“No,” he said. “There were no witnesses to the conversation. But I came back from it and told Kellen what had been said, immediately. That’s the best I can do.”
Brewer nodded, placating, and asked him to go on. Eric explained everything he could as Brewer sat quietly with his eyes locked on Eric’s, the tape recorder’s wheels turning steadily. Brewer’s face didn’t change throughout, didn’t react even when Eric spoke of the payment offer or the suggestion that he could be convinced to go home through other means if he passed on the money.
“He was talking on the phone when we left. You want to know who his client is, you should probably check the phone records.”
“We’ll be checking those, don’t worry.” Brewer looked down at the recorder, thoughtful, and said, “And this was both the first and last time you saw Gavin Murray?”
“Yes. You want to talk to someone, I’d look for Josiah Bradford. He was the last person Murray asked me about, and in my opinion, he’s probably the core of the reason Murray came down here.”
“Can you elaborate on that theory?”
“Have you talked to Josiah?”
Brewer looked pained, but he said, “We’re going to, don’t worry. It’s a matter of locating him, same as with you.”
“So he’s missing?”
“He’s not home, that’s all, Mr. Shaw. I’d hardly term him missing yet.” There was something in Brewer’s eyes that hinted at a deeper level of dissatisfaction, though, something that told Eric they were indeed interested in Josiah Bradford. “Now, could you please elaborate on the suggestion you just made?”
“Well, it’s a pretty simple idea. I came down here to do a movie about this rich guy in Chicago, about his childhood here. As soon as I get here, somebody offers me a decent amount of money to go home. Felt like a protective move to me, somebody maneuvering to head a problem off at the pass.”
A plausible explanation, but the details it omitted, like Eric’s growing confidence that the old man in the hospital was not the same Campbell Bradford of local infamy, were not minor. How in the hell could he be expected to explain it all, though? It was too damn strange. He’d sound like a lunatic.
“You said you’re making a movie,” Brewer said. “A documentary.”
“Yes.”
“Fascinating. So you tape interviews, things like that.”
“Yes.”
“Great. If we could have a look at the film you have from yesterday…”
“I don’t have any. Well, I’ve got audio. I can give you audio.”
But the audiotapes were going to introduce a new element to all this. Eric didn’t like the idea of Brewer and a roomful of additional cops sitting around listening to him tell Anne McKinney about his visions. No, that didn’t seem like a good choice at all.
“You don’t use a camera? Seems tough to make a movie without a camera.”
“I use them.”
“So you have one with you?”
“No. I mean, I brought one down, yeah. But it… it broke.”
Shit, that couldn’t sound more like a lie. Maybe he could find some wreckage from the camera to back him up, but that would require an accompanying explanation of how he’d come to beat an expensive camera into pieces on the hotel desk. Not the sort of story you wanted to tell a cop who was investigating a rage homicide.
“It broke,” Brewer said in a bland voice. “I see. Now, could you describe what your night looked like after your talk with Gavin Murray?”
“What it looked like?” Eric echoed, trying to focus. His head was pounding steadily now, and his stomach clenched and unclenched. He tried to will it all away, or at least down. Now was not the time for another collapse.
“Yes, what you did, who saw you, things of that nature.”
He should tell the truth, of course. But telling the truth would take them to Anne McKinney, and that would take them to his talk of visions and headaches. Of course, he’d already given them Kellen, who would have to say the same thing…
“Mr. Shaw?” Brewer prompted, and Eric lifted his head and looked at him and then the vertical hold went out in his eyes. It was like watching old reel-to-reel tape that had been damaged; the scene in front of him began to shake up and down, as if Brewer were sitting on a pogo stick instead of a chair. He had to reach out and grip the underside of his chair to steady himself.
Oh, shit, he thought, it’s coming back. It’s coming back already, I didn’t even get a day out of it this time.
The shaking stopped then, but double vision came in its place, two of Brewer across the table from him now, two sets of skeptical eyes regarding him, and there was a buzzing in his ears.
“I think,” Eric said, “I’m going to need to take a break.”
“Excuse me?”
“I’m not feeling well. It’s got to be nerves. I’m worried about my wife.”
“Mr. Shaw, I assure you there’s no reason to think your wife is in any danger. Unless you have a reason beyond what you’ve said…”
“I just need a break,” Eric said.
Yes, a break. That’s what he needed. A long-enough break to let him get back to his hotel room, let him get back to that plastic cup he’d filled with water from Anne McKinney’s bottle. It was the only thing that could save him now.
“I can get you some water,” Brewer said, and that produced an almost hysterical urge to laugh. Yes, water, that’s exactly what I need!
“I’d actually… I need to step out for a while,” Eric said, and the suspicion was building in Brewer’s face like a flush.
“Well, go on outside,” Brewer said. “But we do need to finish this talk.”
“No, I’m going to need to go. I can come back later. I need to lie down, though.”
“Excuse me?”
“Unless you’re arresting me, I’m going to need to lie down. Just for a while.”
He’d expected resistance, but instead Brewer gave him a very cool, skeptical nod and said, “Well, you do what you have to do, Mr. Shaw. But we’re going to need to talk again.”
“Of course.” Eric lurched to his feet as the buzzing intensified. He felt as if he were moving through water as he went to the door. “I’m sorry, I really am, but all of a sudden I’m feeling very bad.”
Brewer stood, and the sound of his chair sliding back on the floor went off in Eric’s brain like a power grinder applied to the edge of a blade, sparks coming off in showers.
“I’ll drive you back to the hotel,” the detective said, moving around the table, and Eric raised a hand and waved him off.
“No, no. I’ve got it. Could use the exercise. Thanks.”
“You really don’t look so good, Mr. Shaw. Maybe you should let me drive you.”
“I’ll be fine.”
“I hope you are,” Brewer said. “And I hope the recovery is quick. Because we’re not done talking.”
“Right,” Eric said, but he had his back to Brewer now. His double vision had persisted upon rising, and there were two doors floating in front of him, with two door handles. Better grab the right one. He reached out and fumbled, his hand sliding across the door, and then he had the handle and twisted it down and stepped out into the hallway, crossed through the front of the station and made it through the next set of doors, and then he was outside.
The fresh air was bracing and comforting, but it was accompanied by glaring sunlight that almost brought him to his knees. He staggered like a drunk and lifted a hand to shield his eyes and kept on going, plowing ahead the way he had in the dining room the night before, hoping this trip would have a better ending.
He got to the sidewalk and turned toward the hotel. There were white squares at the edges of his vision now, and he was certain he couldn’t continue, but then the sun fell behind a bank of clouds. They came in quickly, pushed by a strong, warm wind, and the white squares went gray and then faded and the headache seemed to lose steam.