15. Because I’m Here

FIFTEEN

Because I’m Here

“This is impossible to believe.”

Sherri Corbin was standing in her living room, staring at them in horror.

“I need your promise, Sherri, that if Ezra gets in touch with you, you’ll call us. You find out where he is. You ask him to come home. We need to talk to him,” Moran said to her.

“About that girl who died?” she demanded.

“Yes, he’s a person of interest,” Moran answered.

“This is unbelievable,” she hissed.

“I’m sorry, Sherri,” Moran said.

She looked up to Rus, to Moran, back to Rus then she stormed to a window and stared out of it.

“You sure he’s left?” Moran asked.

“I’ve only sent fifteen texts and called seven times, no answer. Not one,” she said to the window. She whirled to face them. “His entire suitcase set is gone, half his clothes are gone, and he took twenty thousand dollars from our joint account. Twenty thousand!” she screeched.

“Sherri, please calm down,” Moran said soothingly.

“You calm down, Harry. For God’s sake, my husband is gone, he stole from me, because I made that gol darned money, Harry.” She slapped her chest. “Me. He’s always got some business deal he’s cooking up, but nothing ever comes of it. He’s always wining and dining investors, out golfing and schmoozing. And he’s wanted in connection with a murder! Of some young girl!”

Rus had to admit, that was worth screeching.

Little did she know he wasn’t out golfing, at least not every time.

He was out getting his ass fucked and his cock swatted, among other things.

“We’re going to be monitoring his credit cards. His phone.” Moran dipped his head to Rus. “We’ve already got the FBI on that. We’ll find him, but it’ll be better for him if he comes in on his own.”

“Did he kill her?” she asked.

“We just want to talk to him,” Moran answered.

“You think he killed her.”

“We just want to talk to him, Sherri.”

She leaned toward Moran and snarled, “This is insane.”

She was right about that too.

“I’m so sorry,” Moran said, and it was genuine.

Moran wasn’t getting to it, but someone had to.

He was the outsider, so it was going to be him.

“Do you have a family computer?” he asked.

Her chin went in her neck. “Who has a family computer anymore? We both have laptops.”

“Did he take his?”

He could tell she didn’t know with the expression on her face.

“It would also be helpful,” he kept at it, and her attention focused again on him, “if we could get a DNA sample for Ezra.”

Moran made a noise, but he didn’t intervene.

Her eyes closed.

Slowly.

Yeah.

She was understanding what was happening.

Rus felt for her.

She was pretty. Curvy, and held it great. Fantastic hair and skin. Wore a close-fitting dress that hugged her curves like she was as proud of them as she should be. It was Saturday, late afternoon, and she looked stylish and put together.

Rus had things he liked in bed that maybe some women might not get off on. If you were honest with yourself, most everyone did. It wouldn’t be fun if your wife told you she thought it was sick.

However, Ezra could have said that to Thea, and never breathed a word of what he needed to his wife for fear of losing her, her money and their lifestyle.

They’d run him, and he had no real job to speak of. His LinkedIn profile said he was self-employed with a business that offered “wilderness conference planning.”

They had a really nice house. Definitely top of the line everything.

Ezra had been the expansive man of the house last night. King of his domain.

But it wasn’t his domain.

It was hers.

If she scraped him off because she didn’t want to explore his kink, considering it didn’t sound like he was a real winner, his domain would shrink to nothing.

Yeah.

Rus could see that lie.

They should warn her it was going to get worse. They should warn her the cheating would come out, and the kink, if he did it.

Now was not the time to warn her.

Now was the time to get her on their side.

Moran was good at his job, and he knew this.

That was why he said gently, “Just call us, Sherri. I hate this is happening, but we need your help.”

“Harry, you will be the first call I make if that jackhole gets in touch,” she shot back. “And that’s a promise.” Her attention returned to Rus. “Now, I’m gonna go look for his laptop. What do you need for this DNA?”

It had been an up and down day.

And fortunately, that was another up.

* * *

“No,man, she didn’t seem distressed. She seemed happy. Excited. And no, I didn’t see anyone meet her in that room. I didn’t even see a car pull in the parking lot. Like I told all the other guys, she was totally cool.”

The desk clerk from the motel, who was again working that night, was talking to Rus and Moran.

He wasn’t done.

“I’m serious. At first, I thought she was meeting someone she really liked. Then, when no one showed, I thought, well maybe she just needs a break. You know, like one of those staycations. She’s in there giving herself a facial or something.”

“How many people from Misted Pines take a staycation at the Better Times Motel, Brad?” Moran asked.

The day getting to him, his sarcasm was biting.

“You know, it’s quiet here,” Brad snapped. “Our business is matinees, man. That’s when it gets noisy, all those cheaters fucking during their lunch hour so they can go home to their husbands and wives after work. At night, it’s smooth. The stars come out really bright. Our pool doesn’t suck. It’s kinda nice. Maybe a family that doesn’t have a ton of cash to drop on the Pinetop or the Hideaway stays. But they’re not noisy. Their TV might be loud if they bring a Roku, ’cause our cable here is always on the blink and the walls are like paper. But I’m serious. She was hot. I wouldn’t lie. I want you guys to find out who snuffed her like everyone else in town does.”

He put his hand on the desk, and the look that came over Brad’s face made his stomach turn sour.

Like all the rest Brad had just said, he didn’t hesitate to unleash what was on his mind.

“I mean I’m sittin’ here, my thumb up my ass, while some hot chick is being killed seven doors down. You think I’ve slept, man? No. Not since that night. Not a fucking wink.”

That had to be true.

His eyes were red-rimmed and shadowed.

Rus felt for him. That would haunt him too.

Brad kept talking.

“You think I haven’t thought over and over, what did I miss? Why didn’t I look out, see if she got in the room okay? See if she had someone in her car. Did I forget someone pulling in? Did I nod off? No. I didn’t. I’m a night owl, man. Fuck.”

“Okay, Brad, we believe you,” Rus said consolingly.

“Just find this fuck, okay?” he bit off. “I might sleep again, you find this fuck.”

“We’re doing our best,” Moran assured him.

“Right,” he muttered. “I don’t wanna be a dick, but shit, man. I need this job, and I wanna quit. I park at the back and walk all the way around on the outside so I don’t have to go by that crime scene tape. It’s fucked up.”

“We just need to be thorough,” Rus told him.

“Yeah, I’m gettin’ that. Shit.”

“Thank you for your time, Brad,” Moran said.

“Okay. Yeah. Whatever.”

Rus and Moran looked at each other and turned to leave.

Something made Rus turn back.

“All the other guys?” he asked.

“What?” Brad asked back.

“You said, ‘all the other guys’ you talked to. What guys?”

“Your guys,” Brad said.

“Specifically, who?” Rus pressed.

“The deputy guys that day she was found. Then the FBI guy, same day. Then the deputy guys came back again the next day to tell me to keep quiet about it. Then the Bohannan twins showed. Then that guy yesterday.”

Rus went solid and his neck started itching again.

To his knowledge, no one had been sent to re-interview Brad.

“What guy yesterday?” he queried.

“I don’t know. He was dressed like the FBI guy.” He tipped his head to Rus. “Nice pants. Blazer.”

“A reporter?”

“No.”

“You sure?”

Brad suddenly looked unsure. “I don’t know. I didn’t ask.”

“Did he show you credentials? A badge?”

Brad started getting pale. “No.”

“Are you certain it wasn’t a reporter?” Moran questioned.

“I…do they have to tell you they’re reporters?”

“They don’t, but they should,” Moran told him.

“He didn’t say that, and he didn’t show me a badge. I just assumed, you know, with the questions he was asking. It was about, like, you know…he knew. I’ve been following and the press doesn’t know dick, seems to me.”

The itch got stronger.

“He knew? He knew what?” Rus asked.

“He knew…you know…”

Now Brad was uncomfortable.

“We don’t know,” Rus pushed.

“He knew, you know, what Gentry knew.”

Gentry, the maid.

“What does Gentry know?” Rus asked with forced evenness.

“You know, the plastic, like, it was ritual and stuff.”

No one knew that.

Except the cops.

And Gentry.

And apparently, she told Brad.

“Gentry isn’t supposed to be talking,” Moran pointed out.

“I know, man,” he bit. “But, see, she and me are going through it. We can’t talk to anyone. So who do we talk to? Ourselves. Okay? You gonna arrest me for trying to get some fucking sleep? Or Gentry, because that shit was fucked up, man.”

“No, we’re not going to arrest you,” Moran assured.

“Goddamn,” Brad muttered.

“Please, if you speak to anyone else, ask to see a badge if they say they’re law enforcement, or ask them to identify if they’re press, and what outlet they work for,” Moran requested. “But mostly, don’t talk to anyone unless it’s someone you know for certain you should be talking to.”

Moran lifted his hand to Rus, Rus knew what he was asking, pulled out his wallet, got a card and gave it to Moran.

He took out his own and walked them to Brad.

“You have questions, you either call Special Agent Lazarus or me, directly,” Moran instructed. “We don’t pick up, you call the sheriff’s office and talk to Polly or Wade Dickerson. Okay?”

“Yeah,” Brad mumbled.

“What did this guy look like?” Rus asked.

“Older than you. Close cropped hair. Took care of himself. Not as tall as you. A little pudge. Not much. He was fit, for an old guy. But not as fit as you. I mean, he didn’t look like an action film star. He wasn’t a fucking Henry Cavill look-alike, you know, like you. But he was clean-cut. I thought he was a cop. No, I thought he was FBI.”

“White?” Rus kept at him.

“Yeah.”

“Dark hair?”

“Brown. Like, not light or dark. Just brown, going gray.”

“Facial hair?”

“Yeah, a mustache.”

“Eye color?”

“I don’t know. I thought it was weird, he was inside the lobby, it was around this time, so it was dark, and he never took off his sunglasses.”

Jesus, shit.

That itch came stronger, but with it there was a mild bolt of a thrill.

“Rus,” Moran murmured questioningly.

“Can you do me a favor and write down everything you remember about the guy? Call me, I’ll swing by and get it. Give it to me and me alone. Okay? Everything you remember.”

“You’re freaking me out, man,” Brad warned.

“I’m just being careful. You want to be careful too, for Brittanie, don’t you?”

“Yeah. ’Course.”

“It doesn’t mean anything,” Rus lied. “Just being careful.”

“I can be careful. I work tomorrow night. Come by and get it. Cool?”

“Yes. Thanks, Brad.”

“No problem,” he mumbled.

They moved out to the cruiser.

They were in, Moran had started up and they were moving out when Moran asked, “What was that?”

“What would you do if someone stole your art?”

A silence so total, it felt like it was an entity filled the car.

Moran broke it. “You think the Crystal Killer talked to Brad?”

“I don’t know.” Yes, he absolutely did. “I think it’s a possibility.”

“Brad’s right. We’re getting calls. We’ve had reporters come in. They’ve been antsy for information. But days have passed, and that’s died down. We haven’t given them anything more. We’ve been putting them off. The details have not been published. Which means Gentry and Brad might be talking to each other, but so far, it hasn’t leaked. So how does he know?”

Rus turned his head to look at the sheriff.

“He knows, Harry, because I’m here.”

Moran didn’t take his eyes from the road as he said, “Fuck.”