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“Mine. Does that matter?”
Calderon had said he was home. Did he consider Natalie’s house home? Skye knew he lived in a trendy townhouse in Keizer, just north of Salem. A fifteen-minute drive to the park where Banner was killed. Natalie lived much closer. Five minutes, but not much longer on a bike because of the many paths in that part of the city.
“You live near Fairmount Park, correct?”
She seemed surprised at the question.
“I do, yes. Is that where the crime happened? Was it a hit-and-run or something?”
Skye waited half a beat before answering. “A park ranger was raped and murdered in Minto-Brown Island Park,” she said. She probably shouldn’t have said that, but by now it had been widely reported on the news.
Natalie stepped back, clearly shocked. “I heard about that. Ohmigod, you do not think that Trent—that’s insane.” Now she frowned. “You think Trent did something so awful?”
“Like I said, his car was at the park Friday and again twice Saturday. I have to follow up and verify he was with you.” To cover herself, she said, “We’re interviewing the owners of every car that was at the park Friday evening to early Saturday morning, because someone may have seen something that can help our investigation.”
It sounded lame, but Natalie nodded as if she understood.
“Well, Saturday we went on a picnic.”
“In the afternoon.”
“Yes.”
“Mr. Calderon went to the park early in the morning, just after seven.”
“He runs in the park almost every morning,” Natalie said. “I’m sure that’s not unusual.”
“And on Friday night?”
“He picked me up at six forty-five for our seven o’clock reservation at the River Grill. We had dinner with friends, returned to my place around nine thirty. I can’t be more precise, because I don’t remember exactly. Then we had a glass of wine, talked, and Trent spent all night in my bed.”
“You’re sure?”
Skye immediately regretted the question but couldn’t take it back.
“Yes,” she said, colder than before. “I really hope this is the end of this ridiculous inquiry.”
“Me too,” Skye said.
Natalie turned to go back into the lobby.
“Just to confirm,” Skye said, “it was Mr. Calderon’s idea to go on the picnic, correct?”
Natalie glanced back at her, nodded. “He’s sweet and romantic. He would never hurt anyone.” She stared at Skye a moment longer than necessary. Skye knew in her gut that Natalie would never believe a bad word about her boyfriend. “All the time you’re wasting on Trent could be spent doing your job finding actual criminals.”
Then she walked into the hospital without another glance back.
Skye believed in the system. It was her job to look at a crime scene, collect evidence, and find the bad guy. She had worked in major crimes for five years, since the day she received her detective shield. She had the highest clearance rate in the department—67 percent. She’d been so proud of that, until now. Because what did having the best rate matter if a man she knew was guilty walked free? What if she couldn’t stop him before he went after someone else?
From the first time she’d talked to Calderon, he had gotten to her. If she didn’t get her head on straight, and fast, another woman would pay the price.
IV.
Skye slipped into the bullpen near the end of shift, planning to review the crime scene photos and witness statements again. She didn’t make it three steps.
“Truman!”
Garcia stood in his doorway. One look at his face and she knew she was screwed.
