Smith and Wesson.”
“Okay, so how did one of your dad’s guns, or one like it, come to kill Brad?”
I was treading on thin ice here. I knew George was jealous about Jim’s relationship with their dad. George had always thought that we had bought our home with inheritance money.
The truth was, we had worked hard and saved for a long time. George hated that scenario because it involved working.
Everything their father had owned, including hunting rifles or guns, had remained at Uncle Roger’s, where George had lived for a long time. As far as I knew, Jim hadn’t even seen those guns since he was seventeen years old.
George looked trapped. He appeared to be having a conversation in his head about whether or not to come clean with me. He settled on saying, “I had the gun.”
“What?”
“When my uncle kicked me out, I took the gun. I was on the streets for a while. You don’t know what that’s like. I had to find a place to crash every night. I needed it with me, you know, just in case.”
Our eyes locked. George studied me a moment, debating whether or not to continue. I waved my hand, indicating that he should spit it out.
He did a nervous little jig. “When I met Brad, he was putting together El Paraiso. You should have seen it when we started. The place was a dump. He hired me, as casual labor, you know, to paint and stuff. He let me crash in the basement.”
“What happened to the gun?”
“I don’t know. I always kept it with me. In my bag. Only sometimes I left my bags in the basement at El Paraiso, where I slept. No one messed with my stuff. No one really wants to go near a homeless guy’s bag.”
George paused before continuing.
“Well, I got a place now. I’m not sleeping at El Paraiso anymore, but then I was, you know, in June. Anyway, near as I can tell, someone must have taken my gun and killed Brad. I noticed it missing sometime in July. I was going through my stuff. I didn’t think anything about it, except that it sucked to be ripped off. I didn’t think anybody had been killed with it.”
“Jesus Christ, George! Did you report it?”
“Report it to who?”
“To the police!”
“Are you kidding? The gun was never registered to me. Besides, the police aren’t sympathetic to homeless people. I’m only telling you because . . .” He collapsed onto the couch next to me. “I don’t know why I’m telling you.”
“I’m sorry. Tell me. Go ahead and tell me. I won’t lecture you.”
George nodded. “When I heard they found Brad dead, I tried to remember, you know, remember anything unusual about that night. But hell, it was months ago. The only thing I really recall is that Michelle was upset when I brought over the cash. We talked for a while. She told me Brad had left her. We drank some, but that was pretty much it.”
“What cash?”
“Uh . . . you know, deposits from the . . . the restaurant.”
“Doesn’t the manager usually handle the cash?”
George scratched his head. “What?”
“Most restaurant managers make a night deposit at the bank, right? Why were you bringing the money to Michelle’s house?”
George jiggled his knee up and down so quickly it shook the couch. For a second I thought we were having an earthquake. He stood. “I’ve really got to run.”
I jumped up. “C’mon, George, were you having an affair with Michelle?”
“No. Of course not.”
“What about Monday?” I pressed. “The morning Michelle was killed.”
George looked around the room. “Can you get my bags?”
“Do you know who would want to kill Brad and Michelle? Who could have taken your gun? Who knew you had a gun?”
“I don’t know, Kate, geez. And I don’t want to know. Don’t tell anyone what I told you . . . the less you know about this, the better. I don’t want you to be involved.”
“I’m already involved!” I exploded. “And you’re up to your ears in ‘involved,’ George. What were your bags doing at the pier?”
“I forgot them there, is all. Stupid. Anyway, I’m taking care of everything. I went to see someone today who can help me.”
“An attorney?”
“No, no. Never mind. I’ve got to get back to the shop.”
“What shop?”
George’s eyes flicked back and forth. “I mean . . . you know, the restaurant, El Paraiso.” He glanced at his watch. “I’ve really got to run, Kate. Jim will probably be home soon and