Page 47 of Mile High Mystery

She leaned toward him. “How many gunshots?”

“Two. Pop-pop.” The sound had jolted him, but it hadn’t frightened him. “It wasn’t that loud, really.”

“Did you see anyone near the restaurant before or after those shots?”

He hesitated. Shelby pounced on that hesitation. “What is it?” she demanded. “What did you see?”

“Right after the shots, a man ran into the intersection ahead of where I was parked.”

The sharp intake of her breath told him she hadn’t expected that. He braced himself for her to berate him for lying to her until now, but all she said was, “How long after?”

“A minute? Maybe a little less.”

“Which direction did he run from?”

“From the direction of the restaurant. But I don’t know that he came from the restaurant itself. He could have been walking down the street, heard the shots and they frightened him, so he ran.”

“What did he look like?” she asked.

He closed his eyes, bringing the image in his memory into focus. “He was young—early twenties, maybe? He had kind of a large nose and a prominent chin. He was wearing dark pants and a white shirt.”

“Would you recognize him if you saw him again?”

He had asked himself that question many times. “I don’t know. Maybe.”

“Did he see you?”

“No. He stopped in the middle of the intersection and looked my way, but I ducked down.”

“Why did you do that?”

“I don’t know.” He shook his head. “I just reacted. I didn’t think. When I raised my head again, he was gone.”

“And you didn’t think what you saw was important enough to mention?” Her voice was sharp, her words cutting.

“It was just a man in the street. I didn’t think he had anything to do with the murder. Camille said the Chalk brothers killed the judge.”

“That man could have been another potential witness. He could have even been the witness who guaranteed a conviction. The Chalk brothers might have gone free because you didn’t say anything.”

If she was trying to make him feel worse about his choice, she was wasting her breath. He had told himself all these things over the years. “I get it,” he said. “I was a coward. I let my sister take the fall when I might have drawn some of the Chalk brothers’ attention away from her. Don’t think I’m proud of what happened, because I’m not.” He turned the key in the ignition. “I’ll take you to the motel.”

She put a hand on his arm. “This isn’t over,” she said. “You have to give a formal statement. We’ll get a forensic artist to work with you and come up with a picture of the man you saw. We might still be able to find him.”

“He was just some poor kid on the street that night. He probably didn’t have anything to do with the judge’s murder. And he didn’t kill Camille. That’s the only death I care about.”

“I want to find this man and talk to him.”

“What difference is that going to make?” he asked. “The Chalk brothers were acquitted.”

“You never know. It might make a difference.”

“And then what happens? The Chalk brothers find out who I am, and I have to go into witness protection, like Camille? Are you going to tell my parents I died, too? Because I’m not going to put them through that.”

“No one has to know about this,” she said. “Even if we find the man you saw, no one has to know unless there’s a new trial.”

“A trial for what?”

“I don’t know. But you have to give your statement.”

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