Page 123 of Long Gone

“To the tavern.”

That surprised me, but then it made sense. He probably had to work the lunch shift. He’d missed a good portion of the day yesterday.

After he’d driven about five minutes in silence, he said, “Does your father know who broke into your house? Did they break into his?”

I’d told him to ask the questions he wanted answers to. I’d just hoped it would be a different question. “He seemed surprised and claimed he didn’t know who’d broken in. I forgot to ask him about his house.” But I’d bet money his place had remained unscathed, which made me even more certain he’d called someone. Could I get my hands on his cell phone?

Malcolm was silent for a moment. “He was scared last night when you were asking him questions about the case. Was he scared today?”

“He said I’d caught him off guard last night. He seemed prepared to see me today.”

“Do you believe that?”

It didn’t feel like a betrayal to answer truthfully. “Yes, but I think he was still scared.”

“Did you ask him what he did with Burton’s things from his office?”

“He says he didn’t take them. Someone else did.”

“And you believe him?”

“Yes.”

He was silent for a long moment. I could tell he was dying for me to verify that I knew about J.R. Simmons, but he couldn’t bring himself to ask.

“Feel free to ask very a specific question, Malcolm. Once I know we’re on the same page, I’ll be happy to fill you in.”

He remained silent for several more seconds, his jaw locked, before he said, “Was J.R. Simmons an investor?”

There it was, sort of. Maybe he simply suspected Simmons had ties to the case but didn’t know the details. “My father admitted that he’d introduced Hugo to Simmons, but he had no idea whether Simmons had invested.”

He remained silent.

Now that he’d mentioned Simmons’s name, I had a few questions of my own. “What do you know about J.R. Simmons being connected to Hugo Burton?”

“Who said I knew anything?”

“Give me a fucking break, Malcolm,” I said in disgust. “I can read between the lines. You’re interested in this case because J.R. Simmons was involved.”

He remained silent.

“The question is why you’re interested.”

More silence.

“Even if he killed Hugo Burton, then there’s no possibility for vengeance or revenge, if that’s what you’re after. Simmons is dead.”

“I’m very well aware of that,” he spat out.

“So why do you care about this case?”

The tavern appeared ahead, and Malcom pulled into the parking lot, heading behind the building. He turned off the car, grabbed his laptop from the backseat, and got out, leaving me to follow him in through the back door and then into his office.

“I need to work the lunch shift,” he said once we were inside. He walked around his desk and set my car keys and his computer down before he started to write something on a sticky note. “You need to rest and drink more water. You lost a lot of blood last night. So hang out in my office and take a nap on the sofa. Or use my laptop if you want to work. Here’s the password.” He stuck the sticky note on the laptop. “You need food too, so feel free to come up front and order at the bar. I’ll get someone to cover for me after the shift ends, and we’ll figure out where to go from there.”

“You trust me alone in your office?” I asked in disbelief. “And access to your laptop?”

He released a short laugh. “You think I have something incriminating for you to snoop through? Go ahead and snoop. You’ll be bored with what you find.” Then he turned around and headed to the door.

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