11 Questions for a Witness

“No,” Jean said with finality.

“What time was this?”

Jean cocked her head. “I’d say three or so.”

Jen made notes on her pad as Jean talked more about menopause. A few minutes later, Jen was able to extricate herself from Jean Weiss.

Striding with purpose in the warm early morning, Jen returned to Jill Prince’s townhouse. The complex was located within a larger development of single-family homes.

A news van occupied a space near the edge of the townhouse cluster. Jen stopped. She couldn’t be on television. She couldn’t bring any attention to herself.

Yellow police tape circumnavigated the end unit where Jill Prince died. Instead of going under the tape and making the reporters want to question her, Jen walked the long way around planning on entering through the back door.

A battered metal trash can stopped her. The can stood next to Jill Prince’s unit and had her number on it in eighteen-inch, block letters.