Chapter 22
Paul Brooksfield admired his wife from the driver’s seat of their GMC Sierra truck.
Her cornrows were tied up in a silk scarf.
She was just as beautiful as the day she’d sashayed through the bar door in low--cut jeans and that sparkly backless top.
Toward the end of that night, her increasingly drunk blond friend had finally ended up sprawled on the floor.
Margie—-stubborn even back then—-had tried to haul the blond out by herself rather than ask for help.
Paul remembered how she had struggled until he rushed to her aid.
But she had laughed too, always finding the humor in life—-a great tinkling laugh that echoed across the bar.
As she saw him staring, she smiled back at him.
“Whatcha lookin’ at, handsome?” She winked a big brown eye. Hook, line, and sinker. Even after all these years, she could flip his heart over.
He tried to smile, his hands tightening on the steering wheel as they pulled into the Eagle County Sheriff’s Office lot.
“You ready for this?” he asked.
“If we can survive the ire of Grandma Brooksfield, we can make it through anything.”
Paul grimaced at the thought of his mother, Jolene, who had written him out of the will when he brought Margie home.
Sullying the family line, she had implied many a time—-but never said outright.
The ranch, at least, had been in a trust that she couldn’t mess with, but it came with no money, and they’d been struggling ever since.
“Margie …” Paul reached for her hands. “Are we sure about our story? They’re gonna have questions.”
“What do you mean, story? This is the truth.” Margie pulled her hands away and didn’t meet his eyes, staring instead out of the dusty windshield at the glass office building shimmering in the sun.
Paul felt uneasy. There was something she wasn’t telling him—-he could just feel it.
Paul parked and got out of the truck and Margie followed. He could sense the heat radiating from the pavement, inhaling the tarry scent of it. A blistering day.
Their attorney, Belen Caldas, was just getting out of her car.
Paul greeted her with a handshake. She was wearing a crisp black suit, sunglasses, and incommodious--looking stilettos.
A halo of black hair poofed about her face in ringlets.
Despite her elegant appearance, she was said to be a bulldog, which was why Paul had hired her.
He hoped she would live up to her reputation—-and expense.
Caldas removed her sunglasses and swiped at her forehead with her palm. “Jesus, it’s hot here. This is really in the middle of bum--fuck nowhere, huh?”
“Our mountains,” said Paul, “are a lot taller and prettier than your Denver glass--and--steel towers.” He tried to cover up his racing heart with a joking attitude. He had never been involved with the police before.
“I prefer glass and steel,” said Caldas, shrugging.
“Even my plants are plastic.” She turned to Margie.
“All right, remember what we practiced.” As they approached the building, she slipped her shades into her pants pocket.
“Keep your mouth shut, let me take the lead, and keep your answers absolutely short and to the point. Got it?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Do they think Margie’s a suspect?” Paul asked.
“We have to assume she is—-even if she isn’t.”
Paul watched as Margie began to fuss with her cornrows like she did when she was nervous. It was absurd that anyone would think she might have had anything to do with Grooms’s death.
They entered the drab interior of the sheriff’s building and were led into an interrogation room.
Four chairs squatted around a metal table, and a clunky out--of--date video camera was tucked into a corner where the ceiling met the wall.
Margie and Caldas sat side by side. Paul, who was not being questioned, was allowed to be present, seated in a chair against the wall.
The room smelled faintly of piss, and he wondered how many low-life murderers, rapists, and drunks had been hauled through these doors.
Caldas would set this straight, that was for sure.
Sheriff James Colcord and CBI Agent Cash strode in, closing the door behind them, and situated themselves at the table on the opposite side to them.
“Good morning,” Agent Cash said.
Caldas stared at Cash with a jaw like stone.
“It will be a better one once we get my innocent client out of here. I want to be clear: We are here voluntarily to set the record straight, not because we believe this investigation into my client has any merit whatsoever. Everyone around this table knows you’re chasing shadows, Agent Cash. ”
“We’re just here to ask some questions,” Cash responded mildly, not provoked in the slightest. “Mind if I record?”
“You may,” Caldas said.
Cash placed her phone in the center of the table and hit Record.
Caldas began speaking right after she hit Record. “Agent Cash, I would like to ask: Are any white suspects being interviewed, or is Margie Brooksfield—-the only African American in the town of Burns—-the lone suspect you are pursuing?”
If Cash was rattled, she didn’t show it. “I am not familiar with the demographics of Burns—-”
“There are only three hundred and fifty--three residents,” Caldas interrupted. “It’s not difficult to confirm—-”
Cash continued to speak over Caldas’s interruption and then leaned forward toward Margie.
“Mrs. Brooksfield, I want to thank you for coming in today. I know it’s scary, but you’re doing the right thing by helping us solve the murder of Willy Grooms. Can you spell and state your name for the record? ”
Margie did so.
“Has Willy Grooms ever spoken to you about a man named Javier Castillo?” Cash asked.
“No, ma’am,” Margie responded. “Never heard of him.”
“So, if I remember correctly, you work as a financial adviser?”
“A certified financial planner.”
“And your bank is”—-Cash shuffled through some papers, then leaned back in her chair—-“Mountainview Bank?”
Cash threw a leg over her thigh, casual--like. Caldas had warned them about this, Paul thought. The police will pretend to be your friends; don’t be fooled, she had said.
“Yes.”
“And to your knowledge, that was Willy Grooms’s bank as well?”
“Correct.”
“And you were advising him on his finances?”
“Yes.”
“Do you enjoy your work?”
“I love it. Get to make my own schedule, which is nice,” Margie said.
“Well, you can’t beat that. I wish I had flexible hours.” Cash laughed and scooched her chair closer to Margie. “Say, I’ve been rude in not offering you something. Coffee? Tea? Water?”
“Oh yeah, tea would be nice. With milk and sugar.”
Cash flapped her hand at Colcord, who obediently got up and left the room.
“From my understanding, you’re a pretty intelligent woman, in terms of financial stuff—-right?”
“I hope so,” Margie said. The fussing with her hair had stopped, and she was looking more relaxed. Caldas, on the other hand, appeared tense. Paul had an uneasy feeling about this that he couldn’t shake. Margie was too trusting, always had been.
“Agent Cash, if you could give yourself and my client a little more distance, please,” Caldas said.
Cash shrugged and moved back a little, but was still seated next to the edge of the table. Colcord came back in and placed a steaming cup of tea in front of Margie. There was a chocolate chip cookie on a small side plate as well.
“Thanks,” Margie said, and settled into her seat more comfortably as she began to dig into the cookie. Paul wanted to tell her that she was getting too relaxed, but he’d been told not to say anything.
“You know I’ve been investigating this case from the beginning.” Cash leaned back in her chair again, tapping a pen against her leg. “Since you’re so good with this financial stuff, if someone wanted to defraud Willy out of money, what do you think we should be looking for?”
“Well, I’m not sure.”
“We’re not here to deal with hypotheticals, Agent Cash,” Caldas interjected sharply. Her arms were crossed now, hands gripping her forearms and crinkling her suit.
“No, no, it’s okay,” Margie said, taking a sip of her tea. “I really don’t know, Agent Cash.”
“You can call me Frankie.”
“All right, Frankie.”
“Thing is, Margie, we have Willy’s financial records from Mountainview Bank. Do you think there’s going to be anything suspicious that we find?”
“More hypotheticals. My client declines to answer.”
Paul glanced nervously at Caldas, who was scowling now. He had a feeling this wasn’t going as well as they had hoped. He could see Cash’s charm working on Margie in real time.
“No problem, no problem,” Cash continued in the same conversational manner.
“Thing is, CBI has a financial crimes department, and they’re pretty good.
They’re going to be looking through Willy’s records to see what’s going on.
If it came back that there were some large transfers of money, let’s say, how would you explain it? ”
“I don’t know—-it depends on if something did show up—-I don’t know.”
Margie was stammering. Paul shifted nervously in his seat. He was very worried now, but Caldas had told him under no circumstances was he to speak or interfere.
“You see, our financial crimes division is also taking a look at your financial records. So if your records were, say, to show something similar to what Willy’s records showed us—-how would you explain that?”
“Again, it depends on what shows up.” Margie put the tea down a little too hard; it splashed over the side onto the table. She crossed her arms.
“Think there could be anything suspicious about those kinds of transactions?” Cash asked.
Margie didn’t say anything. The fussing with her hair had begun again. Paul looked at Caldas, wondering if she was going to stop this. Caldas was staring hard at Margie, but didn’t intervene. Maybe this was part of her strategy.
“What would your explanation be, though?”
“I have no clue. I don’t even know what to look for.”