Page 41 of Paternal Instincts
***
Aslan and I didn’t speak until we hit the ground floor. The courtyard and restaurants were busier than when we went upstairs.
“Still want that warrant for his finances?” Aslan asked.
“Yes. Costa might be able to prove or disprove Nixon’s suspicion, and in turn, it could either justify Jude’s claim or make a liar out of him. All we have is his word, and that man was at the Soccerplex when Crow vanished.”
My brow furrowed as I considered something else that bothered me. “Give me a sec.” I withdrew my phone and connected a call to my partner.
Jordyn answered immediately. “It’s like a three-ring circus here. Did you talk to Jude?”
“Yes, and I’m not sold on his explanation. The video footage doesn’t show him taking Crow, so right now I haveto believe him, but I’m going to the office to put together a warrant and see if I can’t get it signed. I want Costa to go through the man’s finances, and that brings me to why I called. Is Nixon nearby?”
“He and his brother are in the garage, avoiding their parents. Imogen’s parents and their other daughter showed up. Good god, the bad blood runs thick in this family.”
“What do you mean?”
“There’s some serious tension between Nixon’s dad, Benny, and Imogen’s mother, Diane. Putting them in a room together is akin to starting the next ice age. I almost wanted to frisk them for weapons.”
“Have you interviewed Imogen’s parents?”
“Yes, and no one wants to tell me why they hate their son- and daughter-in-law. No matter who I ask, things are swell. Bull-fucking-shit. Like I said, arctic cold.”
“Lovely. Do me a favor. Find Nixon and ask him where he had his meeting the Tuesday Crow vanished. The one that made him late to the game.”
“Give me a sec.”
I shared a smile with Aslan, who thumbed over his shoulder toward the food court. “Coffee?”
“Please.”
Jordyn had my answer long before Aslan returned, and it was not the answer I wanted. “He said it was at the office.”
“Thanks.”
I disconnected and stared at the patterning on the tile floor for a long time. Someone was lying.
While I stewed, Dontrel wandered by, offering a hearty hello. Before he got far, I called out. “Excuse me. Mr. Dontrel.”
The man spun, shoes squeaking, and hit me with a wide grin. “First name’s Dontrel. Last name’s Aston.”
“My apologies. Can I ask you something, Mr. Aston?”
“Just Dontrel for a man of the law, and you can ask me anything, so long as it doesn’t breach confidentiality or require a warrant.” He wagged a finger, his smile never faltering. “I know the rules.”
“Of course. My question may or may not break the rules. You let me know. Nixon Davis. Does he use the courtyard to meet with clients?”
“Oh yeah. Sometimes. A lot of the business folk do. Easier to offer someone a coffee or a bite to eat. Mitigates the professional atmosphere. Plus, the sludge they call coffee in those offices upstairs is never good. I’ve had it. Probably best to meet down here so as not to scare off clients, am I right?”
I smiled. “The coffee at my office is never great either.”
“Then you understand.”
“Any chance you worked Tuesday afternoon?”
It took Dontrel a beat to think, but he nodded. “Yep. Here from two to ten that day. Switched shifts with a buddy of mine who had something going on with his kids.”
“Any chance you remember seeing Nixon down here in a meeting that afternoon. Sometime after five.”
