Remember When

crime-scene unit took images of the hand- and footprints, and with their tech magic extracted microscopic blood traces for DNA match.
    She'd already matched the index fingerprint on the wall to the prints on file for Tina Cobb.
    "I know you're going to say it's just cop work, Dallas, just step-by-step investigation, but it's just short of miraculous we were able to nail this scene."
    Peabody studied the blood patterns, boldly blue under the scanners set on tripods.
    "Another few weeks, maybe days, they'd have set the floor, covered the walls. He picked a good spot for this."
    "Nobody to see her, hear her," Eve stated. "Easy enough to get her inside, dozens of reasons he could've used. There's plenty of pipe for the murder weapon, tarps to wrap her body in to transport it. He'd get the gas first. Have that in the transfer vehicle. He got in here, he could access the gas. We'll follow up there. There'll be records of what's stored or purchased through the Whittier account."
    "I'll get on that."
    "Do it on the way. Let's go see Whittier."
    ***
    She didn't want him on scene, not yet. She wanted this first contact in his home, where a man felt most comfortable. And where a man, guilty or innocent, tended to feel most uneasy when confronted with a badge.
    She didn't want him surrounded by his employees and friends.
    He opened the door himself, and she saw a sleepless night on his face that was layered over now with what might have been shock and worry.
    He extended a hand to her in what she took as the automatic manners of a man raised to be polite.
    "Lieutenant Dallas? Steve Whittier. I don't know what to think, what to say. I'm not taking this in.
    Hinkey thinks there's been some mistake, and I'm inclined to agree. I'd like to get down to the site and-"
    "I can't allow that, at this time. Can we come in?"
    "What? Oh, yes. Sorry. Excuse me. Ah..." He gestured, stepped back. "We should sit down." He scrubbed a hand over his face. "Somewhere. In here, I think. My wife's out, but I expect her back soon. I don't want her to walk in on this. I'd rather try to tell her... Well."
    He walked them into his den, held out his hands to chairs. "Would you like something?
    Something to drink?"
    "No. Mr. Whittier, I'm going to record this interview. And I'm going to give you your rights."
    "My..." He sank into a chair. "Give me a minute, will you? Am I a suspect in something? Should I... Do I need a lawyer?"
    "You have a right to a lawyer or a representative at any time during this process. What I want is to get a statement from you, Mr. Whittier. To ask you some questions." She set a recorder in plain view on the table and recited the revised Miranda. "Do you understand your rights and obligations in this matter?"
    "Yes, I guess I do. That's about all I do understand."
    "Can you tell me where you were on the night of September sixteenth?"
    "I don't know. Probably here at home. I need to check my book."
    He rose to go to the desk for a sleek little day calendar. "Well, I'm wrong about that. Pat and I had dinner out with friends. I remember now. We met at about seven-thirty at the Mermaid. It's a seafood place on First Avenue between Seventy-first and -second. We had drinks first, then took the table about eight. Didn't get home until around midnight."
    "The names of the people you were with?"
    "James and Keira Sutherland."
    "And after midnight?"
    "I'm sorry?"
    "After midnight, Mr. Whittier, what did you do?"
    "We went to bed. My wife and I went to bed." He flushed when he said it, and the expression reminded her of Feeney's embarrassment when he'd realized what she and Roarke had been up to on their recreational break.
    She deduced Whittier and wife had indulged in some recreation before sleep.
    "How about the night of September fourteenth?"
    "I don't understand this." He muttered it, but checked his book. "I don't have anything down. A Thursday, a Thursday," he said, closing his eyes. "I think we were home, but I'd have to ask Pat.
    She remembers these things better than I do. We tend to stay home most evenings. It's too hot to go out."
    He was a lamb, she thought, innocent as a lamb, just as he'd been at seven. She'd have bet the bank on it. "Do you know a Tina Cobb?"
    "I don't think... the name's a little familiar-one of those things you think you've heard somewhere.
    I'm sorry. Lieutenant Dallas, if you could just tell me what's going on, exactly what's..." He trailed off.
    Eve saw on his face the minute the name clicked for him.