at night.” Brandon nodded. “I was going into the building. We live in one of the old duplexes off the South Loop. The front stoop is fairly close to the street. He and Kick were having an argument outside his car. I heard their raised voices, but I can’t remember precisely what they were talking about.”
“What did his car look like?” A tag number would be good.
“Dark. Blue or black. Four doors…I think. Not American, I don’t believe.”
If this was any indication of the kind of information he gave the police, it was no wonder they considered him a suspect. He contradicted himself almost as often as he concluded with any certainty.
“You didn’t see the license plate? Illinois tag or another state?”
He moved his head side to side. “The car was parallel parked. All I saw was Kick arguing with him next to the passenger side of the car.”
“You weren’t close enough to make an estimation of the man’s age?”
“No.”
“To some degree, your roommate confided in you as to his dealings with this man. You said the meetings were covert.”
Brandon nodded. “Kick said the meetings were very secretive.”
“Was he working for this man? Running errands? Can you give me an idea on the nature of the business? Was your roommate gainfully employed?”
“Kick is…was a junior reporter over at the Trib. But he said he had the proof he needed to write the kind of story that would put him on top in the investigative journalist field. He wanted his own byline. Problem was, the other guy—the one he argued with—wanted the proof, too. He said it was Kick’s civic duty to turn the evidence over to him. Kick refused.”
“You don’t have any idea what this evidence was or against whom it proved significant?”
“I know it was some kind of video…but I don’t know what it was about or who it involved.”
“Did he talk to anyone at work regarding this big story he was working?” Perhaps one of his co-workers wanted this big story badly enough to kill for it.
“No way.” Brandon finally reclined in his chair, as if he’d relaxed to some degree. “Kick said he couldn’t risk telling a soul or they would steal it. He couldn’t tell anyone exactly what was going on. Not even me.”
Merri could understand the dead man’s doggedness and uncertainty about sharing. She’d been digging around in a cold case for days before anyone found out. Been there, done that. Problem was, she could have gotten herself killed…just like this potential client’s roommate had quite possibly done.
She summoned her determination. The Colby Agency prided itself on solving the most puzzling cases. If Brandon was being straight with her, then he had plenty of reason to worry and very few pieces of what could only be called a bizarre puzzle. “All right, then.” Merri closed her notepad, shoved it and the pen into her purse. “We’ll just have to determine the nature of the story your roommate was working on and uncover the identity of this man with whom he exchanged heated words.”
The fear and frustration laid claim to Brandon’s face once more. “Kick kept his files hidden. What he was working on, the notes, the video, all of it could be anywhere. That man could have the story by now, for all I know. He may have killed my roommate for the information he needed.” He blinked. “But what if we can’t find him?”
“That’s a strong possibility.” Merri couldn’t speculate just yet exactly what steps they would take if the only other known suspect was beyond their reach. “But,” she went on, “whether we find him or not, our top priority will be proving your innocence. It’s possible that the forensic evidence will do that for us. It’s too early to know that yet. If the police had solid evidence linking you to the murder, you would have remained in custody. Cutting you loose means they aren’t sure just how you fit into the equation yet.”
There was one other thing he needed to be made aware of. “There is a possibility that if this man is concerned that you saw him, even from across the street, he may consider you a threat. If he, in fact, killed your roommate, he may decide it’s in his best interests to tie up any loose ends.”
“That’s what I tried to tell the police.” Brandon rocketed to his feet. “They questioned me for hours.” His jaw hardened visibly. “I think they wanted me to confess or something. But I didn’t do it.”
Merri felt for the guy. “Since you don’t have an alibi, we’ll need to find someone who can vouch for your character enough to convince the police that you wouldn’t commit such a heinous crime. Or,” she offered, “we’ll have to find evidence that proves, in addition to having had access to your roommate, someone, like the man you saw, had an equally strong motive for wanting to kill him. Before we can do that, we have to determine what your roommate was working on.”
Brandon looked at her as if he’d just experienced an epiphany. “If the evidence hasn’t been taken, I have the means to locate it.”
Hold on. “You have proof of what you’re saying? Then why didn’t you give this proof to the police?” That would have made his life immensely less complicated the last several hours. He wouldn’t have had to come here. She would already be having dinner at a fine restaurant.
Brandon bit the inside of his jaw as if he were considering a logical response. “I can’t remember the riddle…the clues.” He closed his eyes and shook his head. “I did tell the police but when I couldn’t produce the proof, they assumed I was lying.”
His face said that he desperately wished he hadn’t had to tell her that last part. For the first time in a very long time, Merri wished she could hear the inflection in his voice. The little nuances that gave meaning to one’s words. But she couldn’t. So she had no choice but to rely on her instincts. And her instincts were screaming at her that something was very wrong with this guy and/or his story.
Maybe not with him personally, but with the sequence of events or with his reasoning. She couldn’t quite put her finger on the problem, but the teacher side of her—the one that sized up kids in a heartbeat—was sounding that too familiar alarm.
“What do you mean, you don’t remember the riddle or clues?” The first stirrings of fear awakened in her belly. She was well aware that drug addiction created memory lapses. She surveyed her would-be client once more. To say he fit the profile would be an understatement. But she knew from experience that first impressions were not always fair. She needed more.
“I told you that Kick kept everything hidden so no one could steal his work?”
She nodded, though she wasn’t sure where he was headed with this or why he felt compelled to ask the question. Could he not remember what he’d said to her two minutes ago? Her right hand slid automatically back to her purse.
“He didn’t trust a safe or jump drive or any damn thing.” Brandon’s forehead lined with his determined concentration. “Once when he was drunk he gave me this ridiculous riddle and explained that he kept the important stuff hidden that way. The riddle had clues to the location. I couldn’t get it right for the police. They had cops checking all the wrong places.” His chest heaved with a big breath. “I ended up looking like a fool and as guilty as hell.”
Merri
