CHAPTER FIFTYJessica
The following morning, I reported to the Boulder police
station to review a line-up of suspects in Fred’s murder. As a uniformed
officer escorted George and me to the room, I saw the elderly woman who lived
across from Fred’s apartment step into the hallway, talking up a storm to the
officer with her.
“That was him. I’m positive,” she said. “I remember seeing him
hanging around outside, waiting. Of course, I didn’t think much about it.
Plenty of people lurk about . . . .”
Her voice faded as she walked away. I looked at George before
we entered the room.
“Well, here goes nothing,” I said.
George nodded and opened the door. The room was dark and I
could see several men standing in a line through the one-way mirror.
The officer who’d escorted the neighbor re
