Chapter 27
Chapter Twenty-Seven
WEST
B ear Run Brewing had a shop and a taproom, neither of which was open at this hour of the morning.
I went around to the side and tried the door that led into the brewery itself.
It was unlocked, so I wandered in, looking for Chris Fields, the owner.
I knew him by name and sight, though not well.
We’d met a few times, but I wouldn’t say we were friends or even really friendly.
An employee spotted me and came over. “Hey, Chief Garfield, what can I do for you?” The young man gave me a friendly smile, and I returned it. I was good at making people feel like there wasn’t anything wrong when there was. It was a handy trick when the mere sight of you could strike fear.
“I’m looking for Chris. He around today?”
“Yeah, in his office. Back this way,” he said, leading me to an office that reminded me of Avery’s.
It was bigger—the whole place was bigger—but his desk was stacked with papers, crammed with files and books, boxes of labels, samples of bottles, a few pony kegs, and a random assortment of things a brewer might want to have at hand.
“Hey, Chief Garfield. Problem?” Chris stood, extending his hand. He wore a tie-dyed shirt advertising Bear Run’s signature lager, his long sandy hair caught in a low ponytail, a friendly smile on his face.
“Nope, just some routine follow-up on an investigation.” I shook his hand.
“Have a seat,” he said, leaning forward to pull a box of labels out of the extra chair in his office. “How can I help?”
“I just have a few questions. Were you open on Sunday afternoon?”
Chris nodded, a smile spreading across his face. “All day, actually. We did a fall fun-fest kind of thing—had a few food trucks, bluegrass band, family games and stuff.”
“What time did it start?” I asked.
“Noon until 6 p.m.. The staff and I were here a few hours before and after.”
“And were all of your employees here?” I asked, not wanting to point specifically to Matthew yet.
He looked at the ceiling as he thought, then shook his head. “Some of the staff who just work in the brewery didn’t show, but pretty much everyone else was here.”
“Can you give me the names of the staff who weren’t here?” I asked.
Chris rattled off a handful of names, none of which were Matthew’s.
“What about your new brewmaster?” I asked. “Matthew Holt?”
Chris let out a breath and sat back, watching me with considering eyes. “He was here. Helped with set-up. Worked the event. He left a little after 7 p.m.”
I nodded. “It must have been busy.”
“It was a madhouse. You know how things are this time of year.”
“I do,” I agreed. “Do you have any kind of video security here? Cameras on the parking lot, anything like that?”
“No,” Chris said, shaking his head. “We’ve never needed it. Why? Is this about the fire at Wild Haven?”
I knew the fire wouldn’t be a secret. Word travels fast in a small community, and the brewers in the area were tight.
I didn’t answer his question directly. Instead, I asked what I needed to know the most. “Is it possible that Matthew Holt wasn’t here for a period of time on Sunday afternoon?
” Before he could answer, I added, “Think carefully.”
He snapped his mouth shut for a moment, tipping his head up to scan the ceiling as he thought back.
Finally, he said, “I know he was here for the first few hours. He helped with the setup, served beer—I saw him behind the bar pretty much non-stop until about 3 p.m. Then he switched off with somebody else, and he was kind of everywhere.” I raised an eyebrow in question, and Chris explained.
“Refilling supplies, troubleshooting some power issues at one of the food trucks, setting up music while the band was on a break.”
He paused, scanning the ceiling again. “Things got a little iffy later in the afternoon in terms of keeping track of everybody. Like I said, it was a madhouse—lines everywhere, and it was loud with the band playing. Tons of fun, everybody had a great time, but—” He sat back in his chair.
“I guess I can’t swear I know where he was every second of the afternoon.
If anybody left, they weren’t gone long.
He had a lot of demands on his time. We would have noticed if he’d been missing for an extended period, definitely. ”
“Good to know,” I said. “So, if he was gone, he wasn’t gone for very long, but you can’t verify his presence or absence during any specific time between around 3 p.m. and when?”
“He was definitely here at 6 p.m. when we started shutting things down,” Chris said.
That gave Matthew plenty of time to sneak out and come back. It was a five-minute drive to Wild Haven from here, and I knew Matthew had been there between 4:40 p.m. and 5:15 p.m. The timing checked out, not that I was surprised.
“Okay. That’s helpful. Thank you. Anyone else you’re aware of who could have left and come back?”
Chris thought again and shook his head. “Not that I can think of. Like I said, it was really busy.”
“Well, busy is always good news,” I said. “Gotta love those tourists.”
Chris answered with a grin. “You know we do.”
I stood. “Do you mind if I wander around and ask some questions?”
“Nope,” he said, standing with me. “Feel free. Everybody’s busy, but not so busy they can’t stop and talk to the Chief of Police. Let me know if there’s anything else you need.”
“Will do. Thanks, Chris. ”
I wandered back out into the main area of the brewery.
Like Avery’s place, it was immaculate. The stainless-steel vats, bigger than hers, gleamed just as bright.
People worked with quiet efficiency. A jam band played from the speaker in the corner, the music cheerful, looping swirls of sound without a discernible beginning or end.
I hadn’t been specific with Chris, but I hadn’t wanted permission to talk to all of his employees—just the one.
I found Matthew beside a big, circular, copper kettle with windows in it that looked like portholes.
He had one open, and he and another man were leaning in, inhaling deeply.
The yeasty scent wasn’t what I thought of when I thought of beer, but it was close.
Matthew spotted me as I approached, his face going hard. Whether it was out of guilt or because he knew I was with Avery was unclear, but I was betting on the former. He had a curt word with the employee beside him, and the man disappeared. Matthew closed the porthole and latched it shut.
“Chief Garfield. Interesting seeing you here. Problem?”
“I don’t think so,” I said. “Just wanted to talk to you about yesterday afternoon. Chris said you had an event here.”
“We did. It was great. Huge crowd.” He crossed his arms over his chest.
“That’s what I heard,” I said, keeping my tone affable and a little distant. Just a cop doing his job. “And you were here all afternoon?”
“Yep.” He raised his chin a fraction. “Ask anyone.”
“I’ll get to that,” I assured him. “And no one saw you leave? Did you run out to get supplies, anything like that?”
“No.” Matthew flicked his hair out of his eyes. “We were packed. All hands on deck. You know how it is.” His tone was friendly, but his eyes were hard. “What’s this about?”
I had no doubt he knew exactly what this was about—first, because with every word that came out of his mouth, I was more sure he was guilty as hell, and second, because everyone knew what had happened at Wild Haven. Matthew pretending that he didn’t wasn’t a check in the column of innocence.
“I’m investigating the fire at Wild Haven Brewing. Checking to make sure I have a clear picture of where everyone was.”
“I thought you’d made an arrest already,” Matthew said, and I wondered if he was going to mention Avery’s name specifically.
I nodded. “That doesn’t mean we stop investigating.”
“Gotta collect that evidence, I guess,” Matthew said, dropping his crossed arms and shoving his hands in his pockets as if this was just a relaxed chat.
I was almost impressed with his ability to fake it.
“Wish I could help you, but I was here all day. I didn’t see a thing except happy customers drinking beer and having fun. ”
I nodded again. “If anything comes to mind—if you remember something from yesterday that seems suspicious—you let me know.”
“Sure thing, Chief,” he said.
I felt his eyes on my back as I crossed the room for the door. I might not have a smoking gun pointing at Matthew yet, but there was no doubt in my mind he was guilty. Sterling’s info was the first nail in the coffin. But the way he’d handled my questions was the second.
It was almost lunchtime. I had to get back to the station, but I’d make one more stop first. I drove back to Wild Haven and knocked on the door of the nearby warehouse that had cameras on the roof.
This time, someone answered—a scruffy guy with a round belly and frizzy hair that looked like it hadn’t been washed in a while.
“Chief,” he said slowly. “What’s up? Here about the fire?
” His words were sluggish, as if he’d already hit his morning joint based on the light haze of smoke hanging in the air.
Marijuana was illegal in North Carolina, and I knew if I searched him, I’d find enough for a misdemeanor, maybe more.
But a little weed wasn’t why I was there.
“Notice you have a camera up there on the corner of the building.”
He looked faintly surprised and leaned past me to look up. Then nodded. “Yeah, I do. Brother-in-law set it up for me after somebody robbed the place a couple of years ago.”
“Is it turned on?” I asked, searching for patience.
“Oh yeah, it records to a tape in my office. Goes back to the beginning when it’s full. I don’t mess with it much. Never had another break-in.” He scratched his elbow, waiting with bleary eyes for me to get to the point.
“Any chance I could look at the tape from yesterday?” I asked.