Page 30 of The Librarians
She flicks a bit of nonexistent dust from the scarf. “When I left, Ms. Obermann was still sitting in her car. She was parked not far from me and there was enough light to see her costume.”
“Were you also able to see what she was doing in her car?”
“Looking at her phone, maybe—it didn’t seem that she was doing anything unusual.”
“It was late and the library was closed. You did not think it was unusual that she stayed in her car?”
Hazel shrugs. “I’ve sat in a parked car scrolling on my phone. I assumed Ms. Obermann was doing the same.”
Detective Hagerty’s jaw moves. “Were there any details—any at all—during her time at the library event that stood out for you? Did she pay special attention to someone or something? Say anything a little off? Appear nervous or afraid? Or did anyone else at the gathering strike you as being, doing, or saying anything out of the ordinary?”
Hazel shakes her head as she continues to withhold information. “At the moment, I really can’t think of anything else, unless you want to know about her favorite dishes at the Apple cafeteria.”
“You are sure about that, Ms. Lee?”
His voice edges lower, more menacing, which might have intimidated a woman of less privilege. She meets his gaze straight on and answers, with a perfectly clear conscience, “I’m sure, Detective.”
“Well, should you recall anything later, please do let us know.”
It sounds like a threat. She smiles as she accepts his card—and is done with her first adversarial police interview.
Her first in the United States of America, in any case.
Chapter Ten
Singapore
Seven months ago
Of the ten police officers who barged into Hazel’s penthouse apartment shortly before midnight, only three remain seven hours later, two men and a woman.
They sit around the coffee table, a large, mirror-smooth oval of polished steel shot through with veins of equally reflective brass. The two junior cops stare at the floor-to-ceiling windows, an eight-meter-high wall of glass that overlooks Marina Bay, now bathed in the reddish-gold brilliance of sunrise. A third, their superior, studies Hazel as he drinks his coffee, a scowl on his face.
Hazel, trying not to slump in her accent chair, isn’t so much unafraid as she is dead tired. She had yet to go to sleep when the raid began. And now, after an entire night watching her home being systematically torn apart, she just wants to be alone.
Does she owe Kit an apology? she wonders numbly. A bit pedestrian for her to suspect that he was having an affair, isn’t it, when instead his failed speculations on cryptocurrencies led him to—allegedly—embezzle twenty-five million dollars?
“Where is your husband, Ms. Lee?” asks Detective Chu, still drinking coffee and still scowling.
Briefly she considers the possibility that the coffee might be too bitter. Carmela and Marisol, her Filipina housekeepers, both make excellent coffee. But they too spent a sleepless night and are probably in no mood to show hospitality to the invaders.
“Detective,” she says, “I have not received any news from the outside world since you seized my devices. All I can tell you is what I’ve already told you. My husband, as far as I know, reached London ten days ago to attend a weeklong art fair.
“Now that the art fair is over, according to his original schedule, he should be in the Sussex countryside, at his father’s place.”
“ ‘According to his original schedule’? You don’t know for certain that he’s in the Sussex countryside, at his father’s place?”
Hazel suppresses her desire to repeatBut I’ve already told you. “That is correct, Detective.”
“Because of this ‘trial separation’ of yours.”
“Correct.”
“Which is known to no one except the two of you.”
Doyoublast the news ofyourtrial separation to your family and friends?
“Correct.”
