disclosures right now, claiming attorney-client privilege.”
“Private investigators have attorney-client privilege?”
“They do when they’ve been hired by an attorney. At that point, they’re part of the attorney’s legal team. It’s legit, if a pain in the ass. They seem eager to cooperate, but refuse to provide the client’s name. We’ll work on it, but for now that’s where we stand.”
Brewer leaned back and spread his hands. “So as you can imagine, it is pretty damn important for us to hear what you have to say, Mr. Shaw. All we know now is that the man came down from Chicago to follow you. Or, apparently, to speak with you. The same night he arrived, he was killed. We’d like to know why.”
“So would I,” Eric said, and then he hesitated briefly, wondering again if a lawyer was in his best interests, because in the scenario Brewer had just recounted, Eric seemed not only like a suspect, but like a good one.
“The faster we move on this,” Brewer said, “the faster we can put your mind at ease for your family and yourself.”
“Okay,” Eric said. “Okay.”
He had Murray’s business card in his wallet, and he gave it to Brewer and then gave him Kellen’s name and number, and explained he was a witness to the initial encounter.
“But not to the conversation,” Brewer said. His tone was soft and unchallenging but it still stopped Eric short, gave him a tingle of warning.
“No,” he said. “There were no witnesses to the conversation. But I came back from it and told Kellen what had been said, immediately. That’s the best I can do.”
Brewer nodded, placating, and asked him to go on. Eric explained everything he could as Brewer sat quietly with his eyes locked on Eric’s, the tape recorder’s wheels turning steadily. Brewer’s face didn’t change throughout, didn’t react even when Eric spoke of the payment offer or the suggestion that he could be convinced to go home through other means if he passed on the money.
“He was talking on the phone when we left. You want to know who his client is, you should probably check the phone records.”
“We’ll be checking those, don’t worry.” Brewer looked down at the recorder, thoughtful, and said, “And this was both the first and last time you saw Gavin Murray?”
“Yes. You want to talk to someone, I’d look for Josiah Bradford. He was the last person Murray asked me about, and in my opinion, he’s probably the core of the reason Murray came down here.”
“Can you elaborate on that theory?”
“Have you talked to Josiah?”
Brewer looked pained, but he said, “We’re going to, don’t worry. It’s a matter of locating him, same as with you.”
“So he’s missing?”
“He’s not home, that’s all, Mr. Shaw. I’d hardly term him missing yet.” There was something in Brewer’s eyes that hinted at a deeper level of dissatisfaction, though, something that told Eric they were indeed interested in Josiah Bradford. “Now, could you please elaborate on the suggestion you just made?”
“Well, it’s a pretty simple idea. I came down here to do a movie about this rich guy in Chicago, about his childhood here. As soon as I get here, somebody offers me a decent amount of money to go home. Felt like a protective move to me, somebody maneuvering to head a problem off at the pass.”
A plausible explanation, but the details it omitted, like Eric’s growing confidence that the old man in the hospital was not the same Campbell Bradford of local infamy, were not minor. How in the hell could he be expected to explain it all, though? It was too damn strange. He’d sound like a lunatic.
“You said you’re making a movie,” Brewer said. “A documentary.”
“Yes.”
“Fascinating. So you tape interviews, things like that.”
“Yes.”
“Great. If we could have a look at the film you have from yesterday…”
“I don’t have any. Well, I’ve got audio. I can give you audio.”
But the audiotapes were going to introduce a new element to all this. Eric didn’t like the idea of Brewer and a roomful of additional cops sitting around listening to him tell Anne McKinney about his visions. No, that didn’t seem like a good choice at all.
“You don’t use a camera? Seems tough to make a movie without a camera.”
“I use them.”
“So you have one with you?”
“No. I mean, I brought one down, yeah. But it… it broke.”
Shit, that couldn’t sound more like a lie. Maybe he could find some wreckage from the camera to back him up, but that would require an accompanying explanation of how he’d come to beat an expensive camera into pieces on the hotel desk. Not the sort of story you wanted to tell a cop who was investigating a rage homicide.
“It broke,” Brewer said in a bland voice. “I see. Now, could you describe what your night looked like after your talk with Gavin Murray?”
“What it looked like?” Eric echoed, trying to focus. His head was pounding steadily now, and his stomach clenched and unclenched. He tried to will it all away, or at least down. Now was not the time for another collapse.
“Yes, what you did, who saw you, things of that nature.”
He should tell the truth, of course. But telling the truth would take them to Anne McKinney, and that would take them to his talk of visions and headaches. Of course, he’d already given them Kellen, who would have to say the same thing…
“Mr. Shaw?” Brewer prompted, and Eric lifted his head and looked at him and then the vertical hold went out in his eyes. It was like watching old reel-to-reel tape that had been damaged; the scene in front of him began to shake up and down, as if Brewer were sitting on a pogo stick instead of a chair. He had to reach out and grip the underside of his chair to steady himself.
The shaking stopped then, but double vision came in its place, two of Brewer across the table from him now, two sets of skeptical eyes regarding him, and there was a buzzing in his ears.
“I think,” Eric said, “I’m going to need to take a break.”
“Excuse me?”
“I’m not feeling well. It’s got to be nerves. I’m worried about my wife.”
“Mr. Shaw, I assure you there’s no reason to think your wife is in any danger. Unless
“I just need a break,” Eric said.
Yes, a break. That’s what he needed. A long-enough break to let him get back to his hotel room, let him get back to that plastic cup he’d filled with water from Anne McKinney’s bottle. It was the only thing that could save him now.
“I can get you some water,” Brewer said, and that produced an almost hysterical urge to laugh.
“I’d actually… I need to step out for a while,” Eric said, and the suspicion was building in Brewer’s face like a flush.
“Well, go on outside,” Brewer said. “But we do need to finish this talk.”
“No, I’m going to need to go. I can come back later. I need to lie down, though.”
“Excuse me?”
“Unless you’re arresting me, I’m going to need to lie down. Just for a while.”
He’d expected resistance, but instead Brewer gave him a very cool, skeptical nod and said, “Well, you do what you have to do, Mr. Shaw. But we’re going to need to talk again.”
“Of course.” Eric lurched to his feet as the buzzing intensified. He felt as if he were moving through water as he went to the door. “I’m sorry, I really am, but all of a sudden I’m feeling very bad.”
Brewer stood, and the sound of his chair sliding back on the floor went off in Eric’s brain like a power grinder applied to the edge of a blade, sparks coming off in showers.
