First Night

“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 had an idea. She had used it with her students all the time. Maybe she was crazy, but she had nothing more exciting to do tonight. Her appetite had vanished in the wake of the adrenaline coursing through her veins. Truth be told, she wasn’t afraid of this guy, despite the blood on his clothes.

“Do you recall how long ago it was that Kick told you this riddle?”

Another of those halfhearted male shrugs. “Couple months ago, maybe. Not all that long ago.”

“Where were you when the two of you had this conversation?”

“The apartment. Drinking cold ones. Watching a game.” Another shrug. “That’s what we did most of the time since he was always broke. His need to sink all his earnings into the tools of his trade was an ever-present sore spot between us. I didn’t like paying his share of the rent along with mine.”

Merri made up her mind. “Let’s take a look at your apartment.”

Yeah, she probably was crazy.

But this was her case.

And she might be deaf, but she wasn’t blind. If this guy made one wrong move, he would be begging for the police to pick him up again. She was well-trained and knew how to protect herself.

If her plan didn’t work, she would call Simon for backup. She headed for the elevators, her client followed. When she turned back to him, he stabbed the call button for the elevator and said, “Thank you.”

As the doors glided open behind him, Merri searched his eyes. “For what?”

“For taking a chance on a guy like me. That doesn’t happen real often.”

Chapter Two (#u1f549018-7929-510a-85a0-5a00fb7ab40d)

7:58 p.m.

The apartment was in an old building off the South Loop that lacked the care and restoration of some in the neighborhood. There was no elevator, so that meant climbing the stairs to the third floor. Ancient graffiti covered the stairwell walls. The tile floors were worn. The doors looked secure, but the place smelled of neglect. If Brandon had said anything to Merri on the way up the stairs, she missed it. Since he didn’t look back at her in question, she assumed he hadn’t.

She’d noticed him shiver once or twice. He had to be freezing, especially his feet in those flip-flops.

Brandon paused at the door marked 11 and looked at her for advice on proceeding. Two strips of official yellow crime scene tape had been placed across the center of the door, along with a proclamation declaring the premises off limits to anyone but official police personnel.

If, as he’d said, Brandon had been questioned for hours, chances were the forensics techs had come and gone already. The scene wouldn’t likely be released until the detective in charge determined that there was nothing else to be gained by maintaining the off-limits edict. All that meant, in her opinion, was that they shouldn’t touch anything that might be evidence.

Been there, done that, too. Merri wasn’t exactly concerned about bending that particular rule. She knew her way around a crime scene. Holding out her hand, Brandon placed the key there. She unlocked and opened the door, then ducked beneath the warning tape. If Simon had been here he would have called someone, a Colby connection with Chicago PD, to get permission. But Simon wasn’t here. As long as Merri was careful and didn’t prompt any serious repercussions for the agency, all would be okay.

She could do this.

After closing the door behind Brandon, she locked it to be sure no one else was tempted to try the same approach.

“Don’t touch anything unless it’s absolutely essential. And watch your step.” She glanced pointedly at the bloodstained carpet and official signs of where the body had been discovered.

He nodded, his attention lingering on the place where he’d found his roommate early that morning.

With a long, slow perusal around the room, Merri decided the apartment was the typical bachelor pad. Not neat by any stretch of the imagination, particularly after the tossing the forensics techs had done in their search for evidence. The signs that prints had been lifted dusted most surfaces—not that there were that many pieces of furniture. A futon for a sofa, a television and a long, narrow coffee table were the only furnishings aside from a desk with its mountains of computer equipment and a drawing desk with much the same. The roommate clearly had had a serious compulsion when it came to technology. Merri hadn’t once seen a setup like this outside a major tech center.

“Wow.”

Brandon said, “Yeah I know. Kick didn’t take any shortcuts when it came to having the latest and greatest in hardware and software. It was just his share of the rent and basic essentials for survival that he had trouble coughing up.”

Merri considered the statement. “Is that why the two of you had what your neighbors termed a volatile relationship?”

“Mostly.” Brandon glanced around his disheveled living space. “Kick didn’t see this environment as permanent. He was a dreamer. Had big plans.”

Whereas Brandon was a realist. That part she got. “Let’s talk about the proof you mentioned.” The fact that he couldn’t remember exactly where that proof was didn’t offer much security in the way of proving his innocence. Seemed to her that the police, given enough digging, would find some trace on the two or three hard drives of what the victim had been up to. The Feds certainly knew how to discover the unfindable when it came to digital footprints. The Colby Agency too had analysts for just that sort of investigation.

“No one will find anything related to the big story on his computer,” Brandon observed when her gaze settled on his face once more.

“How can you be so sure?” No matter that his roommate obviously had bragged about maintaining a high level of security, new ways to find digital traces were discovered every day. Few could proclaim exception to that ever-changing investigative technology. But many tried. “If he worked on his equipment in any capacity, a digital trail was left behind. Even if he meticulously wiped his hard drive. There are those who know how to resurrect the smallest detail.”

“No one was more aware of that vulnerability,” Brandon explained. “Kick did his secret work someplace else.” Brandon walked over to the desk with its mountain of hardware and monitors. The dramatic waving of his arms told her he’d said something about all the stuff there but he hadn’t been looking at her so she had no idea what came out of his mouth.