“How’d you get my address?” He sounds more exhausted than irritated, and I don’t blame him for that, either.
The thirty-minute drive into the Mint Hill suburb surrounding the city gave me plenty of time to think about how I’m going to approach this. This guy has no reason to give me the information I need about Marcus, especially after his brother’s body was found in my uncle’s bar.
But I’m here to make him talk.
“I have a friend who’s good with computers. Look, if you want to help me find out what really happened to Marcus, you’ll let me in so we can talk.”
He evaluates me, scanning my face to see if I’m telling him the truth. Finally, like it’s the last thing he wants to do but can’t stand not knowing what I have to say, he steps back and gestures inside the two-story home.
I cross into a wide-open foyer that opens into a family room overlooked by a big, bright kitchen.
“Nice place,” I remark.
He sinks onto one of the barstools, gesturing to the one beside him. I pull it out and sit down, resting my elbows on the granite-topped island.
“Talk,” he says.
When Carson spoke with the police last night, he learned that Marcus’ brother is Daniel Wahl. He’s a salesman who travels a lot, and he’s single. He and Marcus were both from the Charlotte area, but somewhere along the way Marcus ran headfirst into a gambling problem. Daniel tried to help his brother get help, but it never stuck.
“I don’t know what Marcus was into or who he was dealing with, but I need to find out. I’m setting up a sting operation at my gambling ring tonight—” Daniel’s head snaps up— “and I want you to be a part of it. We fully expect Marcus’ killer to show up there.”
His eyes are wide, his mouth opening and closing like he can’t figure out what to say. “You run a gambling ring?”
“I’m retiring young. Tonight’s the last night it’ll be open.”
“How old are you?” The skepticism in his voice is plain.
“Old enough.”
Daniel shakes his head. “Fine. What do you need from me?”
“You don’t know the name of the guy Marcus was in deep with?” Pulling my elbows off the counter, I stand up from the stool, opting to pace the room instead.
Daniel shakes his head. “No. He never told me a name. But I was with him once when he met the guy. The guy was young…couldn’t have been much older than you. Definitely not older than Marcus. I assumed he was a go-between.”
I stop, mid-pace. “You’d recognize him if you saw him again?”
Daniel gives a slow nod. “Yeah.”
Hope flares up in my chest, blooming until I can barely take a breath around it. “Good. Then I’ll see you tonight. I’ll text you the address of the G-Ring.”
I head for the front door, Daniel following behind me. “But you don’t have my number.”
I pat his shoulder before walking out his front door. “Yeah, I do. Be ready at nine.”
“Thanks for meeting me.” I slide into the booth across from Detective Monahan, the man who interviewed Carson last night.
I pulled out Detective Monahan’s card while still standing in front of Daniel Wahl’s house. He agreed to meet me not too far from the G-Ring, at a deli in uptown Charlotte. When I arrived at the restaurant, I spotted him sitting in the back in a corner booth, and I loped down the aisle until I arrived at the table.
As soon as I’m seated, a young, high-school-aged waitress appears beside us. “What can I get for you?” She points her question at me, which leads me to believe Detective Monahan has already ordered.
“Just a coffee, please. Black.”
She smiles, trying to catch my eye, but I focus on the serious brown gaze of the detective sitting across from me. He’s not young and he’s not old, maybe in his early forties. His has a full head of black hair and a weathered face, most likely from the stress of the job he does day in and day out. But there’s a sharpness to his features, an intelligence that’s obvious to the prying eye.
He steeples his fingers together on top of the table. Looking curious, he lifts a brow. “What can I help you with today, Ace?”
I lean forward. “I can help you catch your killer. And in exchange, I want your word that you’ll leave my uncle alone.”
His eyebrow rises higher. “That’s all? And how the hell would you be able to help me? You don’t have anything to do with it, right Ace?” His eyes narrow in on my face.
I don’t flinch or waiver. “What I’m about to tell you needs to be privileged information, or I’m not saying a word. And if I give it to you, I want your word that I won’t b prosecuted. I haven’t hurt anyone; that I can promise you. I can sign anything you want saying so.”
The detective mimics my position, leaning forward and placing his elbows on the table. “Off the record. I’m not looking to prosecute you, Ace. I want the person who murdered a man and left the body in your uncle’s bar. I would really love for the murderer not to be your uncle. If you can help me connect the dots, I’m all for it. But you need to help me out here. Explain to me how you can help me do that.”
I evaluate him, staring into his eyes. I’ve always prided myself on being able to read people. It’s a skill I’ve acquired over time, mostly because of my shitty upbringing. I know who wants to take me down and hurt me for the fun of it, who has ulterior motives and is out for themselves, and who is actually genuine and wants to get
