“Deal.”
Chloe opened the door wide to let me in. She wore the same skin-tight jeans she'd worn when Carter and I saw her at the bar, along with a tank top that barely covered her chest. Her black hair was greasy, tied into a loose ponytail. “Where's my money?” she said, palm held out. “I want to see it before I tell you anything.”
“I want to make sure you tell me the truth first.”
“How would you know the difference?”
I smiled sweetly. “Because I can tell when someone's lying. I'm an expert in body language.” It was complete bullshit, but it sounded convincing.
Chloe blinked at me. “I don't have to talk to you, you know. You're not even with the police.”
“True. But I'm sure you could use two hundred bucks. The police would never offer such a deal.”
The apartment was a mess and smelled like dirty socks. Clothes, magazines, CDs, and bags of chips were strewn about.
Chloe motioned to a small kitchen table and took a seat. “Persistent, aren't you.”
I sat down, let out a long breath, and placed my purse in my lap. “So, let's start at the beginning. When did you first meet Glenn Fleming?”
“He came into the bar last month.”
“Approximate date?”
“I don't know. Maybe ... second week of March?”
“Did he have company?”
“He was alone.”
“What did he order to drink?”
She rolled her eyes as if it made no difference. “He ordered a Coke.”
“Why would someone go to a bar if they didn't drink alcohol?”
“Maybe he needed to get away from his family. Maybe he liked the atmosphere.”
“Why did he have a coaster with your name scribbled on it?” I asked.
“No idea.”
I gave her a look. “That's lie number one.”
She rolled her eyes again. “Okay, fine. I thought maybe he'd be interested in a blowjob. It's a little side business of mine.”
I crossed my arms over my chest. “That's lie number two. If this was about blow jobs, why'd you quit your job?”
She sat there and played dumb.
I smiled, trying not to grit my teeth. “I'll just get straight to the point. Did you have anything to do with Glenn Fleming's death?”
She averted her eyes. “No.”
“Three strikes. You're out,” I said, getting to my feet.
“Hold on. If I tell you something, do you promise not to go to the police?”
I sat back down.
Chloe's knee was bouncing up and down while she chewed on her lower lip.
“Relax,” I said. “Just take a deep breath and tell me what you know.”
“I'm just a facilitator,” she said. “Every time I send a new customer to this guy, I get a commission. All I do is evaluate the customers and set up meetings. That's it.””
“Send who a new customer?”
“I don't know his real name. He told me to call him the boss.”
“Your boss at Sambuca's?”
“No.”
“How did you get hooked up with this guy you refer to as the boss?”
“He's a friend of a friend. Like I said, I don't know his real name.”
“So Glenn Fleming was a customer? I don't understand.”
“Glenn responded to an ad on Craigslist. He needed something.”
“I need more than that,” I said.
“I can't.”
“Who is the boss?” I asked. “Is it Chad?”
“God no. He's not smart enough. Chad is a coke-head who reads porn magazines all day long.”
“So, who is the boss?”
“Forget it. I'm not saying any more.”
“Just give me a clue where I may be able to find this guy.”
She wiped the sweat from her forehead and swallowed. “I met him at a place called Barbecue Billy's. Like I said, don't know his real name.”
“What does he look like?”
“I don't know.”
“Come on,” I said. “How tall is he? What color hair? Does he have any tattoos? Is he older, younger, what?”
“How am I supposed to know how old he is?”
I felt the anger building inside me. I knew I didn't have much time left until Chad found his scooter. If he came back while I was still in the apartment, I might have to use my pepper spray. I didn't want to do that. I stood up. “One last chance if you want your two hundred bucks.”
Chloe scowled. “Fine. He has bushy brown hair and thick sideburns. I think he fancies himself as some kind of cowboy. That's all I remember. You can't tell him you talked to me.”
“Why not? Is he dangerous?”
“What do you think?”
I reached into my purse, opened my wallet, and extracted two crisp hundred-dollar bills. I placed them on the table and stood up. “How does someone like you get caught up in a business like this? You should be going to college instead of working for criminals.”
She grabbed the money and stuffed it in her bra. “What do you care?”
Before I had a chance to respond, the door burst open and Chad stood there glaring at us, his face covered in sweat. His chest was heaving and his eyes smoldered with rage.
Instinctively, my hand plunged inside my purse and grasped the pepper spray canister. “Before you get any ideas,” I said, moving very slowly toward him, “I want to warn you that I have a gun in my purse.”
“Fuck you, bitch. You stole my scooter. Tell me where it is or I'll smash your face in.”
“Behind the dumpster in the alley.”
He grabbed ahold of my shirt and began twisting. “If there's even one tiny scratch on that bike, I'm gonna fuck you up.”
“I understand. Now please let go of me.”
He laughed, his rancid breath nearly knocking me over. “You're coming with me to show me where you stashed it,” he said, tugging me toward the door.
Chloe grabbed his arm. “Leave her alone, Chad. She's cool.”
He smacked her across the face with such force, she fell back onto a sofa.
“Asshole,” she screamed, her hand rubbing the spot where he hit her.
Chad ignored her as he yanked on my shirt. “Let's go, bitch.”
“I don't think so,” I said. “And just so you know, you asked for this.” I grasped the pepper spray canister, and in one fluid motion brought it up and aimed it at his face. The stream hit him in the face and he released his grip on me. I covered my eyes and mouth so as not to become affected by the stuff, but poor Chad didn't stand a chance. He doubled over and started to wail like a banshee.
I grabbed Chloe's arm, but she shook me away and yelled, “You blinded him.”
“He'll be fine in ten minutes,” I said. “You should come with me.”
“I can't leave him,” she said. “He's suffering.”
She was right. Chad was on the floor, moaning in agony, mucus oozing from his nose and mouth.
Chloe rushed over and tried to help him. She looked back at me, anger burning in her eyes. “What have you done?”
“Get him in the shower and run cold water over his face,” I said. “It will help alleviate the sting. He'll be fine. I promise.”
I exited the apartment and hurried down the stairs, clinging to the railing for support. My lungs burned from the residual spray.
I was back in my car a minute later, completely exhausted.
I took a moment to steady my breathing and think. I needed to find Barbecue Billy's pronto. I looked it up on my smartphone. The place was located in Green Haven, the next town over from Bridgeport – a twenty-minute drive at the most.
As I started the car, something occurred to me.
Perhaps the initials BB on Glenn's calendar was not a person after all … but a place. What the hell had Glenn gotten himself into?
Chapter 17
Green Haven, like most New England towns, had a Main Street that ran down the middle. Quaint shops, cafe'
s, and an old movie theater gave the place a nostalgic feel. Barbecue Billy's was not located on Main Street, instead occupying a dead end street that intersected it.
I parked in the lot behind the one story building and made my way around to the front entrance. The inside of the place was all dark wood and dim lighting. Individual booths lined the far wall. The smell of tangy sauce and fried chicken reminded me of how hungry I was.
The place was dead – no surprise for three o'clock in the afternoon. A heavy-set woman dressed in poor quality cowboy attire stood at the front desk, wiping down laminated menus. She looked up and smiled from underneath the plastic cowboy hat. “Just one for lunch, honey?”
“Actually, I was hoping you could help me out. Do you have a minute?”
“Sure, hon, what can I do for you?”
“Do you usually work on Tuesdays?” I asked.
“Sure do. I'm here every day except Sundays. Oh, and sometimes Mondays if Janet feels like coming in. But she's out for a few months 'cause of the baby.”
More information than I needed, but I smiled politely and showed her the newspaper photo of Glenn Fleming. “Do you know this man? He came in here a little over a month ago.”
She studied the black and white photo for a few seconds then shook her head. “Gosh, I don't know. He does look kinda familiar, but I see a lot of people in a day. Are you his wife?”
“No. I'm a private detective. I guess you didn't read about him in the paper.”
She looked down at the photo again and must have read the headline. “Shot during a burglary?” She covered her mouth with her hand. “That's horrible. I wish I could help you, honey. I really do”
“Maybe you still can. Do you have surveillance cameras here?”
She laughed. “If the boss won't spring for air conditioning, he sure ain't gonna spring for no surveillance cameras.”
“I understand. Would you happen to know a regular customer that goes by the name boss?”
“Sorry. The only boss I know is the guy who owns this place. And speaking of bosses, I'd better get my can back to work. Sorry I couldn't be of more help to you, but good luck.”
“I appreciate it just the same,” I said.
The freckled woman went back to wiping down the laminated menus. In the upper right hand corner of the menu was a caricatured image of a cowboy with heavy sideburns riding a bull. I pointed to it. “Cute drawing. Is that supposed to be the owner?”
She laughed. “Yep. That's William. Funny you should mention it – he hates it. Thinks it makes him look like a clown.”
“William … what's his last name?”
“O'Connor.”
“Is he here right now?”
“Out back like always. But I'm sure he won't be able to help you with your friend who died. He never comes out to the dining area if he can help it. Likes his privacy. He usually stays holed up in his office most days.”
“Actually, he might be able to help. Mind if I go knock on his door?”
“You can try. But like I said, he's the private type.” She pointed to the restroom sign on the far wall. “Go past the toilets. His is the last door.”
“Thank you.”
I walked through the restaurant, past the restrooms. By the time I got to the door with no sign, my palms were sweating. I hoped whoever this guy was, he wouldn't try to hurt me in a public location.
I knocked three times. The door opened a few seconds later, and the real life version of Billy the bull rider came into view. Menacing grey eyes peered at me from underneath a set of bushy black eyebrows. The thick “lamb chop” sideburns seemed exceedingly obnoxious on his hollowed cheeks. A gold watch encircled his hairy forearm. His shirt was open, with only the two lowest buttons fastened. Several gold chains glittered against his hairy chest. He was the perfect combination of cowboy and gangster. “Who are you?” he demanded, his voice gruff.
I smiled and gave a slight wave. “Hi there. My name is Sarah. Are you William, the owner?”
“What's this about?”
I showed him the newspaper article. “I'm looking into the death of a man named Glenn Fleming. He was a customer at your restaurant. Can I come in? This will only take a few minutes.”
He ignored the article, his grey eyes never leaving my face. “You should have made an appointment.”
I stood there for a second, unable to move or speak. There was something about him that made the hair on my neck stand up. “I'm sorry. But since I'm already here …”
He stared me down for what seemed like an eternity. I couldn't tell what he was thinking, but didn't get a warm, fuzzy feeling from the experience. Finally, he swung the door open wide. “Okay. Come on in.”
It wasn't a large room. A wooden desk with stacks of papers and a laptop occupied one side, a floor-standing safe located near the back. I wondered what he kept inside of it.
He gestured to a chair with a crooked leg. I sat down and tried to pretend I didn't notice the wobble.
“So let me guess,” he said, plopping down into a plush, leather swivel chair behind his desk. “That guy's family wants to sue me for food poisoning or something.” He leaned back, rested his feet atop the desk, and crossed his legs. Black, weathered cowboy boots with silver studs. My heart stopped.
“I uh ...” My brain shut down for a moment. I swallowed hard and tried to recover. “Glenn Fleming was shot during a burglary over a month ago,” I said, somehow able to keep the shakiness out of my voice.
“What's that got to do with me?”
“Do you remember seeing him here a few days before he died?” I asked.
He shook his head. “Nope.”
“How do you know when you didn't even look at his picture?”
The corners of his mouth turned up into a half smile. “I don't interact with customers. That's what my staff is for.”
“I see your point,” I said. “But I have a feeling you might have made an exception in this case. Right, boss? That's what they call you, right? The boss?”
He stared at me for a few seconds with a deadpan expression. His nostrils flared slightly as he scratched the side of his face. It sounded like fingernails on sandpaper. “First of all,” he said, keeping his tone neutral. “It's none of your business. Second of all, where did you get your information?”
“If you can honestly answer a question for me, I'll do the same,” I said. “Give and take.”
He laughed this time as if it were all a big joke. “Aren't you cute.”
“Thanks,” I said, dismissing his sarcasm. “So getting back to Glenn. He came here to see you for a reason. What did he want from you?”
He smiled, all his cigarette-stained teeth on show. “He probably loved our secret barbecue recipe. It's award winning, you know.”
I exhaled a long breath, trying to remain calm. I grabbed my purse and stoop up. “I can see I've wasted your time and mine. Have a nice day.”
Chapter 18
I spent the next hour at the police station, explaining everything to Detective James about my meeting with Chloe Goodwin and William O'Connor, aka, the boss.
Within seconds, Detective James got on his phone and gave the order to pick up both individuals for questioning, concerning the death of Glenn Fleming.
“If we get a match on those cowboy boots, we may have enough evidence to charge him with armed robbery. But it would really help to find the gun used to shoot Glenn. And if Chloe Goodwin would be willing to testify against him, it would help even more.”
“Good,” I said. “Do you mind if I sit in on the interrogation via the observation room?”
He smiled. “Why not. It's because of your persistence and intuition that we have any leads at all. Good work, Sarah.”
An hour and forty-five minutes later, William O'Connor, aka the boss, was sitting on a hard metal chair inside the interview room, thick arms folded across his chest. He'd been left alone for thirty minutes – a strategic tactic designed to create anxiety within a suspect's mind. As I o
bserved Billy through the mirrored glass viewing window, I couldn't tell if he was anxious or not. His face showed no expression.
Detective James walked into the room, joined by another police officer. “Mr. O'Connor, we must inform you that this conversation will be recorded.”
William sat back and looked up with mild interest. “Why am I here?”
The detectives took their seats across the table from William. “We received a tip from a reliable source that you were involved in a series of armed robberies resulting in the death of one Glenn Fleming.”
William shook his head. “You got the wrong guy.”
“Where were you on the night of Friday, March twenty-ninth, between four and seven p.m.?”
“I was at home, alone.”
Detective James smiled. “Can anyone confirm that you were at home?”
“No. Am I under arrest?”
“Not at this time. We're just talking here. However, there's an easy way to prove your innocence,” Detective James said in his usual friendly tone. “We'd like to examine the boots you're wearing. It will only take a few minutes. You see, we've got this fancy new computer that can match up the footprints found at a crime scene with the actual footwear that made them.”
William's expression didn't change, but the thumb on his right hand flinched. “Maybe I should call a lawyer.”
“You're certainly entitled to do so, but you haven't been charged with a crime. If you're innocent, you shouldn't mind if we take a look at your boots. This can all be over in a matter of minutes with your cooperation.”
William shifted awkwardly in his seat. “What if I say no?”
“We're in the process of obtaining search warrants for your home, vehicle, and business. Oh, your cell phone, too. Even the clothes you're wearing. Like I said, you can make this easy or we can make it difficult. Your call.”
William leaned back with a smirk. “Fine. Take them.” William slowly removed his boots. The officer sitting next to Detective James put on a pair of latex gloves, placed the boots inside a plastic bag, and carried them out of the room. Detective James remained in his seat, sifting through his file. “So Mr. O'Connor, I see here that you were arrested two years ago for attempted murder. Would you like to tell me about that?”
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