by S. J. Coles
Coyle nodded and made for the ambulance, but Gibson took his elbow and pulled him to one side. “What’s going on with you?”
“Nothing,” he insisted, hoping she couldn’t hear the lie. “I was up late. That’s all.”
She eyed him narrowly then crunched over the frosty ground to the ambulance. “Sassy? Sassy Andrews?” Gibson’s tone was soft. The young girl sniffed. “I’m Agent Lisa Gibson. I just want to go over what happened this morning, if you’re up to it? Then Sheriff Coyle is going to take you home, okay?”
She nodded again, sniffing and wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. “I ain’t never seen no one dead before,” she said, her voice thick. “Poor Renny. And just after poor Mr. Benson too. Do you know who did it?”
“We’ll find them,” Gibson assured. “But first we just need to ask you a few questions. What time did you get here this morning?”
James got out his notepad and blinked to try to stop it swimming in and out of focus.
“About five-thirty,” Sassy said, wiping her nose on her sleeve. “I do an early shift cleaning at the Sundown Motel on a Monday. But I came here first cause we had food left over and Mom knows poor Renny is out here on his own. I was just gonna leave the parcel on the steps.” Her face creased again as she fought tears.
“It’s okay, Sassy. You’re doing great,” Gibson said softly. “Just tell us what you saw.”
“The door was hanging open. I could smell something…something weird.” She choked, covered her mouth. “It was blood, wasn’t it? His blood?”
“What happened next?” Gibson prodded gently.
She gulped air. “I stepped in, saw his trailer had been turned over, then saw him…”
“Take your time.”
She swallowed a few times, took a deep breath. “Saw him with his head blown off. I screamed, ran back to the road and rang the police. Then I just…I just sat on the side of the road until Sheriff Coyle arrived. I don’t know how long…”
“I got here about ten to six,” Coyle confirmed. “I secured the scene then tried to call Agent Solomon.” Her eyes flicked to him.
“I’m sorry,” James said, willing his voice to be steady. “My phone didn’t charge last night. Sassy, I’m Agent Solomon,” he said in as gentle a tone as he could manage. “Did you often bring Mr. Muntz food parcels?”
She blinked at him a few times. “Sometimes. My mom taught him at school. She knows he’s not the best at looking after himself.” She stopped, crunching her eyes shut. “He wasn’t the best, I mean.”
James nodded and jotted notes with a shaking hand. “Do you have any idea who might have wanted to hurt him?”
Sassy glanced between all three of them with a worried expression.
“You’re doing fine, Sassy,” Coyle said, putting a hand on her shoulder. “Anything you know could be helpful. You’re not going to get in trouble.”
“Plenty of people didn’t like him,” she said tearfully. “He was weird, you know? And sometimes loud or angry if you pushed his buttons. But he never hurt anyone. Never. Mom always said he was a misunderstood soul.”
“You work at Benson Industries with Mr. Muntz, right?”
“That’s right. I help with the mail when I’m not cleaning at the Sundown. You think it’s the same person who shot Mr. Benson?”
“It’s possible,” James said flatly, feeling Gibson’s eyes on him. “Do you have any idea who might want them both out of the picture?”
She shook her head again, staring at the floor. “No. I don’t understand who would do such a thing.”
“So you really didn’t hear of anyone who might have had a falling out with Mr. Benson recently?” he asked after a pause, his pulse fluttering in his throat.
Her forehead creased. “Like who?”
James met Gibson’s eyes. She hesitated then gave him an infinitesimal nod. “Like one of his heads of department?” he asked the girl. “Horatio Torez, perhaps?”
Sassy’s eyes widened. “Mr. Torez? No, that’s dumb.”
“There’s been no disagreement that you’re aware of?” James pushed.
“I already said no about that. Mr. Torez was buddies with Mr. Benson. He’s a good guy. He says hi and everything, not like all the others. He calls me ‘Miss Andrews’.” The corner of a smile turned up the side of her mouth.
“When we first questioned him, Renford was very quick to state that Mr. Torez shouldn’t be suspected,” James went on, carefully controlling his voice. “And it now looks like someone has paid him a good deal of money for something. It makes me wonder if Mr. Torez paid Mr. Muntz to help him cover up—”
“Mr. Torez didn’t argue with Mr. Benson,” she insisted. “And Mr. Torez sure-fire would never hurt him. Who told you he did? Oh!” Her face crumpled in an angry grimace. “Yeah, sure. I can guess who.”
“Who?” Gibson asked, her eyes keen.
“It was that jerk Leo Hannah, wasn’t it?” she growled. “Can’t trust his word. Can’t trust him as far as you could throw him.”
James’s stomach churned. He felt Gibson watching him and harnessed every effort to keep his face blank. “Why can’t he be trusted, Sassy?”
“He has it in for Torez. That’s why. Ever since Torez finished with him.”
James’ knuckles started to ache due to the tightness with which he held his notepad.
“Hannah and Torez were in a relationship?” Gibson asked carefully.
Sassy snorted. “‘Relationship’ ain’t the word. They were banging…for months. Anyone with eyes could see that.” She tilted her chin. “But Mr. Torez isn’t even a homo. That Leo just managed to make him think he was.”
“So the relationship ended?”
“Yeah, a couple of months ago. Mr. Benson told Mr. Torez to end it,” Sassy said in a hard voice. “He knew Leo Hannah was bad news and it would be bad for the company. But they didn’t fight over it. Mr. Torez knew Mr. Benson was right.”
“How do you know this, Sassy?” Gibson’s voice was muffled in James’ suddenly roaring ears.
“Mr. Torez told me, of course,” she said, straightening her small frame. “He talks to me lots, you know.”
James swallowed. His throat was tight. The hangover turned sour in his gut. His head began to throb.
“Thank you, Sassy,” Gibson said. “You’ve been very helpful. Sheriff Coyle, you can take Sassy home now. James”—she grabbed his sleeve and pulled him to one side—“what the hell is wrong with you? You look like you’re about to throw up.”
“I’m sorry,” he said, voice rasping, not meeting her eye. “I guess I drank too much yesterday.”
“That’s not like you.”
“I know.”
“We’ll get you some coffee. There’s a long day ahead. Thank God, a break at last,” she added in a more upbeat voice, surveying the bustling scene.
“You think Hannah killed Benson over the breakup?” James’s voice sounded thin in his own ears. “Then paid Muntz to help him cover his tracks?”
“Why else would he be pointing us at a decorated ex-military officer off-the-record? He gets the person who caused the breakup and the ex out of the way in one go.”
James took a deep breath to try to steady himself. It didn’t work.
“But wow,” Gibson continued, shaking her head. “Two men dead because a guy dumped him? Wouldn’t want to get on the wrong side of that kid.”
“Yeah,” James managed.
“Hannah smokes, right? Make sure you bag those butts by the fire pit,” she called to the officer depositing evidence bags in a box by the forensics van.
“So we’re arresting him?”
Gibson pressed her lips together. “No. We don’t have enough for that yet. But we’ll bring him in for questioning. Besides, if we arrest him, he’ll lawyer up. We might get more out of him on his own.”
“I don’t know… If he’s smart enough to plan all this”—James didn’t recognize his own voice—“he’s smart enough not to talk.”
<
br /> “Is that what’s wrong?” Gibson asked, in a gentler tone. “Him leading you on about Torez?”
James swallowed, searching her face, but could only see sincere concern.
She sighed. “Don’t feel bad, James. Sounds like this guy is an Olympic-level manipulator. Hell, he persuaded both his victims to hand over the weapon he killed them with. You got off lightly, I’d say. But we’ll get him. Don’t worry.”
Chapter Seven
The rest of the morning passed in a blur. James drank mug after mug of coffee but couldn’t manage more than a bit of the one of pastries Gibson had bought them for breakfast. He helped her prepare for the interview in a daze. His personal phone rang twice. He didn’t dare look at the number.
His palms were sweating as he paced down the narrow corridor to Winton PD’s interview room. Through the window in the door, he saw Leo, slouched forward in the chair, elbows on the table and forehead propped on a fist. His other hand was clenched on the tabletop and he kept crossing and uncrossing his legs. James concentrated on trying to read his body language for signs of guilt, but all he could see were the long limbs that had wrapped around him and the skin and mouth he had tasted the day before.
He took a steadying breath, turned the handle and went in.
“About time,” Leo snapped, looking up. “Someone tell me… James?” His fine-boned face went slack with the surprise. He lowered his voice. “You know there are easier ways to get a second date, right?”
“Mr. Hannah,” Gibson said flatly as she stepped into the room. “I’m Agent Gibson. We met a couple of days ago?”
“I remember,” Leo replied guardedly, still looking at James. “What exactly is going on here?”
“We were hoping you’d answer a few questions for us,” Gibson said, pulling out a chair and placing a manila folder on the table. James took the other seat and drew out his notepad and a digital recorder, not looking Leo in the face.
“I don’t know exactly what else I can tell you, ma’am.”
“We appreciate your co-operation all the same,” Gibson said flatly, hitting the power button on the recorder. “First of all, Mr. Hannah. Can you tell us how well you know Renford Muntz?”
“Renny?” His eyebrows lifted. “Not well.”
“But you’re on first-name terms?”
He shrugged. “I see him in the smoking area. We say hi. That’s it. Why?”
“He’s dead,” Gibson said after a long pause.
Leo’s face fell. “What?”
“I’m afraid so.”
Leo shifted again, visibly searching for words. “How?” he finally asked.
Gibson looked James’s way. “Shot,” James said, keeping his voice level, “with his own shotgun.”
Leo blinked at him.
“Did you know he owned a shotgun, Mr. Hannah?” Gibson questioned.
“Well, sure. He talked about it,” Leo went on, sounding strained. “He liked to get all macho, you know. But I figured he was bullshitting.”
“Why?”
“You met the guy, right? No one in their right mind would give a nutjob like that a gun license.”
“It was unlicensed.”
“Oh.” Leo sent James another questioning glance, but James kept his face blank.
“Where were you between the hours of eleven forty-five and twelve forty-five yesterday, Mr. Hannah?” Gibson continued.
Leo’s brow clouded. “What? Wait! Hold on. You think I did it?”
“Just answer the question, please.”
“Why in seven blue hells would I want to kill Renny Muntz?”
Gibson toyed with her pen, regarding Leo watchfully. “Looks like whoever shot your boss paid Muntz to swipe the security disks from the night of the murder. Muntz was either keeping the disks as leverage for more money or the killer just doesn’t like loose ends.”
“So now I’m supposed to have killed the old man too?” Leo’s outrage was tinged with panic. James tried to determine if it was innocent or guilty panic, but his objectivity stayed out of reach.
“That’s what we’re trying to find out, Mr. Hannah,” Gibson said.
“Good Christ.” Leo ducked his head and clutched his hair. “Why me?”
“We have a witness who says Mr. Benson instructed Horatio Torez to end his relationship with you.”
Leo went still. “You…what?”
“Is it true?” Gibson asked coolly.
Alarm brightening his green eyes. He opened his mouth, closed it again, then started again. “No, it’s not true.”
“No?”
“No.”
“Very well. We’ll leave that for now. Please just confirm where you were between eleven forty-five and twelve forty-five yesterday.”
Leo turned his dazed expression on James. James swallowed, concentrated all his effort on not blinking. “You believe this too, James?” he asked in a low voice.
Gibson narrowed her eyes. “Mr. Hannah, please answer the question. This is the third time I’ve had to ask.”
“Shit.” Leo ran a hand through his hair. “Eleven forty-five?” He frowned heavily at the tabletop. “I dunno. I guess that was when I was banging on the door of Ms. Murgatroyd’s store.”
“What for?”
James held his breath.
“I was having a friend over for lunch,” Leo said slowly, focused on Gibson. “But I’d forgotten to get food in.”
“You planned to have a friend for lunch and forgot to buy the food?”
“Sue me. I’m not very organized.”
Gibson put her head on one side and examined Leo closely, like James had seen her do with dozens of suspects before. This was the first time that it had made his skin prickle. “All right,” she said in her most reasonable tone. “So you banged on a store door. Did they answer?”
“Sure did. Ms. Murgatroyd’s a nice lady.”
“And she can confirm this?”
Leo’s face hardened. “I’m sure she could.”
“What happened then?”
“I got my groceries then headed back to my apartment,” Leo said in the same careful tone.
“What time did you reach your apartment?”
“Jesus, I dunno. I was in the store about five minutes? Then it’s a couple of minutes’ walk back.”
“So you got back to the apartment at five to twelve?”
Leo spread his hands. “Sure, I guess.”
“Then what did you do?”
Leo stared hard at Gibson. James clutched his pen with aching fingers. “I ate. I drank. I listened to some records. I went to bed.”
“You didn’t leave your apartment again?”
“No.”
“Were you alone? Or did your friend show up?”
What remained of the color in Leo’s face drained away. A flush of dread rode up James’s spine. “He showed,” Leo said evenly.
“And who is he?” Gibson asked.
Leo went rigid. The muscles in his throat moved as he swallowed. James’s own throat had closed over completely.
“Who?”
Leo finally looked at James, his eyes wide.
“Mr. Hannah,” Gibson insisted, impatience creeping into her tone, “if you don’t give us your friend’s name, we can’t verify your story.”
Leo held his gaze, his eyes pleading. James clenched his fist so tight that the fingernails dug painfully into his palm.
“James?” Leo’s voice was strained. “Go on. Tell her.”
Gibson stared first at Leo, then at James. Her eyes widened in horror. A second that lasted an eternity passed, then she reached over and slammed the recorder off.
“Agent Solomon. Out.”
James was rooted to the chair. The blood rushed in his ears, making it sound like the building was crashing down around him. All he could see was Leo’s distraught expression.
“James,” Gibson hissed, wrenching the door open. “Now.”
James followed her in a daze. Her frame was rigid with fury as she stor
med down the corridor. Police officers stepped out of the way with bewildered expressions. She opened the door of the first empty office she found and waved him in, slamming the door behind them.
“What the fuck, Solomon?” she ground out, dark eyes ablaze. “Tell me you didn’t spend your afternoon off with our chief suspect. Tell me now.”
James felt sick. He sank onto the edge of a desk. “It’s true.”
Her hand went to her forehead. “What the fuck were you thinking?”
“I wasn’t thinking.”
“At least not with anything above your belt buckle, you weren’t,” she snapped, then her face fell. “Jesus, you didn’t sleep with him, did you? Tell me you didn’t sleep with him.”
James dropped his gaze to the floor. Gibson swore bitterly and leaned heavily on a chair. James made himself sit still, even though the pressure building in his head made him dizzy.
“Christ, James.” Gibson’s voice, when she finally spoke again, was brittle. “At the very least you were having sex with a witness. Now it looks like you were having sex with a murderer who is now using you as his alibi. Do you have any idea the level of the shit you’re in?”
“I’m sorry,” he forced out, gripping the edge of the desk. “I have no excuse. I just… He’s…” He shook his head. “I’m sorry.”
Gibson searched his face with a mixture of exasperation and despair on her own. “This is not you, James Solomon. You don’t do shit like this.”
“I know,” he said grimly.
“What’s this kid got that’s worth risking everything for?” she asked.
He kneaded his temples, the blood pulsing there like thunder.
“Okay,” she said, finally, when he didn’t answer. “Let’s see if we can’t get something useful out of this shit-storm. What time did you arrive at his apartment?”
“Twelve,” James intoned.
“And he was there? Tell me he was there.”
James swallowed again. “He wasn’t.”
“Shit.” She paced around the small office, rubbing her forehead. “So he’s lying about the timing?”
James scowled at the floor. “I don’t get the impression he’s reliable with timekeeping. But yes, he could just be lying—though it would be pretty dumb to lie when I was there too.”