The buzzer buzzed. I answered it, "Hello."
"Hello? Mrs. Dana Winslow?"
"Yes."
"Police. May we come up?"
I didn't think Police asked permission, but what do I know? After my stalker problem was resolved last winter I couldn't remember anything happening to interest the Police. Unknown to them, it was a battle of wits, and I won by one wit, beating the police and Dr. Morrows.
"Yeah. "I'll check your IDs before I open the door."
'Yes'm."
I pushed the door button and heard a faint, distant 'bzzzzzzzzzt.' A minute later the elevator door whumped open and a man and a woman stood before my door, badges in hand. I didn't recognize them, a good sign. I let them in.
Sgt. Rossio and Probationary Police Officer Taracs sat on the couch, and I sat on my easy chair. I waited. They waited.
"Mrs. Winslow, we're here about the kidnapping of Jaxon Charles Green, aged 22 months, seven days ago, that is, Saturday the 1st, from Jose's Bodega, about 7:15 PM."
My blood ran cold. I wasn't there. Why did they want to see me? I shopped at Jose's. Lottery tickets, cheap wine, quick foods, fashion magazines, and so on. I nodded but had sense enough to remain quiet: danger here.
Rossio looked up from his iPad. Like the other police I'd had run-ins with in the last few years, he was observant. I remained quiet and didn't display any emotion.
"The child has not been found, nor has there been any ransom demand, or sighting."
I nodded again.
"Have you heard anything about the kidnapping?" the woman asked.
"Yeah," I said, forcing myself to relax, a trick I had mastered. "It's on the news every night. No breaks in the case, isn't that how you describe it?"
"Yes," she said. "No leads. That's why we're here. You were identified as a witness, speaking to the woman who took Jaxon." My heart began to pound. "On camera, known to Jose as someone who shopped there occasionally. You bought lottery tickets that night."
"Did I? You must be mistaken. I was home that night."
The sergeant shook his head. "Mrs. Winslow, you were positively identified. We want you to come to the station for an interview. Will you come now?"
"Yes." No choice. "Let me get my jacket."
I got my ski jacket and my green knitted hat that pulled down over my ears, my scarf and sweater. I put the jacket on correctly, the smooth blue fabric out and the reversible sherpa inside, as it should be.
I locked the door behind me and followed the officers to the elevator. Soon we walked down the slippery steps in the falling snow. I got in the police cruiser and we drove off.
I wasn't at the bodega that night. I don't remember the woman with the baby. Jackie? No, Jaxon. I knew of the kidnapping from the news. Pity. I can't help them. I can't. I dare not.
We drove through Brooklyn. I rubbed my cold hands together for warmth and checked my pocket for my gloves. I pulled them out and slipped the left one on. My fingers caught on a paper and I removed it. A lottery ticket. One number circled. Not a winner. Dated the day of Jaxon's kidnapping.
I wanted to faint or throw up or jump out of the car, but I had to sit still, looking out the car window at the stores lit up for Christmas, people walking, until my heart slowed down and I could breathe normally again. I put the ticket in a tissue and crumpled it. I'd throw it away at the police station.
