“It makes you look guilty,” Bill growled. “I may be a cop, but I just wanted to have a chat. Are you going to sit there and answer my questions like a good little soldier, or do I need to haul you down to the police station for an interrogation?”
I narrowed my gaze on Mr. Special Agent Bill Hart who was becoming less and less special with each passing moment. The conversation he'd claimed to want to have had quickly dissolved into something quite ugly, in my opinion.
“Fine,” Wayne said with a sigh, his voice resigned. “Ask me what you want. I don't know anything about Charles' murder.”
“Where were you that day?”
“I stopped by Charles' place in the morning to deliver his weed. He told me he didn't have the money, but he’d get it. We'd been friends for years. I knew him during the war, so he was good for it. He'd never scammed me before. I told him I'd be back the next day to collect.”
Bill glanced over at me as if I could verify the account. “I was on a plane the day Charles was murdered,” I said with a shrug. “I saw Wayne the next day.”
“Yeah, man. That's when I came back to collect. Charles said he'd have the money then.”
“What were you wearing?”
Wayne's gaze faltered for a moment and he glanced around the room as if searching for an answer. “I don't know,” he finally said. “Probably the same clothes I'm wearing now or something similar.”
His too-big jeans were cinched at the hips with a belt and his tattered orange and red sweater had seen better days.
Did the fact he couldn't remember what he wore make him guilty?
Since the chase had been thwarted, I glanced around the drafty room that had once been a corner of a warehouse. The sofa where the two men talked sat against a blank brick wall. Directly in front of me was a kitchen area, and to my left lay the bed, a sink, and a toilet. The windows faced the alleyway. The space struck me as depressing at best, and in need of a deep cleaning. Charles' apartment looked pristine compared to Wayne's.
“Did you two ever argue?” Bill asked.
“Sure we did,” Wayne said. “But we were army buddies. I always knew he had my back and I had his. It ain't easy being a war vet and it's easier to keep to ourselves. No one knows what we've been through. When Charles was killed, I lost one of my best friends.”
With a sigh, I shook my head. How could Bill not see his innocence? It was so apparent to me.
“Why did he smoke marijuana?” Bill asked.
“The war,” Wayne said, shaking his head. “It really messed with him. Gave him nightmares. It helped him sleep.”
Bill crossed his arms over his chest and stared at him, but said nothing.
“Look... I didn't kill him, okay?” the man said, his arms at his sides. “I didn't kill my friend.”
I believed him. His sincerity touched me deeply. In my eyes, he wasn't a suspect, but a man who lost a very close friend, possibly even close enough to be considered a brother. The bond they'd developed on the battlefield had been strong.
“Don't you be heading out of town anytime soon,” Bill growled.
“I'm not going anywhere.” Wayne leaned his head back against the cushions. “I've got nowhere to go.”
Bill strode over to me and grinned, a direct contradiction to the man I'd just witnessed interrogating his suspect. “Ready to go?”
I furrowed my brow and nodded. How strange. A true Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde.
“Sorry things got a little rough in there,” he said as we stepped onto the street. “Nice work with the crutch, though. You saved me from a foot chase.”
“I thought you were going there to talk to him,” I said. “Not badger him.”
“Sometimes the only way you can get to these guys is to show dominance. And that's probably one reason women aren't in the FBI. It's hard to show dominance when you're physically small.”
The declaration didn't sit well with me, but I nodded in agreement anyway. Could a woman be dominant over a man? I'd seen some flight attendants put a man back in his seat with nothing but a glare. Women had other ways to appear commanding without physical size.
“Care to share a cab with me?” he asked. “I'd like to also chat with Mrs. Wilson, Charles' neighbor.”
“Thank you, yes,” I said. Special Agent Bill Hart had lost some of his luster, but if he was paying for the ride, I'd take it.
He attempted to hail a cab a few times while I leaned against the building, but none stopped. Coming from Dallas, he'd probably have better luck getting a horse's attention.
Leaving my crutches up against the wall, I walked over to the street with surprisingly little pain. In the second lane, I noted a cab about a half-block away. As soon as the cars closest to us drove by, I stepped into the street and whistled, then pointed at the driver. He quickly moved over to the sidewalk and stopped for us.
When I turned to Bill, he chuckled and shook his head. “You continue to impress me, Patty.”
He hurried over and grabbed my crutches and we entered the vehicle. Once on the road, I stared out at the city passing by and thought about our interview with Wayne.
I now regretted my offer to help Bill by introducing him to the people in Charles’ world. He was being a rude brute, and I wouldn’t allow him to treat others that way.
“I'll introduce you to my neighbor, but I would appreciate it if you were a little more polite to her than you were with Wayne,” I said, not meeting his gaze. “She's a very sweet widow who won't tolerate being intimidated like that.”
“You think I intimidated Wayne?” he asked.
“Yes,” I said, turning to him. “I'm sure it's a requirement with certain subjects in your line
