Jeff shut the door, disregarding Michel.
Michel stood, knocked, and waited. A few seconds later he knocked again; no response.
He straightened his tie, and tugged the kinks out of his jacket, and turned the door knob. It was locked.
“I can’t believe this,” he mouthed. He knocked once again.
The door opened immediately this time, and Jeff was standing in the door frame. “Can I help you?”
“Yes, Mr. Franklin, my name is Michel Rojas, and I’m with the internal loss department. I need a moment of your time to discuss the murder of Tomas Dekare,” he said, rushing through every word.
Jeff nodded, and opened the door wide, and swept his arm out to invite Michel in. “Have a seat.”
“Thank you,” he said. His voice caused Jeff’s heart to chill, his spine to stiffen.
“Shame what happened to Tomas. I’m sure going to miss him,” Jeff said as he rushed around the desk. He left the door open.
“As will several others,” Michel said. “Were you close to Mr. Dekare?”
Jeff sat down, and stared at Michel for a moment, blinking. “Oh, yeah,” he finally said, sliding back in his chair. “We used to get drinks at the bar down on 5th on Mondays after work with a few of the other credit officers. He even got me season tickets to see the Astros for my birthday.”
“How did you feel about that?” Michel asked.
“Well, it was nice, but we both know that they haven’t been worth a shit since ‘24, right?” Jeff laughed. Michel stayed frozen in place, taking notes on his mobile.
Jeff slowed his laughter down to silence and back to solemn. “He was a hell of a guy.”
“Do you know of any reason that someone would attack him, seeing as he was such a great person?”
Jeff shook his head, and curled his lip on one side. “No. I can’t think of anything.”
Michel wrote his answer, and kept writing, measuring his reactions at the end of each response. “Do you know if he owed anyone any money? He hasn’t reported any gambling debts or winnings on his taxes in the past year, but given that you would meet for drinks to watch baseball, I could assume it’s possible he could attract the attention of a bookie.”
“Um, how did you know we were there to watch a game?” Jeff asked.
“I follow the Tigers. Just answer the question,” Michel responded.
“Maybe?”
“Maybe.”
“Yeah; I don’t keep up with how he spends his money,” Jeff said. “You think he was killed by someone trying to cash in? Jesus, you’d think he’d be able to keep things under control as much money as he makes.”
“I didn’t say he was killed by a loan shark, Mr. Franklin. Please focus,” Michel said. “Did you know his wife, Marina?”
Jeff nodded, still shrunken into a rigid curve in his chair. “We’ve met on a few occasions.”
“How would you describe Mrs. Dekare?”
“Oh shit, man, she’s a hard ass,” he spat.
Michel stared at Jeff now, watching his eyes, shocked by his rapid response. “What’s that again?”
“She’s a fucking bitch,” he said. Michel watched his eyes drift to the left.
“That’s a bit harsh, Mr. Franklin. Why do you feel that way?”
Jeff rocked back in his seat, fidgeting with the cuff of his shirt. “Well,” he said. He paused. “Well, she’s always complaining that he doesn’t make enough money for one. Seeing as her business ventures aren’t exactly explosive, she thinks he should be pulling a quarter million a year. I mean, considering that they live in the middle of suburbia, I think he brings enough bacon home for two of those Stepford hell holes. I don’t know if he’s sinking all of his money to keep a few imports moving, or for storage space, fuck if I can even guess what she’d need, but it can’t be so much that they aren’t keeping a roof over their heads.”
“That’s interesting. Has he ever mentioned her business in conversation?”
“He didn’t like talking about her. I think he might have even had something going on the side, if you know what I mean.”
“Do you have evidence to support that?” Michel asked, drawing his gaze back to Jeff’s eyes. They shot left.
“Uh, no, not really; I just think he might be that kind of guy, you know?”
“I don’t know,” Michel said.
Jeff shifted his mask to one of astonishment. “I figured all of you internal security guys wouldn’t be that naïve.”
“Naiveté has little to do with it, Mr. Franklin. I just can’t connect how you could consider Mr. Dekare to be an upstanding gentleman, and then make the accusation that he is committing adultery.”
“That just makes him a man with needs.”
Michel stared past Jeff. “Fascinating,” he whispered.
Michel wrote in his book, not stopping. After he finished recording Jeff’s most recent statements and reactions, he just wrote random sentences, describing the lack of photos on Jeff’s desk, the state of his workstation, which was impeccable aside from a small, uneven pile of envelopes on Jeff’s left. He wrote that the top button of Jeff’s shirt was unbuttoned beneath his tie, and that he wore a black shirt beneath the blue.
Jeff chuckled, and leaned his elbows on the desk. “Catching up?”
“That’s right,” Michel said.
“Do you have any other questions?” Jeff asked.
“I don’t know yet.”
“Guess you weren’t prepared to talk to me, huh?” Jeff asked.
“I had plenty of time to wait, Mr. Franklin. You’d be surprised what I could ask you.”
Jeff nodded. “I guess I owe you an apology.”
“I don’t know. It could be that you had several appointments already scheduled before my arrival. It could be that you even had to change a meeting around to meet with someone,” Michel said. He looked up at Jeff. “It could be that you were worried about speaking to me, and as a result, delayed our meeting until right before you left for the day, at 4PM, when you would run down to your car, a rather nice Mercedes if I’m not mistaken, and speed half of the way home, running the risk of collecting another of many traffic violation tickets.”
“Who pissed in your coffee?” Jeff asked. “I haven’t done anything wrong. I didn’t stab the guy.” Michel heard his fear, masked in false contempt.
“But you seem to have so many reasons why someone might,” Michel said. “And since you are hesitant to tell me anything, I can’t help but wonder if you know something that you haven’t told me yet.”
“I didn’t kill him,” Jeff shouted.
“I understand,” Michel said. He rested his writing hand. “Someone did kill your friend, and if you tell me what you know, the police and our own security staffs might be able to discern who the killer was.”
Jeff leaned back. “I don’t know shit,” he said. His voice trembled. “I don’t know anything at all. I’m just making guesses,” he said. The arm rests on his chair squeaked as he squeezed them.
“Do you know if Marcus Emery would know anything about Tomas’ murder?”
Jeff’s chair stopped squeaking.
“Why would Marcus Emery know anything about the murder?”
“I don’t know why he would know anything,” Michel said. “If you know why he would be informed about the murder, it would help my investigation.”
Jeff shook his head. “I’m not saying anything,” he growled.
Michel allowed a thin smile to spread across his face, keeping his teeth concealed. “About what are you keeping silent, Mr. Franklin? It sounds like you know more than you’ve let on.”
“Fuck you,” he spat, his voice almost a whisper. “Tomas got himself killed, dammit. It’s not anyone’s fault but his own.”
“Who killed Tomas Dekare? Come on, Mr. Franklin, if he’s responsible for his own death, then it’s not going to hurt you to tell me who we’re after,” Michel said.
Jeff stood up from his chair, which flew against the wall behind him. “Get the fuc
k out of my office,” he growled.
“I can come back if you’d like to discuss this at a later time,” Michel said. He reached into his pocket to retrieve a pen.
“We can discuss this in hell.” He stammered.
The thunderclap of pistol fire echoed through the hall, and sprayed Jeff Franklin’s gray matter as a cloud of red onto the wall.
Michel froze in place. He listened to footsteps, hasty but steady, stomping down the hall to the right. He didn’t dare turn around. He waited for a moment, and then stood. He pulled his mobile from his pocket, and dialed Vance’s office, fingers trembling as they moved over the screen.
“Michel?” he answered, gravelly voice chiming from the receiver.
“Jeff Franklin was just shot and killed in his office,” Michel said.
“Shit,” he shouted. “Please tell me you got something out of him.”
“No sir, but I would like for you to refer to the security cameras, and let me know what you discover.”
“I’ll see what I can find out,” he said.
“Thank you, sir.”
Michel stuffed the mobile in his pocket, and waited by the door, and looked over his notes, trying not to divert his attention to the crimson streaked mess that dripped over the leather chair on the other side of the room.
VI
Dusk slipped over the city. Martin couldn’t tell where nighttime met the drizzling storm as he stared out the window of his car. Rich sat next to him, and passed the wax paper wrapped fast food dinner that they’d picked up on the way back into town.
“Don’t you have a family to go home to?” Martin complained as he unwrapped his sandwich.
“Yeah, but I figure what’s a burger going to hurt?”
“Good point,” Martin