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“Hello,” he said, the sound a timorous and questioning one.
“JT,” Blackford said, greeting him with a grunt.
“Captain,” the man - who must have been the owner, presumably this JT- replied. “Has something happened, something I can help you with?”
“Could be,” Blackford said. “These are FBI agents. I'll let them fill you in.”
Laura turned from giving Blackford a wide-eyed look, trying to smooth her expression as much as she could, as JT looked around at her and Nate expectantly. She knew that Blackford was not exactly going out of his way to help them, but sometimes it felt as if he was actually doing the opposite. Putting them on the spot, not hiding his rudeness. The locals had to pick up on it, and they were sure to trust the local Captain, especially if they knew him, more than a couple of random agents.
Laura cleared her throat and then smiled, figuring it was the best approach with an elderly man who looked as nervous as this one did. “We are trying to trace down a few clocks that we think you may have made,” she said. She kept her words calm and light. “We found your name carved into the back of the inside case.”
She took a picture they had prepared out of her pocket, placing it down on the counter in front of JT. There was a full color print of one of the clocks, taken not from the crime scene itself but from the moment that the items were logged in as evidence. There was nothing about the picture to suggest it had been involved in any kind of crime, much less clear as to which one. That, she thought, was going to be helpful. It was always good to get an unbiased reaction first, and then be able to assess whether the person they were talking to was genuinely surprised when they announced what the item had been used for.
“That looks like one of mine,” JT said, nodding in agreement. “One of the newer lines that we've been working on. It's a shame. I wouldn't make them if I didn't have to, but here we are.”
“What do you mean by that?” Nate asked.
JT looked up at him, almost jumping at Nate's deep voice. He looked even more scared of Nate than he was of the other two. “W-well,” JT said, stammering a little. “I've always worked with my hands. It's a craft, you know? A trade. I learned it from my father. He learned it from his grandfather. Three generations of us, working on clock mechanisms in the traditional way. Now here we are, and people don't seem to want mechanical clocks as much as they used to. They want these new, modern things. Horrible, really. I've been trying to save the store, and my daughter suggested we try these new techniques. It makes me sick, honestly it does, but I was able to compromise by at least reusing one of the old, more traditional settings for a modern replacement. It's called… what did she call it? Upcycling, I think. Apparently, it's all the rage these days.”
“Where do you sell these?” Laura asked. “Just here in the shop?”
“No, well,” JT said, scratching the back of his head. His skin made a kind of papery sound underneath his fingernails. “They do this online thing now. I don't really understand it myself, of course. But my daughter, she was helpful in setting it up. So, I suppose, we sell them... On the web, is it? You have to excuse me, I'm not really up to date with all the right terminology.”
“Online,” Laura muttered under her breath. That wasn’t helpful at all. It was looking more and more like this was going to be difficult, more difficult than anticipated. “I don’t suppose you remember selling at least three of these, or more, to the same customer?”
“The same customer?” JT blinked, looking surprised. “Why would someone want three of the same clock? They’re not selling them at a higher markup, are they?”
“No, JT,” Blackford said, his voice a more reassuring one for the old man. “No one’s ripping you off, don’t worry. We happened to find these clocks at a few crime scenes.”
“Crime scenes?” the old man frowned, then his expression cleared. Along with it, his skin paled even more than Laura had thought possible. “I read about some young ladies who were hung after a timer went off. It’s not…?”
“’Fraid so, JT,” Blackford said. He was leaning against one of the counters, his elbow down on it to support his weight, his legs crossed at the ankles in a casual pose. “It’s a real bad business.”
“Oh, goodness,” JT said. He blinked a few times, looking down at the counter in front of him – though Laura didn’t expect he was actually seeing it. “My clocks were there?”
“Not just there,” Laura said, feeling the need to speak up and drive home the point. It was all well and good Blackford giving JT some comfort, but there was still a chance that he knew somehow what was going on. She very much doubted that a man as old and feeble looking as he could do any of the work that was required to set up the platforms and take the victims to them, but that didn't mean he wasn't involved. He might have been protecting the person that he had sold the clocks to, or otherwise had some inkling that a son or a grandson or a nephew had taken a little too unhealthy of an interest in the clocks.
She remembered what she and Nate had discussed earlier. Time. This whole case was about time. And here they were, in a place owned by a man who called himself JT, and his shop JT Time. That was a big coincidence. Well, perhaps not exactly a coincidence, since a clock had to come from somewhere. But still, it was something, and she wasn't going to go easy on him just because he was elderly. At least, not easy enough to potentially miss a lead.
“The clocks were instrumental in the crime,” Laura continued. “The timer was used to tell the victims how long they had left of their lives.”
“Gracious Jesus,” JT whispered, his hands clutching onto the side of the counter for support.
Simple shock from a man who had never heard of something so terrible involving his own handicraft in his life? Or a realization that someone close to him could be involved?
“Do you have anyone working with you here?” Laura asked. “Someone who helps out, perhaps?”
“Just my daughter,” JT said. He swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down in his leathery throat. “All she does is help with the online sales. I don't know any of that stuff, so she packs everything up and takes care of it. I just make the clocks. Truth is, I wouldn't have enough money to hire anyone else even if I wanted to.”
“What about in the past?” Laura asked. “Did you ever take on an apprentice? Maybe try to teach the craft to one of your children, or another relative?”
JT shook his head. “I only have my daughter,” he said. “And she's got her boys, but they're too young for this kind of thing.”
“We might need to speak to her,” Laura said directing this comment at Blackford. He nodded swiftly.
“We can arrange that, can’t we, JT?” he said. “When is she next in to do a stock take?”
“I'm not sure,” JT said. “I can call you the second she arrives.”
