Before She Knew Him(39)

“This is a courtesy call, more than anything,” the policewoman, who gave her name as Officer Rowland, said. “I wanted to let you know that Matthew and Mira Dolamore have filed an official complaint of harassment against you this morning, and they will be seeking a protective order.”

“Harassment?” Hen said, and Lloyd put a hand on her leg and shushed her.

“What does that mean, a protective order? Is that a restraining order?” Lloyd asked.

“It’s essentially the same thing. As far as we know, they will not be asking for you to vacate your premises, but they are asking you to stop any contact. To not go near their premises—”

“We live right next door,” Hen said.

“—and to not spy on them or follow them.”

“Is this an official request?” Lloyd asked.

“As Officer Rowland explained,” the other policeman (Hen didn’t catch his name) said, “this is a courtesy call. Ideally, this issue would be solved without having to resort to issuing a protective order. We are hoping you’ll agree to comply with their request. I’ve personally found that most disputes between neighbors can be resolved peacefully.”

Hen slid to the front of the sofa, and Lloyd took his hand off her leg. “It’s not a dispute between neighbors. I witnessed Matthew Dolamore commit a murder. I’m not going to change my story because of a restraining order.”

The policeman put both his hands, palms out, toward Hen. “I understand completely. We’re not here to discuss the homicide case. We are just here to inform you that your neighbors have begun the process of applying for a protective order.”

“Okay. Okay,” Lloyd said. “How long will that take? For the order?”

“A judge usually has twenty-four hours to review the paperwork, but it’s often approved before the end of that period. It could be served as early as today.”

“That’s fine. Thanks for giving us a heads-up.”

“As of this morning, the Dolamores had not officially filed all the necessary paperwork. We are hoping that this conversation—”

“Fuck that,” Hen said. “Let them file it. I don’t give a shit.”

Lloyd moved his hand toward Hen’s back, and she stood up.

“Thank you, Officers, for doing your job.”

After they had left, Lloyd said, “Jesus, Hen.”

“What? I said what I meant. They can get all the restraining orders they want, but it doesn’t change what I saw.”

“Let’s have some coffee and talk about this some more.”

“I don’t want to talk about this anymore. I know you don’t believe me. I don’t know how to change your mind on that.”

“I believe you. I just think that you probably made some kind of mistake. Will you admit that that’s a possibility?”

“No, I will not admit that that’s a possibility. I’ll admit that everything I saw up until Saturday night was my opinion. Maybe the fencing trophy didn’t belong to Dustin Miller. Maybe Matthew Dolamore had some other reason for following people around in the middle of the night. But I saw him at the scene of the crime. With my own eyes.”

“You were drunk.”

“I wasn’t that drunk.”

“That’s not what I heard.”

“Where’d you hear that?”

“I talked to one of the detectives. Yesterday, before we drove home. He told me that you were extremely intoxicated.”

“I wasn’t. I’d been drinking, but . . .”

“They interviewed the bartender. You had at least five drinks, including a martini.”

“I don’t know if I had five, exactly.”

“You know that with your meds it’s like having ten drinks. Did you even eat dinner that night?”

“I don’t know. Look, don’t yell at me. I was drunk, but I know what I saw. Did you tell them about my meds?”

“Who? The police? They asked if you drank a lot, and I said no. I said that because of your meds you were usually very careful not to have more than two drinks.”

“Great.”

“I’m on your side, Hen. I’m worried about you.”

“Don’t you need to get to work?”

“It’s Columbus Day.”

“Oh, right.”

“I do have work to do, but I can do it from here. I don’t want you to be alone.”

Hen caught herself clenching her teeth together, then stopped. “I was going to go to the studio today. I can’t be here all day. Not with . . . not with him next door.”

“Okay. You should go to the studio. That makes sense.”

Hen drank some coffee and tried to eat some toast, but even the feel of food in her mouth made her want to vomit. She changed again and told Lloyd, now on his computer in the living room, that she was going to the studio.

“Can you do me a favor?” he asked.

“Okay,” she said.

“Promise me you’re only going to the studio. Promise you won’t do anything foolish.”

“I promise,” she said, and went out the front door, not even looking at the Dolamores’ house as she got into her car.





Chapter 21