I took a seat across from his desk. He looked up from his paperwork, a little startled. No, that was fear in his eyes. A lot startled. He’d either had too much coffee or he was expecting someone else.
He scanned the area past his office then asked, “May I help you with something?”
“You may. If you’re going to send men in black masks to my apartment and have them point a gun at my head so I’ll find your girlfriend, I suggest you pick better men.”
I’d confused him. The fear was still there, but I’d definitely confused him. Damn it. He had no idea what I was talking about.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said.
Back to square one. Then again, this guy was up for murder. And the men in masks wanted the whereabouts of the woman set to testify against him. That was a little more than a thin connection.
I frowned at him. Maybe if the cops had a body, it would help their case.
I leaned forward, and a wave of fear washed through him. His poker face was worse than mine. His too-large eyes rounded exponentially. “Where’s the body, Brinkman?”
“Are you a cop?”
“Depends. Would you be more likely to tell me where the body was if I were?”
“No.”
“Nope. I am not a cop. Not even a little. Now, where’s the body?”
“They’re looking for Emily?”
“Depends. Who’s Emily?”
“My girlfriend.”
“Oh! Right, then yes they are.” Fear and something painfully close to a full-on panic attack rolled out of him in waves. “Are you gonna talk or am I going to have to—?”
“Why would they go to you?” he said, interrupting. Dang it, and I had a really good threat planned. It involved fire ants, sandpaper, and a cement mixer.
I crossed my legs. “I don’t know. Maybe because I have a sign on my head that says ‘aim here.’ Or it could be because I have access to information through different sources. They must think I can get her address. But it’s WITSEC we’re talking about here. It doesn’t matter who I know, I am not getting that kind of info. You need to tell them that.”
He rubbed his mouth and kept his hand there a long moment. Sweat ran down his temples, and his stomach churned in protest to the stress.
“Look, Phillip,” I said, changing my tactics, “you made a mistake. It happens. Trying to kill your girlfriend will not rectify anything.”
He nodded. “You got one thing right,” he said absently, “I made a mistake. Lots of them, but Emily was not one of them. Is she—is she okay?”
He was genuinely concerned about her. Clearly, he had no involvement in the attempt to locate or, most likely, kill her.
“As far as I know, she’s fine, but she won’t be for much longer. If you’ll just tell me what happened, where to find the body, I can help you, Phillip.”
He grew wary. “I thought you weren’t a cop. How can you help me? Did he send you? Is this a setup?”
The word setup seemed to be appearing a lot lately. I shook my head. “No setup. I’m just trying to help put you away so your girlfriend can get on with her life and not have to worry about those goons trying to kill her.”
He opened his desk drawer, pulled out a bottle of Jack Daniel’s, and took a hardy swig. Hardy as in half the bottle. Because he might be more inclined to help me if he were drunk, I didn’t stop him.
“But you seem genuinely concerned about her. If you didn’t send those men, who did?”
After another swig, he wiped a shaking hand over his mouth. “You need to leave,” he said, his voice cracking.
“Oh, I get it. Watch your own back but no one else’s. Am I in any real danger?”
He scoffed. “Let’s just say you do not want to be on their naughty list.”
“What happens if I get on it?”
“Not death, if that’s what you’re worried about. But you’ll pray for it before they’re through with you. This has just gotten so out of hand. So much bigger than we’d planned.”
“We?” I asked, letting him take another drink before answering.
“I just wanted out.”
Now we were getting somewhere. “You’re being investigated for fraud. Is that what this is all about?”
“I’m being investigated?”
“Well, yeah, for that and murder, of course.”
He leaned back in his chair and scrubbed his face with his fingers. If anyone was in over his head, it was Phillip Brinkman. I couldn’t imagine what he’d gotten himself into. Maybe the death was self-defense or even accidental. Maybe his girlfriend was lying.
“Phillip, I can help you if you’ll let me.”
“Mr. Brinkman?” a pretty brunette said from the doorway. “Is everything okay?”
The fear I’d felt earlier came back full force. “Yes, Lois,” he said, his exterior a picture of serenity, “everything is fine.”
“Can I get you anything?”
“No. No, I’ll just be a minute.” After she left, he glared at me. “You need to leave. Now.”
“’Fraid I can’t do that. Those men are planning on killing a friend of mine if I can’t come up with your girlfriend’s whereabouts.” I hated to bring out the big guns, but he’d practically handed them to me, locked and loaded. “I need answers, Phillip, and if those men come to me again and I have nothing to give them, I’m telling them you and your girlfriend were in it together.”