“Yeah.” The detective finally looked up from his hands and asked directly across the table into the reporter’s face, “What did the witness from the children’s center tell you about a man he saw coming down off the roof before we got there?”
The question caused the federal agent to lower his file to the side of his thigh. Canfield also seemed to move his elbows forward on the table. Nick started to turn toward Cameron, who had obviously reported the encounter to the detectives, but stopped himself.
“You mean the little guy who came into work at eight?” Nick said, already knowing the answer. “The guy said he thought it was one of yours, a SWAT officer,” Nick said, turning his eyes to Canfield. “Dressed in black and carrying a bag.”
“Did he give you a description of the man?”
The question came from the wall, from Fitzgerald. Nick was surprised by the high, scratchy timbre of the man’s voice. He thought all federal agents learned to modulate their voices in training. The man was focused, though, intensely. Nick pictured a flier posted on the bulletin board of the FBI with large black print: SNIPER. If you see this man …
“No. I was trying to work him when Joel came up to give me a message and then the guy, Dennis was his name, got antsy and walked away,” Nick said, trying not to indict Cameron. “Why? Isn’t that what he gave you guys? I mean, you’ve interviewed him, right?”
Hargrave looked up at Nick. “Yeah, we talked to him. Same stuff. Said the guy was above-average build, whatever the hell that means, and had a balaclava covering most of his face. He thought he was white, and I emphasize the word thought,” the detective said, cutting his eyes over at the fed.
“OK, how about the roof business?” Canfield said.
“Nobody tipped me to that,” Nick said. “The photographer I was with noted the blood spatter on the wall next to the steps, lower than the victim’s height. I noticed that the cops were looking up and behind us at the crime scene. I just put two and two together.”
Hargrave and Canfield glanced at each other. Nick was satisfied that he hadn’t used the detective’s name as the one whose eyes on the rooftop had given it away.
“OK. The families?”
“I only talked to Ferris’s sister-in-law, at her house trailer. She didn’t sound like she was terribly crushed by the whole thing, but not exactly relieved either,” Nick said. “I got the sense that her husband had been carrying his brother’s load for a long time.”
“Enough of a burden to want to finish him off?” Hargrave said.
“That wasn’t the feel. More like enough to just bury him and try to forget,” Nick said, but he was getting tired of the one-way conversation. “Why, did he say something different to you?”
He was talking directly to Hargrave, who hesitated, looked at his lieutenant and then said, “No. We checked him out with his boss and two other workers who put him in the warehouse at the time of the shooting. He isn’t a suspect. He didn’t say good riddance. He didn’t cry. He just asked when he could pick up the body.”
Nick jotted something on his reporter’s pad. The room went quiet for a moment. The rules were being set.
“Ferris is not a suspect?” Nick said, looking directly into Hargrave’s eyes, making sure he was getting the comment straight.
“Not at this time.”
Nick knew it was a fallback position, but OK, never say never, he’d give him that.
“OK, Nick. How about Ms. Cotton?” Canfield said, trying to swing the information tide back to his side. “You got to her before we did. What did she tell you?”
“Not much,” Nick said, rebuilding the scene in his head. “That she wasn’t the kind of person to look for retribution. She’s religious but isn’t going for that eye-for-an-eye thing.”
The heard-that-a-million-times feel in the room was as clear as if all three law enforcement officers had covered their mouths and yawned.
“She said she didn’t know anyone who would have done Ferris, and she hadn’t had any suspicious visitors or contacts that would lead her to believe anyone would shoot the guy for her.”
As he said it, Nick’s head jumped to a vision of the box of letters that Ms. Cotton had told him about. He should have looked at them. He should have taken down some names. But should he mention it to this group? Hell, if they’d asked