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“Fascinated with death or a murderer?”
“Both.”
“Well, I doubt like hell he ever murdered someone,” Blake said. “He was all about what was convenient to him. He would fly into a rage if someone cut him off on the freeway and made him thirty seconds late to wherever he happened to be going. I could see him wanting to kill someone, but I can’t see him bothering to go through the process of murdering someone. I don’t know if I’m explaining myself well. I mean that he wasn’t patient enough to be methodical, and he wouldn’t put himself through the inconvenience of being convicted of murder and sentenced to prison.”
“So, he wasn’t a killer but that’s only because he couldn’t waste his own time?” Michael asked.
“Well, I don’t know,” Blake said. “I could be completely wrong, and he’d be just as horrified by murder as anyone. I just get the feeling that other people didn’t matter much to him is all. I don’t know. I’m a little out of sorts. I said that already, didn’t I?”
Amy walked in with the drinks. She set the waters down in front of the agents and a cup of coffee in front of Blake, keeping one for herself. She stepped outside to allow the agents to finish their questioning.
Blake sipped his coffee and while he drank, Faith asked, “Can you think of anyone who might have wanted to hurt your brother?”
“Oh sure,” he said. “Most of the people he met probably wanted to hurt him. There will be very few tears shed at his funeral, I’m afraid.”
“Anyone who might have acted on that impulse?” Michael prodded.
“Hell, I don’t know,” he said. “I can tell you my wife and I wouldn’t. We definitely wouldn’t have killed him and dumped the body in one of the busiest subway terminals in the city.”
Faith and Michael exchanged a glance. “How did you know where he was killed?”
“The coroner told me,” he said. “Was she not supposed to?”
“No,” Michael said, “but that’s all right. Does the name Chester McIlhenny ring any bells?”
“No,” Blake said. “Is that a friend of Everett’s?”
“We were hoping you could tell us,” Faith said.
“Sorry,” Blake replied. “I don’t know of a Chester McIlhenny.”
“What about August Hornfeldt?”
“Hornfeldt? Isn’t that the guy who would tase people to death?”
“That’s him,” Faith said. “Did you or your brother know him?”
“No,” Blake said. “Why? Is this related somehow?”
“We’re just trying to see if there’s any connection between your brother’s death and another case we’re working on,” Faith said.
“What case?” Realization dawned on him, and he said, “Wait, is Chester McIlhenny that old guy they found dead in the subway a few days ago? Did the same killer kill my brother?”
“Let’s not jump to any conclusions,” Faith said. “We’re still in the beginning stages of the investigation.”
“Why?” Blake said. “I mean, if it is the same killer, then why? It doesn’t make sense. I mean, unless that guy knew McIlhenny from somewhere else and is just offing people he doesn’t like.”
“It’s possible,” Faith said. “Did your brother take an interest in the case at all? Hornfeldt’s case, I mean.”
“Not that I know of,” Blake said, “but like I said, Everett and I weren’t close.”
Faith nodded. “Thank you for your time, Mr. Richardson. If you think of anything else, please give us a call. Again, please accept my condolences for your loss.”
She handed Blake a card, and he left the room. He paused in front of his brother’s body—covered once more with the sheet—then allowed Amy to lead him from the autopsy studio.
“Well,” Michael said, “what do you think?”
“I don’t think this is related to the Hornfeldt case at all,” Faith said. “Richardson wasn’t even remotely involved with the case. It’s possible they had a mutual acquaintance, but failing that, the only thing we know for sure that connects them is that they were both found in the same area of the Twin Cities Terminal.”
