weather. Although this wasn’t the sort of weather that called for jackets, I’d take it. Honestly, I hadn’t expected Olivia would give me one.
I put the windbreaker back on the chair and checked the new pile of notes that had been left for me. One was from Andre, telling me to email him once I got in and set up.
IT’s instructions for getting on the computer worked fine, and I found Andre’s address in my email program, along with those of the rest of the Boston office. While I waited to see what he wanted, I explored the file access I’d been given. There was a document left on the computer desktop for me, explaining my access allowances, though it was only a rehash of what Olivia and Andre had explained. Basically, my access was seriously limited. I’d have to ask for anything I wanted.
Next, I went through the files on F that Andre had given me. I was halfway finished when he tapped on my cube wall. “Afternoon, partner.”
“Afternoon?” I checked the computer’s clock. “Oh, so it is.”
“So it is indeed.” He bumped his knuckles together.
“You’re perky. I hope you’re not expecting me to have already cracked this case and discovered who’s producing F.”
“You haven’t? Slacker.” He shook his head, feigning disappointment. “Actually, I’m here because we’ve got another lead. Well, maybe we got another lead. Come on, we get to go meet him.”
I got up and stretched my back. “Our lead is a him?”
Andre consulted a notepad he was carrying. “It is, and he has a name too: Curt Murphy. He came forward to the Newton PD, and they turned him over to us. He just got here, and we get to question him. Aren’t you excited?” He punched me lightly on the arm.
I punched him back. “I can barely contain myself. Suspect, witness or something else?”
Andre scratched his head, his expression turning serious. “Something else from the sound of it. He’s a friend of the Stacys who wanted to give a statement. He thinks he might know something.”
Down on the first floor, we passed through a cluster of rooms I’d gotten very familiar with during my own questioning. Those few days after Victor Aubrey had been arrested, I’d been forced to tell my story over and over again to multiple Gryphons while sitting in one of these bland little rooms with their bland little furniture, often while drinking bland little cups of coffee. I shuddered to see them again.
We entered one such gray-walled room, and its sole occupant checked us out expectantly. Curt Murphy appeared to be in his late twenties and was in every way as bland as the room, from his khaki pants to his blue, button-down office shirt. His hands fidgeted with his phone, and a thin sheen of sweat clung to his face. It was over air-conditioned in here, so that had to be the result of nerves. Beneath his not-so-calm exterior, he was filled with indecision, fear and no small degree of boredom. None of that was surprising under the circumstances.
Andre held out a hand and did the introductions. “I hope you haven’t been waiting long.”
Curt shook his head. “Not long. I’m just… I’m not sure I can help, but Mike was a good friend. I want to do whatever I can.”
“Michael Stacy?” Andre confirmed. “Did you know his wife too?”
“I knew them both, yeah.” Curt spun his phone around on the table. “The thing is, the police aren’t saying exactly what happened, but it sounds like everyone at their party on Friday was murdered. Is that true?”
I took a seat and waited for Andre. He’d told me on the way over to let him do the questioning, and I was fine with that. This was another watch-and-learn session.
Andre laid his notepad and pen neatly out on the table while he assessed Curt. If I could have, I’d have told him there wasn’t much to assess. Curt’s anxiety spiked when he mentioned the party, but I didn’t sense anything malicious in it. It was a good bet Curt knew what went on at those parties and was
I put the windbreaker back on the chair and checked the new pile of notes that had been left for me. One was from Andre, telling me to email him once I got in and set up.
IT’s instructions for getting on the computer worked fine, and I found Andre’s address in my email program, along with those of the rest of the Boston office. While I waited to see what he wanted, I explored the file access I’d been given. There was a document left on the computer desktop for me, explaining my access allowances, though it was only a rehash of what Olivia and Andre had explained. Basically, my access was seriously limited. I’d have to ask for anything I wanted.
Next, I went through the files on F that Andre had given me. I was halfway finished when he tapped on my cube wall. “Afternoon, partner.”
“Afternoon?” I checked the computer’s clock. “Oh, so it is.”
“So it is indeed.” He bumped his knuckles together.
“You’re perky. I hope you’re not expecting me to have already cracked this case and discovered who’s producing F.”
“You haven’t? Slacker.” He shook his head, feigning disappointment. “Actually, I’m here because we’ve got another lead. Well, maybe we got another lead. Come on, we get to go meet him.”
I got up and stretched my back. “Our lead is a him?”
Andre consulted a notepad he was carrying. “It is, and he has a name too: Curt Murphy. He came forward to the Newton PD, and they turned him over to us. He just got here, and we get to question him. Aren’t you excited?” He punched me lightly on the arm.
I punched him back. “I can barely contain myself. Suspect, witness or something else?”
Andre scratched his head, his expression turning serious. “Something else from the sound of it. He’s a friend of the Stacys who wanted to give a statement. He thinks he might know something.”
Down on the first floor, we passed through a cluster of rooms I’d gotten very familiar with during my own questioning. Those few days after Victor Aubrey had been arrested, I’d been forced to tell my story over and over again to multiple Gryphons while sitting in one of these bland little rooms with their bland little furniture, often while drinking bland little cups of coffee. I shuddered to see them again.
We entered one such gray-walled room, and its sole occupant checked us out expectantly. Curt Murphy appeared to be in his late twenties and was in every way as bland as the room, from his khaki pants to his blue, button-down office shirt. His hands fidgeted with his phone, and a thin sheen of sweat clung to his face. It was over air-conditioned in here, so that had to be the result of nerves. Beneath his not-so-calm exterior, he was filled with indecision, fear and no small degree of boredom. None of that was surprising under the circumstances.
Andre held out a hand and did the introductions. “I hope you haven’t been waiting long.”
Curt shook his head. “Not long. I’m just… I’m not sure I can help, but Mike was a good friend. I want to do whatever I can.”
“Michael Stacy?” Andre confirmed. “Did you know his wife too?”
“I knew them both, yeah.” Curt spun his phone around on the table. “The thing is, the police aren’t saying exactly what happened, but it sounds like everyone at their party on Friday was murdered. Is that true?”
I took a seat and waited for Andre. He’d told me on the way over to let him do the questioning, and I was fine with that. This was another watch-and-learn session.
Andre laid his notepad and pen neatly out on the table while he assessed Curt. If I could have, I’d have told him there wasn’t much to assess. Curt’s anxiety spiked when he mentioned the party, but I didn’t sense anything malicious in it. It was a good bet Curt knew what went on at those parties and was
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