Total pages in book: 138
Estimated words: 126823 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 634(@200wpm)___ 507(@250wpm)___ 423(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 126823 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 634(@200wpm)___ 507(@250wpm)___ 423(@300wpm)
“Of course,” Stella said. “I’m not about to leave you alone.”
“I don’t see how they could possibly think I had anything to do with Deacon’s death, Raine. I work in the café and everyone saw me here. Deacon was in Yosemite. It isn’t like I could have jogged up there and back in a few minutes.” Shabina was stuck on the idea of needing an attorney present.
“It’s just a precaution,” Raine assured. “I’m that person. Always covering every base. I’ve seen so many interrogations, honey. They start out nice and easy, friendly, asking questions that seem benign, and then the questions veer in a completely different direction. I don’t want that to happen. You’ve been through enough. I don’t want you to be uncomfortable when you don’t have to be.”
Stella nodded. “We’re just looking out for you.”
“I’m grateful that you’re here.” Shabina forced herself to look directly at the attorney. She had no idea where he came from, but his rigid posture and short haircut told her he was either CIA or from one of the branches of military Raine did contract work for—if that was what she did. Shabina was never certain.
Decker’s nod was friendly enough, but his gaze was on the café’s door as Paul Rafferty entered along with two men dressed in tailored blue suits. The sheriff brought them straight to the table.
“Shabina Foster, Special Agents Len Jenkins and Rob Howard,” Rafferty introduced the two men.
Both men showed her a badge and then looked expectantly at the others at the table. Raine introduced Stella, Decker and then herself to the agents. Both raised an eyebrow when they were told Decker was an attorney.
Shabina waved them to chairs. “What can I do for you?”
“We would like to record this conversation,” Jenkins said, once the three men were seated. He placed a recorder between them. “If you would state your name, date of birth and where you were born, please.”
Decker stirred but didn’t disapprove.
Next, they wanted to establish her credentials. From which university had she received her degrees that made her an acknowledged expert in ornithology as well as biology in the area. She answered easily, and Decker offered no objections. She had received her bachelor’s and master’s from the University of California, Davis, in wildlife biology and avian sciences.
Shabina kept her hands folded in her lap. She’d learned discipline from being a prisoner for a year and a half. Even more from trying to hide the results of that trauma from her parents. She managed to appear calm and composed as the three men from law enforcement faced her.
It was Rafferty who produced three transparent bags and laid them in front of her. Each contained two bloodstained feathers.
“May I?” Shabina’s hand hovered over the bag closest to her.
Again, it was Rafferty who nodded. The two agents watched her intently. Shabina lifted the bag and turned it one way and then the other, back and forth, studying the feathers. Then she took the second bag and held it up to the light. The feathers were a reddish- pinkish brown. One had faint blue markings along the very edge, while the other three had black dots scattered across them.
Her heart accelerated, but she kept her breathing even. She had a great deal of practice looking composed when she really was terrified.
“These come from two different species of birds. They appear to be from the same species if you just take into account their coloring, but the feathers with the black spots are from a bird called a mourning dove. They’re native to California. That bird appears to have been killed sometime after the other one. You can see the drops of blood are much fresher.”
“And the fourth feather?” Jenkins prompted.
“That one makes no sense. I believe the last feather is one from the laughing dove. See the blue markings just on the edge there? The color is different as well. More of a pinkish cast. The laughing dove isn’t native to California. It’s found in Saudi Arabia, which is why this doesn’t make any sense. This bird has been dead for some time. You can see the color of the blood is far different. It’s possible I’m wrong about this—I can’t be certain without studying it under a microscope—but I don’t think I am.”
She placed both bags carefully on the table in front of Rafferty and sat back in her chair, once more folding her hands in her lap. She didn’t dare look at Raine or Stella. Her mind began to race with possibilities. She couldn’t slow it down or push down her panic.
What if the FBI searched her home and found the feathers she’d kept as proof she wasn’t losing her mind? What if the feathers were no longer there? Someone could have broken in and stolen them while she was gone. That feather could very well be one of the ones she placed in the baggie in a drawer in her house.