“I told you, last night.”
“And what did the two of you talk about?”
“I told you. He said Jonathan hired him to trail Gallagher. But he didn’t kill him. Jonathan set him up.”
Detective Bradford nodded as if she understood.
“What did your brother do for a living?”
“As of yesterday, he was doing surveillance work for Jonathan Everett. We’ve covered all this.” I stared at the window, a small ration of sunlight forcing its way through the slim frame. I knew the police had already collected the highlights of Sam’s long and sordid criminal record. They didn’t need me for that information. “Who is this suspect you’re narrowing in on?”
Detective Burke cleared his throat and opened a folder in front of him. He scrutinized the papers inside. “Let’s go back to the day Mr. Sayles was murdered. You said you arrived around seven A.M., but not to meet with Mr. Sayles. Is that correct?”
I clasped my hands together underneath the table. “Yes.”
Burke cleared his throat again, but the rasp was still there. “His assistant told us you and Mr. Sayles typically met around seven A.M. His wife also told us you usually had early morning meetings with her husband. Were you in Mr. Sayles’s office the morning he was murdered?”
I could feel the air leave my lungs like a balloon slowly deflating and shrinking. The lights in this small box of a room seemed to dim around me. It finally dawned on me who they were closing in on as a suspect and it wasn’t Jonathan. I started calculating the damage I’d done by lying to Bradford previously and now, coming in to speak with the police without a lawyer. I couldn’t leave now without looking like I had something to hide.
Bradford and Burke continued to stare across the table at me; neither of them blinked.
“Look, I did go to Michael’s office that morning but when I arrived, he was already dead. I got scared and just left.”
The two of them gazed at each other. Bradford shook her head in her typical judgmental way. “Let me understand this. You discovered Mr. Sayles dead and you didn’t call for help?” she stressed.
I sat silent. They could think whatever they wanted. I’d spent the better part of a week kicking myself over my atrocious behavior.
“Why not?” she said.
“I told you. I was in shock. I was scared. Leaving a dead body is not a crime.”
The two of them stared at me for a beat before glancing at each other again. Doubt and skepticism loomed across their faces.
“So how long have you known Mr. Sayles?” Detective Burke said, leaning forward into the table.
“Almost ten years.”
“And you’ve always worked for him during those years?”
“Mostly.”
“First at the law firm Dillon & Beck and then at Houghton?” Burke said.
“Yes. But what does that have to do with my brother’s death?”
“How would you describe your relationship with Mr. Sayles?” Burke asked.
I gave a deep sigh but no answer as I looked across the table at him. I gazed at his gold wedding band before I lowered my eyes to the table.
They knew.
“What happened at the law firm, Ms. Littlejohn?” Burke asked.
“What do you mean?”
“Why did you both leave the firm?”
“I don’t see what this has to do with anything.” But I was a lawyer. I knew this line of questioning was all fair game.
“We talked to Mrs. Sayles. She said you were sleeping with her husband. She told us your affair had become a distraction at the law firm where you worked. You two were asked to leave the law firm and you followed him over to Houghton.”
“It wasn’t like that . . .” I began, my eyes still glued to Detective Burke. What did he think of me? Now I was ashamed and embarrassed. They were making it sound so sordid and one-sided.
Detective Bradford perked up. “Were you two still sleeping together before he was murdered?”
I turned away from their prying eyes. They’d delved into my personal life and came out swinging. They were trying to force me to discuss an area of my life that was painful and stupid, but it had nothing to do with Sam’s or Michael’s murders. I didn’t utter a word.
Detective Burke stepped in again. “Ms. Littlejohn, we recovered your brother’s cell phone. It appears you left several voice mails for your brother. You sounded rather irritated. Why is that?”
“What are you talking about?”
“There was an iPhone on your brother’s body. We were able to open it using his thumbprint. You left him several voice mails over the past few days,” he said.