Free Cube Sleuth by David Terruso Page B

in at 7:30?”
    She nods.
    “Did you come in early that day?”
    “No, but I got here a few minutes earlier than usual because traffic was light.”
    Yes! She speaks in complete sentences! “No other cars were in the lot when you pulled in?”
    “Just the Jeep.” She clears her throat repeatedly while I scribble notes.
    “What made you look at the Jeep?”
    “I was walking by it on my way to the elevator and I saw… all the… blood…in the window.” She licks her lips, then purses them. She swallows and snaps her tongue to gather saliva.
    “Were all the windows on the Jeep rolled up?”
    “I think one was open. Because the music in the car sounded loud to me. And I could smell the blood.”
    “Do you remember how Ron was sitting?”
    “Huh?”
    “Was he slumped over? Sitting up straight?”
    “Hunched over. Head hung down.” More lip licking, more swallowing and tongue snapping. She looks in her coffee cup and frowns when she sees it’s empty.
    “Did you open the door?”
    “I didn’t touch the Jeep.”
    “You didn’t check to see if he was alive.”
    She laughs in disgust. “If you saw him. There—he couldn’t have been alive.” She grinds her palms into her eye sockets and slowly drags them across her temples into her hair.
    “Did you see the gun?”
    “I saw the blood, saw him. I didn’t scream. I opened my mouth and nothing came out. I ran for the elevator. That’s the end of the story.”
    I tap my pen against my upper lip. “Do you remember anything else about what you saw?”
    Beatrice grimaces. “No. Unless you want to know what it’s like to see inside a boy’s skull.”
    I feel bad for making her think about this, but turn it around on her for saying that. “He was practically a stranger to you. He was my best friend. I’m not trying to give you a hard time. I know you want to get past this. So do I. That’s why I’m here.”
    Her face softens. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to get all gory like that. I’m sorry. That’s all I know. It was real quick; I was scared, I ran. I told the police the same thing.”
    I write BOBBY PINKER X526 on my tablet, tear out the page, and hand it to Beatrice. “Thanks for talking to me. If you remember something else, call me. I sit right around the corner there. You could email me, too, if you don’t feel comfortable talking; I’m in the directory.”
    “OK. There’s nothing else I remember. But OK.”
    I stand and turn to leave.
    “Your friend, what was he like? Ron.”
    I turn back to her and smile. “He was funny. Brilliantly funny. Hated to be serious. Liked to play jokes on me. He was a writer and an actor. An artist. He lived with his mom so she wouldn’t be alone. He was romantic. Sarcastic, but never mean. He was a good guy.”
    Beatrice smiles with sadness, shaking her head in disappointment. “What a shame. Young boy like that. His whole life waitin’ for him. Why would he do a thing like that?”
    I want to say he didn’t do it. That he was murdered and we both probably know the killer. I’m going to find him and get revenge. “He was bipolar.”
    “Sad disease. Don’t seem fair. Young boy like that.”
    My lip starts to tremble. I thank her again and slip away. I only have to walk twenty feet before I can hide my tears in my cube. As I come around the corner, I see Keith walking toward me. Chances are he’s snooping around to see why I’m not at my station right now, slaving away.
    “Hi, Bobby.” Keith smiles warmly. His smooth, bald head shines under the fluorescent lights. His suit looks pristine, as always.
    “How you doing, Keith?” My voice sounds crisp, so I hope Keith won’t notice I’m upset.
    “Everything OK?” So much for that.
    “Yep. I just had a sneezing fit, so my eyes are all watery. Probably inhaled some dust or something.”
    “You allergic?”
    “Very.” That’s actually true.
    “All right. Have a good day then.”
    I wipe my eyes. “You, too.”
    Keith irks me to no end.