Chapter 10 #2
“We offer advice and guidance to our clients on all aspects of the real estate market. Buying. Selling. Investing. Developing.”
Fergusson scowled. “That seems pretty vague.”
“Our services and capabilities are very broad.”
“What kind of advice and guidance has Mr. Jones needed from you?”
“I don’t—didn’t—represent him directly. His company has been seeking to expand its real estate holdings. He occasionally reaches out to me.”
Matthias noted Eric’s continued confusion of present and past tense.
Fergusson scrawled on his notepad. “When was the last time you had business dealings with Mr. Jones?”
Eric shifted in his seat. “We’d been in touch a few times over the last month.”
“What about?”
Matthias could tell Eric didn’t want to answer.
But he did. “Sonny has been buying up properties in the area. Specifically, farms that are fallow. He approached me about the Anderson farm.”
“Why you? You don’t own that property, do you?”
“No. I don’t, as I’m sure you know. Emma and Nell Anderson own it. Neither of them are currently residing nearby, so Emma asked me to oversee the upkeep of the land in her absence.”
“That oversight includes making arrangements to sell the property?”
“No,” Eric replied sharply. “I’m merely the go-between. Sonny contacted me. I passed his offer along to Emma.”
“Did she accept it?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
Matthias cleared his throat. “Eric can’t be expected to answer for someone else. He told you she didn’t accept the offer. That’s all.”
Eric shot an appreciative glance at Matthias.
Fergusson scribbled on the page. “I’ll need to speak with Ms. Anderson again. And her sister.” He looked at Eric. “Where exactly is Nell Anderson?”
“I don’t know.”
Eric was a lousy liar. Matthias could tell Fergusson didn’t buy it.
“You want to try that again, Mr. Baker?” Fergusson said. “Where is Nell Anderson?”
A sheen of sweat glistened on Eric’s face.
“You don’t have to answer that,” Matthias said. To Fergusson, he added, “She’s not here.” Not entirely a lie. She wasn’t in the room with them, and he, personally, hadn’t seen her. “It’s not our job to locate your witnesses.” He intentionally didn’t call Nell a suspect.
“Fine.” Fergusson flipped a page. “Where were you between the hours of six last evening and eight this morning?”
“Last night, I was in Cleveland. This morning, I was on my way home.”
“Okay. What were you doing in Cleveland?”
“Personal business.”
“What kind of personal business?”
“The kind that’s personal,” Eric snapped.
Matthias ran a hand over his mouth to hide a grin.
“I’m sure you have receipts from the hotel.”
Eric didn’t reply, but again, his face gave him away.
“Restaurants? No? The Turnpike? Gas stations?”
“I drive a plug-in hybrid that gets excellent mileage and prefer less traveled roads. The rest, I paid in cash.”
“Surely you have receipts.”
“Had I known I was going to need an alibi, I would’ve kept them. But I didn’t.”
“Who did you see while you were there? Someone—anyone—who can verify your story.”
Eric didn’t reply.
Matthias cleared his throat. “Why the hell would he need an alibi? He has no reason to want to do harm to Sonny Jones.”
Fergusson glared at Matthias. “Are you sure about that?”
Matthias realized he wasn’t. He knew that Eric had been Emma’s best friend since grade school. That she trusted him with her life. But he knew nothing about Eric’s relationship with Jones.
“No?” Fergusson said, reading Matthias as clearly as he’d been reading Eric. “Mr. Baker, why don’t you tell Detective Honeywell about the confrontation you and Mr. Jones had last week at the Pub on Main?”
Eric flushed. “It wasn’t a confrontation.”
“That’s not what I heard.”
“What did you hear?” Matthias asked.
“I’d rather get Mr. Baker’s side of things.”
Eric stared at his clenched fists on his lap. “Sonny had been drinking,” he said, as if that explained everything.
“I’m aware of that much.”
Eric sat up straight and stared Fergusson square in the eye. “I was having a business lunch with a gentleman who’s starting a new company in town. Sonny staggered his way to my table and started making accusations.”
“What kind of accusations?”
“He suggested the lunch was a date rather than a business lunch.”
“You’re gay.”
“I am. It’s no secret.”
“I understand you don’t publicize the fact either.”
“In this part of the country? No. I don’t.”
“So, in other words, your sexual orientation is indeed a secret.”
“It’s no one’s business.” Eric bit off the words. “I don’t ask who anyone else is sleeping with.”
Fergusson raised a hand. “I’m not arguing the point. Frankly, I don’t care one way or the other. My concern is what Jones did in public. He humiliated you, did he not?”
“He made a scene. That’s on him. Not me.”
“As I understand, your business associate walked out, and you had words with Mr. Jones.”
“I told him to back off, but I did so quietly. I didn’t think anyone overheard.”
Fergusson shrugged. “Apparently everyone in the place heard Jones’s response. He called you a few choice names. Names that, granted, were not suitable in public.”
“Like I said, he was drunk.”
“I’m not debating that. Nor am I debating that what he did was idiotic and uncalled for.
Your life is your own.” Fergusson leaned forward.
“What I want to know is this. How angry did his outburst make you? You lost a potential client. Everyone in the restaurant heard Jones and knows about you now, if they didn’t already. That must’ve pissed you off.”
“I’m a professional. My clients appreciate my work. Sonny’s actions won’t have any long-term effect.”
“Really? Because he’s dead. That’s as long-term as you can get.”