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“Mr.Clinton, I’m investigator Finley O’Sullivan, and I’m looking into the murder of Lucy Cagle. Do you have some time to answer a few questions? Ray Johnson gave me your name.”
Clinton did that hitch with his head. A kind of upward nod of acknowledgment. “Sure. Ray mentioned you’d be calling on me.” He gestured to a door on the other side of the room. “Why don’t we step outside?”
He crossed to the door and opened it but waited for Finley to exit first. The door led to a covered patio area, complete with picnic tables, within the fenced lot. A break area, she supposed. Beyond the patio were the vehicles waiting for service.
Troy leaned a hip against one of the tables. “So, they found something on her case after all this time?”
“They did.”
He nodded. “About time.”
“Did you know Lucy?”
He shook his head. “Only what I saw on the news.”
“You were friends with Ian Johnson.”
“I was.” He laughed. “We were tight. Me, him, Skyler Wright, and Aaron Cost. Aaron died in a car crash year before last.”
“Have the three of you kept in touch?”
“Pretty much. I mean, we run into each other from time to time, but we all have wives and families, so not like we used to. Skyler and I lost touch with Aaron’s family after he died.”
“Leaving behind a young family is never easy,” she said.
“No, ma’am.” He stared at the ground, as if considering his old friend and those he left behind.
He appeared at ease answering her questions. Johnson had given him a heads-up, so it was entirely possible he’d also provided guidelines for the correct answers. Particularly if her assessment of the real estate deal they’d made for this property proved accurate. Finley would knowsoon enough if Clinton owed a debt of gratitude to his old friend’s big brother.
“Looking back to when you were friends with Ian,” Finley said as she settled onto one of the picnic benches, “would you say he was a good guy?”
Troy glanced across the lot of cars before meeting her gaze once more. “Look, I don’t like talking bad about people, but the Johnsons, they’re not exactly good people, if you know what I mean.”
Finley gave a nod of agreement. “I know what you mean.”
“But Ian was not like the others. He was a good guy. He cared about people. He was a bit of a nerd. He liked reading and gardening.” Troy laughed. “We all considered him kind of weird that way. But I guess it made sense, ’cause back when he was a really little kid, he spent most of his time in the garden with his mom. Ray sure didn’t want anything to do with him. His mom was especially protective of him, but she died when Ian was like ten, and excuse my French, shit got real after that.”
“How do you mean?” A line of tension slid through Finley.
“The old man wanted to toughen Ian up. Make a real Johnson out of him. So he knocked him around some.” Troy laughed a dry sound. “Hell, Ray even tried to drown him in the bathtub once.”
Her tension shifted to outrage. “Ian told you this.”
“He did.” Troy’s expression turned uncertain. “You’re not going to tell Ray everything I say, are you? I don’t want any trouble with him.”
“I’m not going to tell Ray anything you say.” She forced her muscles to relax in hopes of preventing an outward display of her reaction to his words. The idea of someone picking on a child had always been a sore spot for her.
“Okay, so Ian always said Ray hated him.” He scrubbed at his jaw. “I don’t know if he did or not, but I can tell you he didn’t like having a little brother. In my opinion, Ray preferred being the only son. When Ian disappeared, I figured Ray had run him off. Told him he’d kill him or something if he didn’t stay gone.”
“Were you aware of Ian’s involvement with Lucy Cagle?” Finley watched her subject carefully as she made the statement.
His face blanked. He blinked. “What do you mean?”
“Ray said they were dating.” This was a total fabrication, but Troy couldn’t possibly know that. What she needed was his natural, spontaneous reaction to the idea. If Lucy Cagle and Ian Johnson were connected in any way, this was the most likely scenario. If Troy Clinton had been told not to talk about Lucy, this was the best way to suggest that directive had changed.
A halfhearted shrug lifted the guy’s shoulders. “I don’t know if I’d call it dating. They met up a couple of times. He thought she was pretty and sweet.” Troy rolled his eyes. “Ian was into sweet. The rest of us wanted the wild ones. The ones who would ... well, you know. Not Ian. That rich girl was more his style.”
Adrenaline fired through Finley’s veins. And voilà. Proof Lucy had a connection to Ian Johnson. Finley needed more. Every ounce of restraint she possessed was required to remain seated. She wanted to grab the guy and shake more information out of him. He was larger than her and stronger, no doubt. Not to mention his alliance assuredly lay with the Johnsons, if for no other reason than sheer survival. No matter, she wanted—needed—to somehow prod him to tell her every damned thing he knew!
