Total pages in book: 110
Estimated words: 103402 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 517(@200wpm)___ 414(@250wpm)___ 345(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103402 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 517(@200wpm)___ 414(@250wpm)___ 345(@300wpm)
We went to bed as the clock was hitting seven, both of us exhausted, Oliver melting into my arms the second we hit the mattress.
22 Beckham Noble
It was early afternoon, and it was hot as balls. Especially inside the un-airconditioned hallway I stood in, a large window at the end of the hall only serving as a way to cook whoever was in the hall when the sun was at its peak. I knocked hard on the door in front of me. Apartment 410. Behind the black-painted wood, I could hear a TV set blaring some kind of political news. I heard rustling, like someone was cleaning up a mess, and then the TV’s volume was lowered. Three undone locks later and the door was opening.
Mario Reyes stood there, a frown set on his bearded face. He wore a plain black tank top and oversized jean shorts with a few red patches sewn into the front. He was a little shorter than me but stockier and had big muscles that would intimidate anyone if he flared up like the gorilla he resembled. His arms were covered in black-and-white tattoos, some of them prison quality while others seemed like works of art.
“You the detective?”
“Beckham Noble, from Stonewall Investigations. Thank you for meeting with me.”
“Yeah, yeah, sure.” Mario stepped aside, which I figured was his way of inviting me in.
His apartment was on the larger scale. He had vaulted ceilings since he was on the top floor, and floor-to-ceiling windows in the living room that looked out to the bay. There was a wrap-around balcony with plenty of seating areas. His television looked top-of-the-line, and all of his furniture appeared to be brand-new, with clean black leather and a modern-looking glass table. It appeared as though his business was doing well, so why the bloody hell was he so difficult to find?
“We can sit here.” Mario was already at his dining table and pulling out a heavy chair. The day was getting late since Mario had rescheduled a couple of times, but there was still plenty of sunlight streaming in through the windows. It highlighted just how clean Mario’s place was.
“All right, I don’t want to waste too much of your time.” I could smell the dinner cooking in the kitchen, the scent of meat and herbs filling the air.
“Right. What do you need from me?”
“Well, I’ve got some questions. All I need are some straight-up answers.”
I sat down across from Mario at his table. I could sense there was tension in the air from the beginning. He was puffing up his chest and keeping hard eye contact with me. It put me on the offensive. I knew blokes like him had to be cracked open sometimes, and that only happened when you puffed your chest as much as they did.
“Questions about what?”
“The assault and resulting murder of Derrick Silva. It happened six years ago, and I know you’ve interacted with the victims on multiple occasions in the past.”
“I interact with a lot of people. I don’t remember shit from six fucking years ago.”
“Let me help jog your memory.” On my phone, I opened a folder I had set up specifically for this meeting. I clicked on the first photo. Oliver and Derrick smiled back at us, a massive sequoia tree stretching up like a giant behind them.
“These are the victims. Is your memory coming back?”
Mario looked at the photo and shook his head. “Nah, I don’t remember either of those two.” His tone turned acidic.
“Well, one of them remembers you for sure. Oliver.” I zoomed in on his face. He looked so happy, so vibrant. There was a light shining through him that seemed as though the sun had taken up residence in his smile.
“You landscaped his apartment building. He came up to you asking for a business card, and you were less than friendly toward him.”
Mario’s eyes narrowed. “I might remember him.”
“Okay, good. Good, then we’re getting somewhere.” I flicked to the next photo. It was a photo taken from the crime scene. Derrick’s body was covered with a sheet. Blood made a macabre dance down the pavement, into a sewage grate. “This was the night Oliver and Derrick were attacked in a homophobic assault. It ended with Derrick getting fatally stabbed. This is why I’m here, Mario. Because I want to find out who did this so that I can put this to rest.”
“And you think I did this?” Mario was moving to stand.
“No, no.” I had to let the gorilla pound his chest on this one. It was too soon to get him this angry. “I don’t think so. If I did, the police would be here with cuffs at the ready. No, I don’t think you did it.” He seemed to calm down but still had his hands on the table. “I think you can help me find who did do it, though.”