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“Oh that?” She rubbed at it with her other hand and frowned. “I wash and wash, but it still takes days to go away. It’s supposed to only show up under blacklight, but neon brings it out too as you can see.” She twisted her hand this way and that under the glow of the Open sign glaring in from the window.
“Yeah, those things can be a bitch,” he sympathized while telling himself to remain calm. This could be nothing. “So, where did you get it?”
“From a rave I went to last weekend. That was three days ago. Sheesh! I think I’m going to try rubbing alcohol.”
He’d guessed right. Brandi had the same design stamped onto her hand.
“So, you go to raves a lot?” he asked, cautioning himself to keep it casual so as not to get her excited. Excited witnesses tended to unconsciously embellish in their efforts to help.
“Yeah. Some people do yoga.” She grinned conspiratorially at him. “I burn off my tension dancing and screaming out song lyrics at the top of my lungs.” Her expression sobered. “If only I had gone that night with Brandi. She wouldn’t have had to walk home. She’d still be—”
When her voice caught, Max grabbed her hand this time and held her icy fingers in his warm palm. “You can’t know that. You can’t blame yourself any more than her other friend can. The only person to blame here is the one who killed her. Can you take a couple minutes and sit down?”
Jess looked over her shoulder. The dining area was pretty clear; it was well after the lunch rush, and she had time before the dinner crowd started coming in.
“I want to ask you some questions about the raves. I know you weren’t there that night, but if you’ve been there before, and especially if you ever went with Brandi, your input could help.” He thought he interviewed all Brandi’s “rave” friends. He’d known that she and Jess had been close, but since she was a number of years older than the victim, he thought the relationship was one where they hadn’t spent much time together.
Jessica sat and fidgeted with the place setting in front of her, obviously nervous. “I’ll tell you whatever I can, but I don’t know how I can help.”
“I didn’t realize you and Brandi spent much time together. How did you two become friends?”
“Oh… well, that one’s easy enough to answer.” She smiled at him, and her shoulders slumped a little. There was a reason interviews took so long. Leading people to a place of complacency took time and patience; getting them lulled to a point where they didn’t think before they answered was key. The subconscious held a lot more information than we knew, and occasionally a skilled interrogator could pull forth the line that would lead to the killer. If he was lucky. And Lord knew he was due for some luck with this case.
“In high school, I was the T.A. for Mrs. Lexington’s home ec. class over at the middle school. Brandi and I just sorta hit it off. She was cool, ya know? Funny.” A sad smile flirted at her lips even as fresh tears spiked her jewel-bright eyes. “At first, I was like ‘check this funny kid; what a smartass,’ but then, the more we talked and joked in school, the more I liked her, and before long, she wasn’t this really cool student but my really cool friend. We started hanging out, going to movies, and when I’d do one of my ‘friends and feast’ parties, she’d always come help me cook.”
“Friends and feast?” he asked.
“Yeah.” Her cheeks tinged in a blush. “I want to own my own organic restaurant someday. So every couple months, I plan a big feast. Like a five or seven-course meal with a decked-out table. Or a big outdoor movie night where everyone gets their own picnic basket. Or once, I did a luau with a whole roasted pig.” Her shoulder shrugged self-consciously, but there was a glint of pride in her expression that showed him just how serious and passionate she was about her dreams.
“That sounds fantastic. So, Brandi helped with those? Was she a good cook too?”
“Oh yeah.” Jess nodded enthusiastically. “She had a real knack for it. Especially desserts. When I opened my place, we always talked about how she was going to be my pastry chef.” Fresh tears threatened, but she bravely soldiered on and waited for him to continue.
“Jess, I know it’s hard. I really appreciate you doing this,” Max told her in his most comforting tone.
“I don’t see how knowing she could cook helps, but I’m happy to tell you whatever.”
“We never know what will help until we stumble on the information that does. It’s definitely a hindsight is twenty-twenty kind of thing. After the case is closed, we can look back and go, ‘yeah, I guess all that time we spent chasing down A, B, and C was wasted; in the end, we only had to track down D.’ But like I said, we never know which lead is the one with a killer at the end of it until it’s over.”
Max asked her a few more questions about cooking and what it was like tutoring, the rhythm of their back-and-forth lulling her so that the answers to his questions rolled off her tongue without any forethought or hesitation.
“So, last night at the rave, did you see anyone you recognized? Are there any regulars you always see?”
“Sure,” Jessica answered absently and rattled off half a dozen names he already interviewed and cleared off his list.
“What about the not so regulars? Or maybe anyone there who would surprise me?”
Jess’s lips pursed, and she seemed to take the question as a challenge. “Hmm, lemme think. There was Mark Wallace; he’s the preacher’s kid, but I guess it’s not really much of a surprise the PK walks on the wild side. Bit of a cliché’, huh? Then there was Logan and Abe, and—oh yeah!” Big blue eyes got even bigger, and she bounced on her seat with eagerness. “Jax was there last night too. Did you know he likes to go to raves? With him being the town lawyer or accountant or whatever, it always gives me a kick when I see him there. He’s like… old too, not just all fancy, but he’s like over thirty or something. You’d think he would go to like a sock hop or something. But he likes the raves, and he’s there pretty much every time I am, so he must go pretty often.”
Max didn’t have the brain space to register she thought thirty was old or that people over thirty were only fit for a sock hop. No, his mental function was completely arrowed in onwhoit was.
“You’re sure about this?” He tried to keep his voice and expression neutral in order to not excite her into exaggerating or embellishing, but it was not an easy task. The slicked-up attorney had been easygoing and full of jokes on the surface, but underneath had been thinly veiled contempt. Max just chalked up his attitude as typical resentment for authority that most people assumed while getting questioned. Could he have missed clues to a murderer? A tingle started at the base of his skull. That early warning signal he got when he picked up on a new line to tug. He could feel adrenalin gathering, like his body was preparing to spring into action, and as soon as Jess finished talking, Max was on his feet.
“Jessica, you’ve given me some new leads. Thank you for talking to me, and if there is anything else you remember, or if there was anyone you left out, can you give me a call?” He handed her his card along with cash for his bill.
“Hey,” Jessica called after him as he beelined for the door. “You forgot your change. This is way too much for a tip.”
“Keep it,” he told her, not slowing down or looking back. Unlike the Palmer boys, this didn’t feel like another dead end. “Best damn tacos of my life.”
