"Because I don't think I killed him."
"If you didn't kill him, then who - or what - did?"
"I don't know, Sam. I guess that's why I'm here. I want you to help me find out how he died."
I sat back and folded my hands over my flattish stomach. Flat enough for me, anyway. I sensed so many emotions coming from Russ that it was hard to get a handle on them. Sensing emotion and reading minds are two different things. I wasn't close enough to Russ to read his mind, but his emotions were fair game to anyone sensitive enough to understand them.
Mostly, I sensed guilt coming off him. Wave after wave of it. I sensed that Russell hadn't been able to move forward from this fight and had been unable to deal with what had happened last month.
He needed answers. Real answers. Not the suspicious whisperings of a medical examiner.
"And what if I discover that you really did kill him, Russell?" I asked.
"Then I can live with that, but I need to know," he said, wiping his eyes and looking away. "I need to know for sure."
"Knowing is good," I said.
"Knowing is everything," he said, and I didn't doubt it for a second.
I nodded. "I'll need names and contact info."
He said he would email me everything I needed. We next discussed my retainer fee and, once done, he handed over his credit card. I spent the next few minutes embarrassing myself until I finally figured out how to use my iPhone credit card swiper. If I could have turned red, I would have.
We next shook hands, and if he noticed my cold flesh, he didn't show it. Or was too polite to show it.
As he left my office, I couldn't help but notice the dark cloud that surrounded him. His aura.
Guilt, I knew, was eating him alive.