Page 134 of Long Gone

“Which is why the office manager thought your father had cleaned it out.”

“Yes.” I took another sip of my drink. “My father showed up to let him in but claims he didn’t stick around to see what the guy took. But he did confirm Mooney switched out the desktop computer.”

“That had to be Mooney’s idea,” Malcolm said in disgust. “That man was an idiot. It never would have fooled the police and only made it look more suspicious. Not that it did a hell of a lot of good.” He tilted his head. “Did the investigators accuse your father of taking the original?”

“If they did, he didn’t admit to it.” I studied him. He’d let slip that he knew Pete Mooney, but then again, I was pretty sure Malcolm didn’t let anything slip. “How did you know Mooney?” I asked casually.

The corners of his mouth ticked up, but the smile didn’t meet his eyes. “He was one of J.R. Simmons’s lackeys.”

“He was murdered in Little Rock less than a year after Hugo disappeared. Do you know anything about that?”

“Not for certain, but I suspect Simmons had him murdered. Mooney was getting sloppy—especially if the waitress saw him at the office building. Simmons was probably cleaning up.”

“So you think Simmons killed him himself?”

“No,” he said with a snort. “Simmons rarely did the dirty work himself. He paid others to do it for him. And he had a lot of people on his payroll.”

I studied him through narrowed eyes. “You’re going after the people on his payroll.”

His smile spread, but it looked deadly. “I never said that.”

“You said you were after Simmons’s replacement.” I paused. “You’re after him or her.”

“Him,” he clarified. “Simmons was a chauvinist through and through and never worked with women.” Something flickered in his eyes, and he took another sip. “And yes, someone’s still around, otherwise you wouldn’t have had your apartment and your parents’ house broken into. They know you’re looking for Hugo and they’re terrified you’ll discover the truth.”

“So why break in?”

“Your car was in the driveway,” he said, holding my gaze. “Did it ever occur to you that they weren’t looking for information? They were looking for you.”

My mouth dropped open because it hadn’t occurred to me. “They were searching for something. I heard them.”

“They might have gone in there and shoved something in frustration.”

Was I in real danger?

“The real question is the timing,” Malcolm continued. “It happened right after you spoke to your father, but was that coincidental?” he mused, glancing at the wall. “I’ve been going over that in my head, and as much as I hate coincidences, there’s a chance it could be one.”

“So my father didn’t alert anyone that I might have proof Hugo Burton is dead?”

“Did you tell your father that?”

“No, but I was sloppy and said Hugo had been murdered. I think my father took it as proof.”

“Then I rescind my coincidence statement. Your father left the tavern in a state of panic and called the person who killed Burton.”

“You don’t think Mooney killed him?”

“No,” he said, then took another sip of his whiskey. “Mooney was in Pine Bluff that day. I’ve verified it.”

I narrowed my eyes. “Care to tell me how you verified it?”

He met my gaze. “You’ll just have to take my word for it.”

“The two guys broke into my house,” I said. “Their names were Pinky and Mike. I’m trying to figure out who they work for.”

His eyes bulged. “You didn’t think their names were pertinent information last night?”

“I was a little distracted by the metal sticking out of my body and all the blood,” I snapped, but he was right. I should have told him last night. I’d kept the information like currency.

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