“Detective Sergeant Calvin Bernard. Are you Miss Jones?”
“Y- yes, I am. Is anything the matter? It’s rather late for unexpected company.”
“I’ve been authorized to conduct an official eyewitness investigation into the Declan Miller case. Mind if I come in and ask you a few questions?”
“Not at all, officer. Make yourself at home.”
“Sergeant.”
“Pardon me?”
“I’m not an officer, miss. My name is Detective Sergeant Calvin Bernard.”
“Oh of course, my mistake.”
“Don’t worry ‘bout it, sweetheart. Now is there somewhere we can grab a seat? This might take a while.”
“I’ll bring you into the parlour. It’s down the— I can take your coat for you— it’s down the hall and to the left.”
“Sounds good. It’s a lovely place you’ve got here.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Must get awful lonely.”
“I’m sorry?”
“Living here all by yourself, I mean. A girl like you could use some company.”
“With all due respect, I’ve been getting along just fine on my own.”
“Okay okay, I didn’t mean nothin’ by it. Why don’t we just get this testimony over with. I’ll lay my files out here.”
“Go ahead.”
“Right then. Let’s get into it. ‘At approximately 2300 hours on February 15, 2019, Dispatch notified the LVMPD of a potential homicide at 10801 W Charleston Blvd, second floor, which is currently being rented to the Howard Hughes Corporation. Upon arriving at the scene, uniformed officers’— and sergeant, obviously— ‘identified the body of victim Declan Miller, 43, who had been dead for an estimated 2 to 3 hours.’ Of course, none of this is news to you, now, is it Miss Jones?”
“No, sir.”
“Tell me, what are your affiliations with the Howard Hughes Corporation?”
“I’m their financial analyst. I have been for some time now.”
“Financial Analyst? Wonder what you had to do to get a job like that.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Relax, I was only joking. Anyways, Declan Miller was a realtor for the company, yes?”
“That’s right.”
“What was his reputation in the office?”
“Well, I know a few of the women weren’t exactly… uh, comfortable around him. But he always seemed like a friendly face.”
“Elaborate.”
“Oh, you know. Some of the women would complain about inappropriate comments, nicknames, lack of boundaries, that sort of thing— oh sorry sir, could you keep your feet off the coffee table?”
“Sure thing, honey.”
“But I’ve worked with him for almost a decade now, and I’ve never really—”
“A decade? You must be what, 30? 35? You look good for your age.”
“Um thank you, sir. But as I was saying, I’ve never really had any issues with Mr. Miller.”
“I see. What about his relationship status? I interviewed Julie not long ago, and she said she—”
“Pardon me, sir, but Julie?”
“Janet? Jenny? Oh I don’t know, the secretary.”
“Jane?”
“Jane. Anyways, she said the two of them—Jane and Declan, that is— had been on again off again for a couple years. What did you know about their relationship?”
“Not much, sir. They broke up a few days before Valentine’s Day, but I never really knew why. I did overhear them arguing a few weeks prior though.”
“Did you catch what it was about?”
“Not really. I think she accused Mr. Miller of flirting with his clients or something. I can’t say for certain, but I think she was suspicious of his late nights at the office.”
“So it sounds like Julie started the—”
“Jane.”
“It sounds like Jane started the argument. Were they on good terms the night of the murder?”
“I don’t believe so. She didn’t show up to work that morning.”
“Interesting. And what can you tell me about Declan’s reputation with the rest of the employees?”
“Oh, Mr. Miller’s always been quite popular in the office. Well until his promotion, that is.”
“Promotion?”
“He deserved it, don’t get me wrong. But I think a few of the other realtors were also expecting it, and he didn’t exactly try to hide his excitement.”
“I see. Anyone stick out in your mind as being particularly bothered?”
“I think everyone was a little annoyed, offi— um, sergeant. But now that you mention it, one of the real estate agents—Jacob Wright— seemed especially off-put.”
“Tell me about this Jacob Wright.”
“I could be mistaken, but I believe he and Mr. Miller were once good friends. At least, they used to take lunch breaks together, and I’m pretty sure they’ve carpooled to work a few times.”
“And you noticed a shift after the promotion?”
“Yes, sir. I don’t think Mr. Wright was doing too well, and I imagine he could have used the pay raise.”
“What gave you that impression?”
“Well, you know how word gets around. I heard through the grapevine that he lost his wife not long ago, and if I’m not wrong, that would make him a single father to three teenage daughters and a newborn. I can’t help but feel sorry for him.”
“When was the promotion announced?”
“I think it was two days before the night of the murder. The thirteenth? I don’t remember exactly.”
“I see. And where were you that night, Miss Jones?”
“Which night, the thirteenth? I had taken the day off to help my sister with some—”
“Not the thirteenth, miss. Where were you the night of the murder?”
“At work, sir”
“For how long?”
“Nine to five.”
“Then what?”
“Straight back here.”
“When did you arrive?”
“5:20.”
“How?”
“By bus.”
“How come?”
“My car’s in for repairs.”
“And you went back to the office later that night? Why?”
“I forgot my purse at my desk.”
“And so you took the bus back to work, rode the elevator to the second floor, unlocked the door, turned on the lights—”
“And found Mr. Miller face down on the carpet. Sorry sir, but may I ask something?”
“What is it?”
“There's been an autopsy, no? Has it revealed anything?”
“Let's leave the investigating to the professionals, darling.”
“Sorry. It’s just that there wasn’t any blood or anything. No sign of a struggle. I figured it must’ve been a heart attack, but when the word ‘homicide’ was all over the news the next day, I couldn’t help but wonder.”
“Well, I’ll tell you this much. This was certainly no accident.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’ll let you in on a little secret.”
“What’s that?”
“Anthrax.”
“Anthrax?”
“Anthrax. Bacillus anthracis. The stuff’s deadly.”
“I’m not sure I follow.”
“You wouldn’t, sweetheart. Someone’s been lacing it into his clothing.”
“His clothing?”
“Most likely the sleeves of his jacket. He had blisters the size of golfballs running up and down the length of his arms.”
“Who would do such a thing? And why?”
“That’s what we’re trying to figure out.”
“How soon do you think it’ll be until we get some answers?”
“Could be days. Could be a matter of weeks. You okay, miss?”
“Sorry, this is just a lot to take in.”
“I bet you wouldn’t mind some company tonight.”
“Excuse me?”
“I’m free to stay for a while. We could—”
“I’ll walk you to the door.”
“Fine, whatever you want.”
“Oh, you almost forgot your coat. I’ll grab it for you. Wait one moment.”
“Sure.”
“There you are.”
“Much obliged. Good night, Miss Jones.”
“Good bye, Sergeant Bernard.”
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