“Eric…”
“I’m sure this is an undue precaution,” he said, “but all the same, I’d like you to stay away from the house for a while. Until we understand a little more about this, I think that would be a good plan. It would give me some peace of mind, at least.”
“Eric,” she repeated, voice lower, “did you drink any more of that water?”
“That’s irrelevant right now, because we’ve got-”
“You did.”
“So what if I did?”
“I’m just wondering… are you sure this happened? Are you sure that man-”
“Was real?” he said, and gave a wild laugh. “Is that what you’re asking me? Shit, Claire, that’s just what I need, to have you questioning my sanity. Yes, the man was real and yes, he is really dead now, okay? He is dead. Somebody killed him, and I’m going to talk to the police about it now, and if you don’t believe that, then get on the damn computer and look it up, look him up, do whatever the hell you need to do to convince yourself-”
“All right,” she said, “okay, okay, calm down. I just had to ask, that’s all.”
It was quiet for a few moments.
“I’ll leave,” she said. “If that’s what you want, I’ll leave. Okay?”
“Thank you.”
“Don’t get upset when I ask you this, but why did you drink the water again?”
So he answered that as the room phone began to ring again-probably the police wanting to know what the hell was keeping him-and told her about the terrible night he’d had and the way Anne McKinney’s water had quelled it, and about the vision of Campbell Bradford and the boy with the violin.
“The only thing I’m worried about right now,” she said, “is what that water is doing to you. Physically, and mentally. All the rest of this-it’s scary and it’s weird, but it can be dealt with. But that water… that’s more frightening, Eric. Your body is dependent on it now. Your brain, too. That’s not a safe situation.”
“We don’t know if I’m dependent yet,” he said, but the headache was back and his mouth was dry.
“You need medicine,” she said, but then there was a knock on the door and he knew the police had decided not to wait for him to come down.
“I’ve got to go, Claire. I’ve got to talk to the cops. Will you please get out of the house for a while? At least until I know what’s going on.”
She said that she would. She told him to be careful. She told him not to drink any more of the water.
35
THE COP WHO TOOK the lead in talking with him was with the Indiana State Police, a guy named Roger Brewer. He drove Eric down to the little police station in the middle of French Lick, didn’t speak much on the way, didn’t say hardly anything at all until they were seated and he had a tape recorder going. He was a grave man with a focused stare.
“Isn’t a whole lot I can tell you at this time,” he said, “or at least that I can disclose to you, that’s the better word, but for right now it’ll suffice to say that Gavin Murray was killed last night. I was wondering what you could tell me about that.”
“What I can tell you?” Eric echoed. The headache had dialed up a notch as soon as they were under the fluorescent lights. In addition to the tape recorder on the table between them, there was a video camera showing near the corner of the ceiling. “I can’t tell you anything about that.”
“Then tell me about him,” Brewer said, “and about you. Curious as to what brought everybody down to Indiana.”
Eric started to speak, then caught himself and hesitated for a moment while Brewer arched a questioning eyebrow.
“Something wrong?”
“Just thinking it might behoove me to ask whether you consider me a suspect.”
“Behoove?” Brewer’s face seemed lost between angry and amused.
“That’s right.” Maybe it was a mistake to ask-Eric’s previous dealings with the police had been few, and he had a natural instinct to just roll with Brewer’s authority-but the hissing wheels of the tape recorder had put his guard up. Eric understood better than most the potential for manipulation of film and tape.
“Well, Mr. Shaw, as is generally the case when we have the discovery of a homicide victim, the suspect pool is initially deep and wide. Are you in it? Sure. So are plenty of others, though. Right now, you’re looking like one who can maybe provide some answers. Hate to think you’re unwilling to do that.”
“It’s not a matter of being unwilling, it’s a matter of understanding the situation. I’d like to know how you got my name.”
Brewer was silent.
“Look,” Eric said, “I’d like to talk to you. It’s my preference, in fact. But I’m also not going to treat this as a one-way exchange. I’m worried, and I feel like there are some things I deserve to know. If you want to have a conversation, great. If this is an interrogation, though, I’ll ask you to hold on until I get a lawyer in the room.”
Brewer sighed at the mention of the word.
“Hey,” Eric said, “it’s your call.”
“We have a homicide to solve,” Brewer said eventually, “and unless you were directly involved, I’d hate to think you’d voluntarily slow us down.”
“Detective, yesterday that man surprised me in a parking lot, discussed details of my personal life, and then made a clear threat. You want to know about it, I’ll be happy to share, but like I said, I have some other things to consider. Like protecting my family.”
He’d hoped a little tease of information would improve Brewer’s cooperation, and it seemed to. The cop’s eyes lit at the disclosure, and he pulled his chair closer.
“I’ll do what’s within reason for you, if you do the same for me, Mr. Shaw. And that’s going to require a full explanation, quickly.”
“I’ll give it. Just tell me, please, how you got my name. I need to know that.”
“Gavin Murray’s company.”
“They told you he’d come down here after me?”
Brewer nodded. “They said that you were the target of his investigation.”
“Well, who hired him?”
“We don’t know.”
Now it was Eric’s turn to sigh, but Brewer lifted a hand.
“No, really, Mr. Shaw, we do not know. That’s all his company would tell us. They’re balking at more disclosures right now, claiming attorney-client privilege.”
“Private investigators have attorney-client privilege?”
“They do when they’ve been hired by an attorney. At that point, they’re part of the attorney’s legal team. It’s legit, if a pain in the ass. They seem eager to cooperate, but refuse to provide the client’s name. We’ll work on it, but for now that’s where we stand.”
Brewer leaned back and spread his hands. “So as you can imagine, it is pretty damn important for us to hear what you have to say, Mr. Shaw. All we know now is that the man came down from Chicago to follow you. Or, apparently, to speak with you. The same night he arrived, he was killed. We’d like to know why.”
“So would I,” Eric said, and then he hesitated briefly, wondering again if a lawyer was in his best interests, because in the scenario Brewer had just recounted, Eric seemed not only like a suspect, but like a good one.
“The faster we move on this,” Brewer said, “the faster we can put your mind at ease for your family and yourself.”
“Okay,” Eric said. “Okay.”
He had Murray’s business card in his wallet, and he gave it to Brewer and then gave him Kellen’s name and number, and explained he was a witness to the initial encounter.
“But not to the conversation,” Brewer said. His tone was soft and unchallenging but it still stopped Eric short, gave him a tingle of warning.