Page 46 of Fallen

Giving him a withering look, she picks up her cup, sets it down without drinking.

“Look,” she says, “I loved Rachael. She was fun and alive and … she was one of the most amazing people I’ve ever met. She just had this way about her. This … persuasive energy that won you over. And you guys are sitting there judging her and doing the whole assassination-of-character thing, treating her as if she was some common criminal.”

She’s getting herself worked up, so I give her a moment, keep my voice level. “We’re not judging her,” I say gently. “We’re trying to find the person who murdered her.”

“She wasn’t perfect,” she snaps. “Rachael was … Rachael. I loved her anyway. I accepted her. Flaws. All of it. But…” She struggles to find the right words. “I’m not badmouthing her, but … I think you both know by now that she wasn’t always a good person.”

“How so?” I ask.

“When she wanted something, she went for it.”

Tomasetti rolls his eyes. “What the hell does that even mean?”

She looks around, as if to make sure no one is close enough to hear what she’s about to say, and lowers her voice. “Look, I don’t know this for a fact, but it crossed my mind that Rachael might be blackmailing someone.”

“Who?” I ask.

“No clue.”

Groaning, Tomasetti leans against his chair back. “Right.”

“Why did you think that?” I ask.

“The money for one thing. She was always throwing it around. And she was secretive about where it came from.” She lowers her voice to a whisper. “A couple weeks ago, I walked in, late, and she was on the phone, arguing with someone. I mean, they were really going at it. I heard her threaten them.”

“Any idea who?” I press.

“I asked, but she just laughed and said it was this bartender she’d had to fire, and he was trying to get his job back.” She shakes her head. “Poor guy was in love with her, but she just … laughed.” Her brows draw together. “I remember looking at her and thinking: She’s lying.”

“What’s his name?” Tomasetti asks.

“Joey Knowles.”

He writes down the name.

“Was the caller male or female?” I ask.

“Not sure.” She gives a sheepish smile. “Rach was pretty much an equal-opportunity asshole.”

“In what way did she threaten the person she was talking to?” I ask.

“I only caught the tail end of the conversation. She said something like—and I’m paraphrasing—‘play your cards right and no one will ever know.’”

“Why didn’t you mention this sooner?” I ask.

She looks away. “Because I don’t want people thinking she was a bad person who deserved what she got. She didn’t.”

Tomasetti isn’t buying it. “How much did she give you?” he asks.

She opens her mouth. Closes it. Blinks a dozen times. All of it accompanied by a deep flush that spreads down her throat like a sunburn. “She didn’t—”

“How much?” he snaps.

“She … gave me the down payment for my car,” she tells him. “The Audi.”

“Nice of her,” he says. “Did you ask her where the money came from?”

“No.” She looks down at the coffee and shakes her head. “You know, the whole look-a-gift-horse-in-the-mouth thing, I guess.”