“Oh, Julia!” she gasped, grabbing me and hugging tightly. We separated, and she wiped under both of her eyes, straightening up and trying to remain composed. “I just don’t know what to do without Kent.”
“I am so sorry, Sheila. I know how close you were.” I didn’t know if close was the right word, but Sheila had been an admin for Broward since he began at CDB eleven years ago. His death had to be hard on her, more so than anyone else in this room. I felt as though I were falling apart, and I’d only known the man two months—she had to be destroyed. “Have the police already questioned you?” I asked, squeezing her cardigan-encased arm.
“Yes. Right when I came in. Now that you’re here, I’m sure they will want to speak to you, too.”
“Do you know anything? Know what could have caused this...?” Anything other than the largest mob family this side of Chicago? I let the question trail off, her watery eyes sharpening in response, looking more like the Sheila I knew.
“No. Absolutely not. But I didn’t have a hand in all of his cases. Not like you.”
Like me? What cases did I work on that Sheila didn’t? I didn’t bother arguing with her. She grabbed my arm and pulled, almost dragged me, to a uniformed officer standing by the wall. “This is Julia Campbell,” she announced, pushing me in front of him. “Broward’s intern.”
The man consulted a clipboard, then nodded to us. “Detective Parks will want to speak with you. Come with me.”
I followed him down the hall, grief and confusion heavy in the air around us. He took me into the conference room, opening the door to reveal a heavyset man in a cheap suit, papers, notes and coffee scattered on our normally pristine conference table. I sat in front of the man, who said nothing to me, scribbling furiously on a form. The officer left us alone and I wondered where Brad was, and what he was doing.
* * *
THE OFFICE WAS long, impressive, a view of the city filling the ornate space with light. “Detective Wilkes.” Brad stood and shook the detective’s hand over his large leather and wood desk. “I’m Brad De Luca. Please, sit,” he said, indicating the chairs that faced his desk.
The detective sat, opened a notebook, uncapped a pen and stared at Brad, assessing him. “Good morning. I’m sure you are quite...busy, so I’ll skip the pleasantries and barge into questions. I assume you were close with Kent Broward?”
Brad tented his fingers, looking over them at the detective. He shrugged. “Define close.”
The detective sighed deeply, stretching out the action until he was certain Brad picked up on his irritation. “Knew him well. And don’t ask me to define well.”
“I have known Kent for eleven years, but I do not have more than a business relationship with him. We are not friends, we do not confide in each other, we do not see each other unless it is at a quarterly partnership meeting or in passing.” Brad paused, picking up a pen and slowly tapping it on his desk. “Does that answer your question?”
The man’s mouth tightened. “You seem irritated, Mr. De Luca. Has Broward’s death inconvenienced you?”
Brad looked somberly at Wilkes. “Grief is not a prerequisite for innocence, Mr. Wilkes.”
“Detective Wilkes.”
“Sorry,” he said shortly. “Look, I am happy to answer your questions, but whether it be insensitive or not, I am a very busy man, and I do have appointments waiting.”
“Like it or not, your partner is dead, and I need to ask you some questions.”
Brad waved his hand, indicating for the detective to go on.
“Why were you not friends with Mr. Broward?”
“For several reasons. I considered him dull. He worked constantly, and probably didn’t have any friends to speak of. Plus, as you have probably heard from other staff members, Broward didn’t like me.”
“Was the feeling mutual?”
“I didn’t really care whether he liked me. I have enough friends. I respected his work ethic. That was all I needed from a business partner.”
“Why didn’t Broward like you?”
Brad smirked. “You probably already know the answer to that question.” He sat back in his chair and resumed the slow tap of the pen on his desk.
“I’d like to hear it from you.”
* * *
I SAT NERVOUSLY in the big space, the same conference room where I had eaten cold pizza with Brad over six weeks ago. Back when we didn’t know each other, and all I had heard were rumors and warnings. The table was where he had talked me into a trip to Vegas, a trip that had begun the erosion of my sexual boundaries and opened up the possibility of a relationship. The same conference room where Broward had opened up to me, sharing his true hatred of Brad and all that he encompassed. The weight of the memories lay like irons on my shoulders, conflicting emotions driving me wild. It seemed surreal, for me to sit here, questioned by police, an overheard phone call I couldn’t get out of my head. I never should have eavesdropped, never should have blatantly dismissed Broward’s heartfelt warnings, and never should have deceived the good man who now lay dead. Guilt from every angle hit me, but even as I sat there, bemoaning my traitorous actions, I wanted Brad, needed him here, his strength, his arms around me. I was officially a horrible person. I can’t believe he’s dead.
“Ms. Campbell?” Detective Parks in the cheap suit, sitting across from me, had asked a question.
“I’m sorry, can you repeat the question?”
He raised his eyebrows, but looked back down at his notepad. “I said, how long have you been employed at Clarke, De Luca & Broward?”
I wondered if the firm name would change. “I’m not technically employed. I’m just a temporary intern. I’ve been here a little over two months. But I will be employed—part-time, starting next week.”
“And you have been an intern assigned to Kent Broward for that entire time?”
“Yes.”
“How close were you to him?”
I frowned at the question. It seemed a little odd. “I worked with him every day for ten to twelve hours. We discussed business, little else.”
“So, a strictly business relationship.”
“Yes.”
“Sheila Ponder says you are intimately familiar with his current caseload.”
“I would agree with that. All of his current cases I am familiar with.”
“I will need a list from you of which cases or clients might have endangered his life.”