“I’m in a position where I could really embarrass myself here,” he said. “I mean, sure, you say it was a suicide. But right now, until I’ve done a little more investigation, that’s all I’ve got to rely on. Make me look awful bad if I cut you loose only to have my evidence team tell me it looks like you killed the guy. Then we’ve got to go find your ass, and I’ve got to deal with a bunch of cops in Ohio who are going to shake their heads at me, whisper to each other about this moron in Indiana who let a killer walk right out of his county.”
He looked at me with flat eyes. “I hate to have people whisper about me.”
I met his gaze. “You’ve got my statement. Unless you’re arresting me, I’m going to go home.” Home, suddenly, was sounding very nice, indeed.
“Push comes to shove, eh?” Brewer said.
“Yeah.”
“Well, I’m afraid I’m going to have to keep you here. At least for a few hours, while we get this straightened out.”
“You arresting me for murder?”
He shook his head. “I’m considering this an equivocal death investigation, Mr. Perry. Suicide’s an option, as is murder. As is, I suppose, an accidental shooting. That’d be the gamut, right? Anyhow, I’m going to have to look at it from a few directions, make sure—”
“I get the idea. But if you intend to keep me here overnight, you’re going to have to arrest me for something. And I don’t think you’ve got probable cause to say I killed that guy, Brewer.”
He smiled sadly and nodded, as if I’d beaten him on that point.
“That private eye license of yours,” he said, “is from what state?”
Shit. I saw where this was going now and shook my head.
“Well?”
“It’s from Ohio.”
“Oops. That’s no good. Because we’re in Indiana. And that dead guy out there? He’s in Indiana. And here you are, conducting an investigation in Indiana, without an Indiana license? My, my. I hate to say this, Mr. Perry, but that sounds like a crime.”
“Not the kind you go to jail for.”
This time the smile showed his teeth. “It’ll do for a night.”
7
The jail in Brown County was brand-new. The kid deputy provided this information after Brewer assigned him to the task of transporting me. When he got the news, the kid blanched noticeably, no doubt believing I was going to jail for offing the guy in the gazebo, and thinking about the few minutes he’d spent alone with me before Brewer had arrived. Once we were in the car, he kept glancing nervously in his rearview mirror, as if he thought a master criminal like me might somehow slip off the grate that protected the front seat and strangle him with my handcuffs. Maybe five minutes and fifty nervous glances into the ride, he decided he’d talk to me. Could be I’d pass on the chance to kill him if he was friendly enough, just thump him on the head with his own gun and steal his car. That was how the kinder master criminals did it.
“Pretty fancy, really,” he said of the jail. “A lot nicer than the old one. We got all electronic locks now, more space, everything high-tech.”
“And to think, I was worried about finding a place to stay tonight.”
“It’s a nice place. For a jail.”
“Lowest rates in town, I’m sure.”
He kept up the stream of nervous chatter for the whole ride while I sat back and watched the dark countryside roll by. I wondered when I would make it back to Cleveland. Brewer seemed like a hardass, the type who would keep me as long as he could, but unless they were stupid enough to actually charge me with murder, that wouldn’t be beyond morning. Karen would have the news long before I made it back. They’d probably call her tonight, as I’d been helpful enough to provide Brewer with next-of-kin information for the corpse. After all, I’d been hired to facilitate a notification of death, and Matthew Jefferson had already heard of his father’s murder. Hate to think I was getting paid for nothing.
I leaned back into the seat, ignoring the deputy, who was now telling me something about the perimeter security at the new jail, subtly trying to discourage me from attempting to break out of the place. Hopefully, when Brewer talked to Karen, it would loosen him up a bit. She’d support the story I had told him. Between that and the lack of physical evidence to suggest a homicide, he’d have to cut me loose in the morning. Son of a bitch probably would give me a fine for operating without a license in Indiana, though. That would be relayed to the Ohio licensing board, which would then fine me as well. Terrific.
It took them half an hour to book me into the jail. I was allowed to keep my clothes, but I had to give up my belt so I couldn’t hang myself. They took me back into the bowels of the building through several heavy steel doors that shut with loud, hollow clangs. Doors in jails always make me think of hatches in a submarine—there’s a sense of finality when they slam shut behind you.
I was alone in my cell, which was a plus, but there was a drunken hillbilly across from me who wanted to talk about my crimes, see what I was in for.
“Moonshining,” I said, and then I rolled over on the bunk and put my back to him. Sometime in the hours before I fell asleep, it occurred to me that Amy had missed a hell of a trip.
Brewer came for me early the next morning, probably running on no sleep, the way a good cop always seems to be. Brewer struck me as a good cop, just temporarily misguided.
“Sleep well?” he said as the jailer let me out of the cell and they led me through a series of doors and into a small conference room. It had shackles attached to the walls, sure, but was a conference room just the same.
“Are we done with this stupidity yet?” I answered. “Because I’d really like to be northbound sometime before noon.”
“Don’t be in such a hurry.”
The jailer left, and then it was just Brewer and me. He’d changed clothes, was wearing jeans and a sweatshirt now, cop casual. His face was covered with a day’s growth of beard, though, so he hadn’t taken much time at home before rolling back out for the second round with me.
“I’ve done a little research,” he said. “Sounds like you were a pretty good cop. You’ve had some big-deal cases as a PI, too. That’s good. Makes your witness testimony a little more reliable.”
“Don’t you wish you’d been nicer now?”
He tapped a pencil on the table in front of him. “Thing that makes me curious, though? Is why a smart detective like you would neglect to mention some damn interesting things during that witness testimony. Things like your arrest for assaulting the dead guy’s father. Things like the romantic relationship you had with the dead guy’s stepmother.”
“Too many irrelevant details can make a statement murky.”
“You think this is a game where we sit around and trade wise-ass remarks?”
“It’s shaping up like that.”
“Not anymore.” He leaned forward. “Yeah, I’d say you neglected to mention some pretty damn interesting things last night, Mr. Perry. You told me you were here to tell Jefferson his father was dead.”
“I was.”
“You didn’t mention that you were also here to tell him he was inheriting many millions.”
“That’s family business. I’m not interested in sharing anyone else’s financial details, Brewer.”
“Of course you’re not. Now, let’s review what you told me last night, shall we?” He pulled a small notebook from his pocket and glanced at it. “You told me, and repeated this several times, that Matthew Jefferson already knew his father was dead. That this was, in fact, the first thing he said to you when you encountered him.”
“That’s right.”
Brewer slapped the notebook down. “Now, if he knew his father was dead, it would stand to reason that he could also imagine he had just become a very wealthy man. Odd motivation for a suicide, don’t you think?”
“He’d been estranged from his father. Could be he had no idea he was getting any money. Maybe that was
