“So you don’t remember who was there?”
“No.”
“You don’t have one single person to vouch for you?”
Another shrug.
Brent rubbed his forehead. I knew that gesture—he was already getting frustrated. This was going to be a long interview.
“Look,” Brent said, “it really would be in your best interest to have someone corroborate your whereabouts. You say there were people in and out but can’t remember a single one. Why is that?”
“I already told you—I was asleep.”
“If that’s so,” I said, “if you were passed-out asleep, then how would you know there were people coming and going?”
He shifted uncomfortably. “Because I woke up every now and then.”
“If you woke up,” Brent said, “then you must have seen who was in your house, right?”
“No, I never saw their faces.”
“Let me get this straight,” Brent said. “Last night, you went home to your trailer and went to sleep. You woke up every now and then, found people whom you didn’t know in your house, and then proceeded to go back to sleep. Do I have that right?”
Jordan swallowed. “It’s not as weird as you make it sound. People come and go all the time.”
“In the middle of the night?”
“Yes.”
“What are they doing while they’re there, Jordan?”
“I don’t know—hanging out?”
“Hanging out?” I held back a laugh.
“Could you be a little more specific?” Brent asked.
Jordan’s cheeks reddened. “No, I couldn’t. You’re making it sound weird that I have friends who like to hang out, and it’s not weird! It happens to normal people all the time. It’s what people do—we hang out with each other. People who have friends understand that concept.” He shot me a glare.
Silence filled the room until Brent finally spoke up. “Fine. How about we discuss something else. Did you know Mr. Duncan?”
“I met him a few times.”
“When was the first time you met him?”
“He came to my show once. Never tipped me, but that’s okay. After the show, he came up to me afterwards and said he had some water moccasins in his pond back home he’d like me to get rid of—because I ate a baby rattler at that show—so, you know… that’s about it. I told him I only eat snakes, I don’t catch them.”
“And when was the other time you met him?” Brent asked.
“No, that was the only time.”
“But you said you met him a few times,” I said.
“I did?”
Brent nodded.
“Well, that’s not what I meant to say. I met him once. That’s it.”
A knock came at the door, and Brent excused himself to open it. I glanced back and saw Officer Rakestraw standing on the other side. He gave Brent a manila folder, and then Brent returned to his seat. He leafed through the papers inside for a moment, closed the folder, and then gave Jordan a hard stare.
“I want you to be very clear,” Brent said. “Are you certain that you only met Mr. Duncan once?”
“Yes.”
“Did you ever exchange anything at all—money, papers, anything?”
“No. Nothing. I already told you he didn’t tip me, right?”
Brent tapped the folder. “That’s odd. Do you know why it’s odd, Jordan?”
“No idea.”
“Because I’ve just gotten the initial results from the autopsy, and do you know what they found in Mr. Duncan’s system?
He shrugged, but I noticed he kept his hands tucked in his lap, which was odd because he usually flailed them around to emphasize his point.
Brent opened the folder and read the topmost paper. “A foreign chemical substance was found in the deceased. Test results concluded a positive match for a derivative of Aconitum napellus, commonly known as the Monkshood plant.”
Monkshood. Interesting.
“So? What’s that got to do with me?” Jordan said.
Brent passed him a small plastic baggie with a few ounces of white powder inside. “Does this look familiar?”
Jordan stared at the bag without touching it. He didn’t say a thing. Finally, he looked up. “I’d like to speak to a lawyer, please.”
Chapter 9
“What was in the baggie?” I asked Brent as he walked me back to my booth.
“A street drug called Possess. It’s been all over the place lately. Unfortunately for him, we found a similar bag in Mr. Duncan’s pocket, and it had the name Eros I. printed on it. Pretty dumb move if you ask me, putting your name on the drugs.”
“Maybe for ordinary people, but it doesn’t surprise me that Jordan did it. He’s all about bringing attention to himself, so he would have wanted his clients to think of him every time they used their drugs. He’s got a god complex for sure. It also makes sense why he wouldn’t say who was at his trailer last night.”
“Yeah,” Brent answered, “he was covering for his buyers. But now we have more questions.” Brent eyed me. “Do you think he killed Mr. Duncan?”
I sighed. “No, I don’t think he did it. Even though you found traces of the drug in Mr. Duncan’s body, and even though we know Jordan sold it to him, something doesn’t add up.”
“For one thing,” Brent said, “there’s no motive. Jordan barely knew the guy.”
“Would you like my suggestion?” I asked.
“Go ahead.”
“Follow the drug trail. Jordan is probably the lowest man on the totem pole. Find out who he bought the drugs from and where the drug was made. The biological compound found in the monkshood flower is also found in this drug, and whoever killed Mr. Duncan also used monkshood flowers as their calling card.”
“You think whoever is manufacturing this drug could have killed Mr. Duncan?”
“It’s a possibility.”
“All right,” Brent said, “I’ll look into it.”
My booth appeared up ahead, and while I enjoyed sleuthing with Officer Sanchez, playing host to the fairy court, and entertaining Wult barbarians, the truth was I still had bills to pay, and I hadn’t had any clients all day. I intended to set up shop and hope someone with severe depression and an immense hoard of collectible dragons came by real soon.
“I’ll see you around,” I said as I left Brent to enter my booth.
He gave me a brief good-bye and went on his way.
I hadn’t
