because I didn’t have a choice.

“Do you remember setting up a new judge that night?” He hands me my phone back. And then he hands me a printout. It’s a still shot, and it must be from the video backup they take of the warrant desk.

It’s me all right. In the picture, I’m wearing a black dress. I remember that now. I wore the dress so I could run out at the stroke of eight fifteen and make the last half hour of the party.

This is the video that Zain never got around to showing me before he died. And now I realize why. He saw this. And he knew it would gut me.

So he decided to lie about it. He saidhe’dset up the judge. Because he realized I’d never know the difference.

Oh my God. I’m the guilty one. “Do I need a lawyer?” I croak. “Am I in trouble?”

“No, not at all,” Hickson says immediately. “The way the warrant desk was set up, anyone could have taken this inquiry. But I needed to know who asked you to work that shift.”

“My father.” I feel suddenly light-headed, so I sit down in the only chair. “It has to have been a coincidence.”

“Or insurance,” he says quietly. “For whoever sent the inquiry through that night. If your father thought you could be implicated, he could have been persuaded to keep quiet about the crime.”

“Who did this?” I demand. “Who put this first warrant into the system? Was it Zarkey? Or Ray?”