Page 51 of So Bleak

“Yes,” Faith agreed. “It is. All right. Let’s go talk to Clive.”

The three of them headed back to the car. Faith wasn't very confident about this lead, but it was, as Michael said, the best lead they had. Mostly because it was the only lead they had, and hey, maybe they would get lucky.

Faith could really use some good luck right about now. Each passing moment was another moment their killer could be poisoning another victim, another moment someone innocent would breathe their last.

Another moment to prove that she was a failure.

CHAPTER TWENTY THREE

Clive Benson lived in a middle-income apartment in a modest building near downtown but was removed from the trendier and ritzier neighborhoods. That wasn't to say the neighborhood was rundown. It was just nondescript. Ordinary. Unremarkable. The perfect place for a serial killer to hide.

Faith knocked on the door and was somewhat surprised when Clive answered almost immediately, the stout, balding Clive looked nervously between the three agents and said, “Can I help you?”

“We certainly hope so,” Faith replied.

Clive stared at her for a moment. “Wait. You’re that FBI agent who’s been on TV a lot lately. You’re the one who caught that serial killer.”

“I’ve caught quite a few serial killers,” Faith replied, maintaining eye contact. “And yes. I’m the one from the TV."

Clive paled. “What’s this about? I don’t know anything about that guy.”

“This isn’t about that guy,” Faith assured him. We caught him already. This is about the guy who’s poisoned four different people in restaurants over the past two weeks.”

Clive paled a shade further. “What? Well, I don’t know anything about that either.”

“We think you do,” Michael said. “And we’d love to know everything you know. Would you mind coming out and talking to us?”

Clive licked his lips and looked between the three of them again. “I don’t know if I should.”

“Why not? If you’re not the killer, then there’s no reason not to talk to us.”

“I… I always read that you’re supposed to ask for a lawyer no matter what.”

“Why do you need a lawyer?” Faith asked. “We’re not charging you with anything. We just want to talk.”

“Um… I really don’t know anything. Sorry, guys.”

He moved to close the door, and Michael stopped him. He shivered but tried to screw up his courage. You… you don’t have a warrant. You can’t talk to me right now.”

Faith stepped closer and made a gamble. “We don’t have a warrant yet, but I’ll bet if we tell a judge what we think you’ve been doing at those restaurants, that judge will be more than willing to provide us with one. Then we will talk, lawyer or no lawyer, and it will be a far less pleasant conversation than this one.”

Clive swallowed, and once more, his eyes shifted between the three agents. This time, they rested on Turk. Turk bared his teeth and growled softly, and Clive sighed. “All right. I guess… this is about the murders, right? Nothing else?”

Now that was an interesting question. “No, nothing else,” Faith replied.

“Okay. In that case, sure, come on in.”

He led them inside, and Faith noted that the interior of the apartment was far more lavish than the outside. The flooring appeared to be of granite tile rather than the vinyl laminate of the rest of the building. The sofa was real leather, and an expensive massage chair sat in front of a seventy-five-inch TV with a sound system that looked almost as expensive as the TV. The dining set was of polished mahogany and all of the kitchen appliances were of the latest smart-home designs.

“Nice place you got,” Michael observed.

“Th-thank you,” Clive said. “Don’t tell the building about the flooring. I had to pretend I owned the place to get them to install the wiring for the heating.” He blanched. “I… I didn’t mean that. I mean—”

“We don’t care about the unauthorized improvements,” Faith reassured him. “We’re not building inspectors.”

Clive nodded too fast. His jowls flapped a little with the movement, a reaction both comical and disgusting. “Right Of course. I just… well, anyway, would you guys like a drink? I have champagne, scotch, wine. Oh, you probably can’t drink on the job, huh?”

“It’s generally frowned upon,” Faith confirmed.

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