“Ellice?”
I spun my chair away from her, talking to her over my shoulder. “Now is not a good time. What do you need?”
“Detective Bradford is on the line for you. I tried to take a message, but she said it had something to do with your brother?” I spun back around. Anita stood in front of me, wringing her hands. “Is everything okay?”
“Yes, thanks. Close the door behind you.” Shit! Why the hell did Bradford say that? Now it would be all over the office that I had a brother no one knew about.
I took a deep breath and picked up the receiver. “Detective, you talked to Jonathan. Are you going to arrest him for killing my brother?”
“That’s why I’m calling. We’ve spoken to Mr. Everett. It would really help me out if you could come down to the station to give me some additional information. Just a few questions.”
“Of course.” I hung up the phone, slightly relieved that the police might finally be doing their job.
*
I was surprised when I walked into the Atlanta Police Department. I’d foolishly imagined the place would look like it did on the television show Law & Order—a large open room buzzing with police officers going to and fro, handing off files containing all sorts of incriminating evidence, telephones ringing off the hook with callers in distress. Instead, I found a typical-looking open space with half-wall cubicles, most of them empty.
I stepped up to a sleepy-looking gentleman reading a newspaper at his desk—sixties, threadbare corduroy jacket, and ill-fitting brown pants. I could tell he hadn’t put any real effort into his appearance since the Clinton administration. His whole drab demeanor made me think he was simply biding his time until the paperwork approvals for his retirement came in.
He peered over the top of his newspaper with a couple of jaundiced eyes. “May I help you?”
“Yes. I’m looking for Detective Shelly Bradford.”
“And you are?”
“I’m Ellice Littlejohn from Houghton Transportation.”
The officer raised his eyebrows before he folded the newspaper and stood. I wasn’t surprised by his reaction. Everyone in here probably buzzed about the hotshot detective investigating the murderous enclave at Houghton Transportation. My showing up was likely the highlight of this guy’s day.
“Why don’t you have a seat?” He pointed to a row of dingy upholstered chairs against the wall and then disappeared down a hallway.
I didn’t budge. God only knows what had sat in those stained and ratty old chairs over the years. He couldn’t make me sit there, even under threat of arrest. I canvassed the room again. This whole place made my skin crawl. I scanned the old man’s desk. Aside from his folded newspaper and a half-eaten cheese Danish, nothing was particularly enlightening. I was bored just looking around this station.
“Hello, Ms. Littlejohn. Thanks for coming in to speak with us,” Detective Bradford said as she approached. “You remember my partner, Detective Burke.” My stomach did a somersault. I’d forgotten about her partner. I fought mightily against the panic creeping in.
Detective Burke was casually dressed in a blue button-down shirt, sleeves rolled to the elbow, and slacks. His brown bald head glistened. Detective Bradford, in a break with her usual formality, had removed her suit jacket to reveal a silk white blouse and wool pants.
She led our little trio into a small box posing as an “interview room.” The fluorescent lights and the government-green walls produced a dull yellowish tint to the space, giving all three of us a sickly, unnatural appearance. A narrow window in the corner tendered a sliver of light that reflected off the metal table in the center of the room, but hardly enough to invigorate the tight space. Bradford and Burke took the two chairs that sat side by side, leaving me the lone chair across from them.
“Can I get you something? Water, Coke?” Bradford asked.
“I’m fine.”
“Let me say first, I am very sorry for your loss.”
“Thank you.”
She nodded. “Were you and your brother close?”
I stared at the detective for a beat. “Yes. Why?”
“I’m just wondering if you knew any of his friends or enemies. Anyone you could think of that might want to kill him.”
“I thought you said you spoke to Jonathan. He’s involved in Sam’s death, right?”
Bradford glanced at her partner. “We’re narrowing in on a suspect. We’re just trying to gather more information. When was the last time you spoke to your brother?”