"Tell me what your typical day is like." He didn't want to ask it, but he knew he had to. The girl didn't seem like a nut yet, but she didn't seem like she was going to have any important information, either. She was probably just lonely and looking for some attention. He couldn't even bother to think of her as a person, as Rachel, yet.
"That's easy. I'm totally a creature of habit. I get up every day at ten and then I lounge around for a while until lunch. I don't get dressed until after lunch. Then I write, do stuff, and run any errands if my parents leave me a note about it. Sometimes I call my mom at work and we talk. And sometimes I . . . take my binoculars . . . and look at what my neighbors are doing," Rachel said. Even though Pembleton had not appeared even the slightest bit threatening until now, Rachel sensed his authority, like he was her father, and she didn't want him to be ashamed of her. And spying on people was something her own father disapproved of.
"Are you a Peeping Tom, Rachel?" Pembleton said, leaning forward slightly. "That violates code 534.6(c) of the penal code. I could arrest you for this."
"No! I'm not a Peeping Tom!" Rachel backpedaled then reversed herself. "I mean, yes, sort of, I guess. It's not like I watch people having sex or anything, and anyway, if somebody's drapes are open, if you're just walking by you could see what they're doing, what's the difference if I use binoculars or not?" She folded her arms over her chest.
Pembleton backed off, not wanting to antagonize her. "You must have really liked Rear Window," he joked.
"What's that?" Rachel asked.
"Never mind. I was just wondering where you got the idea to spy on people like that from."
Rachel flushed. She practically whispered, "Harriet the Spy. I always wanted to be a spy when I grew up. Or a detective. But my parents don't let."
"You're a grown woman, Rachel," Pembleton said gently. "You can apply to the Police Academy if you want. You don't need your parents' permission."
On the outside he was still playing along. On the inside, he was thinking, A police groupie. She just wants to feel like she's a part of things. But why this particular case? Why now?
"You don't understand, okay? I mean, the daughter of Ira and Beth Fishbein does not become a cop. But that's fine, you know? I get it. I'll probably just become a psychologist."
"Did it bother you to see Luther Mahoney get killed? Did you speak to a psychologist afterwards?" Pembleton segued easily.
Rachel looked up sharply. "No. To both questions. I mean, I saw it happen, but only from the back. Luther Mahoney had his back to the window and when he was shot, there was no exit wound. It's not like I saw blood spurting. And I couldn't really see him die. The balcony was blocking my view."