“Other than the security ones, yes. That’s why I kept watching. I do that. Watch people. They’re fascinating.” Her voice sounded almost wistful. “From a distance, obviously. I’ve been keeping tabs on the construction, of course, but this was different.”
“Could you see who came into the office?” Bowie asked.
“Not at first.” Greta shook her head, squinted as if trying to remember. “There were two men. Both wore suits. One was a bit more tailored than the other. Polished, even. The other was older, heavier, especially around the middle. Rumpled. He wore glasses, round, with thin frames.”
“That’s pretty good eyesight,” Bowie said in a way that had Jack gnashing his teeth.
“The heavier man had a mark, here.” Greta touched her hand to the side of her neck, trailed it up her left cheek. “I wondered if it might be a wine mark? One of those birthmarks people are born with.” She shivered. “He was so angry.”
“The man with the birthmark?” Jack asked.
“No. The other one.”
“Angry.” Bowie continued to scribble. “And you know this because—”
Jack shot a look at Bowie who, near as Jack could tell, wasn’t even trying to hide his disbelief. If Greta noticed, she didn’t let on.
“People change demeanor when they’re angry.” Greta’s eyes remained pinned to the now dark office. “The body, it tenses, tightens, like a spring. It’s like it’s ready to strike. But he didn’t. The older man, I mean. But the younger one did. Fast. Next thing I saw, the first man was lying on the floor, not moving. Then the younger one was standing over him.” She turned glassy, shocked eyes to Jack. “That’s when he turned and looked out the window. I think.” She visibly swallowed. “It felt as if he looked right at me.”
“Looked at you?” Jack moved in to block her view, as if he could pull her out of the memory. “This man saw you?”
“I know how that sounds.” Her fingers brushed against the hollow of her throat. “My lights were off so I can’t be sure. I couldn’t, didn’t move. All I could do was stare back.”
“What did he do then?” Jack asked before Bowie could.
“He walked over to the window, put his hands in his pockets and smiled.”
“He smiled,” Bowie said.
“Yes.” Greta nodded.
“So you got a good look at his face,” Bowie pushed and moved in. “You could give a description to a sketch artist?”
“She’s an artist, Bowie,” Jack reminded the deputy with a bit of bite in his voice. “She could draw him herself.”
“I could,” Greta said without hesitation. “But I don’t have to. I know who it was.”
“You do?” Jack wondered if he’d ever stop being surprised.
“It was Doyle Fremont.”
The energy coursing through him drained in an instant. Jack sat on the edge of the table behind him. “Doyle Fremont as in the tech tycoon and real estate developer?”
“Yes.” Greta’s eyes went wide. “I know it sounds strange, and believe me, I debated calling, but with that man just lying there, how could I not?”
“You said the heavier man was just on the ground. Did he fall over or was he struck?”
It was a moment before she shook her head. “Not that I remember.”
“Is it possible he had a heart attack and collapsed?”
“I...maybe?” But she didn’t seem convinced. “If he did, why didn’t Doyle Fremont call someone? Why focus on me?”
Why indeed? Jack was both shocked and grateful Bowie refrained from responding, but he knew what the deputy was bound to ask. The same question Jack was obligated to. “Is there anyone staying here with you, Greta? Anyone who might be able to corroborate—”
“No. I live alone.” The way she folded in on herself, curled her arms tight around her waist, flinched into the darkness, Jack could all but feel the regret and uncertainty in her. She wasn’t happy about any of this.
“Just to clarify.” Bowie cut in before Jack could push further. “You’re saying you saw Doyle Fremont arguing with an older, heavier man with a birthmark and that when that argument got heated, Fremont killed him. How?”
“How?” Greta’s brow furrowed as she slumped a bit on the stool.
“Yes, how. Did he shoot him?”
“Ease up, Bowie,” Jack murmured. It was clear Greta believed something had happened. Jack looked back at the empty office building. But if he believed his eyes...
“No, he didn’t shoot him.” Greta shook her head as her cheeks began to flush. “No, I didn’t hear a shot. I didn’t see a gun.”
“Then did he stab him?” Bowie’s voice rose ever so slightly. “Was there a knife?”
“I...maybe?” She frowned. “I don’t know.” She seemed to be talking to herself now. Questioning herself.
Bowie sighed. “Ms. Renault—”
“You said you thought Mr. Fremont saw you. Looked at you and smiled.” Jack stood back up, stepped slightly in front of Bowie to take charge once more. “What did Mr. Fremont do then?”
“He turned and walked away. The next thing I knew, he turned off the lights. I couldn’t see anything after that. That’s when I called 9-1-1.”
“So the body should be there.” Bowie turned irritated eyes on Jack and mouthed the word kooky. “If there is a body.”
Jack’s normally expansive temper strained.
“You don’t believe me.” Greta’s voice went cold, as if Bowie’s accusation had doused a fire inside of her. “You think I’m seeing things. Making things up.” Her eyes sharpened with a glint of steel.
“We didn’t say that,” Jack answered before Bowie could. He would have thought the deputy would use a bit more diplomacy than was currently on display. Even if she was disturbed, even if what she’d seen wasn’t real, she didn’t deserve to be treated with anything other than respect. “Greta—”
“This was a mistake.” Greta jumped off her stool and, head held high, walked out of the studio.
