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And then he said something that completely upended everything.
“Would your presence here have anything to do with Alison Levitt? She was murdered here in Richards a year ago. But you know that. She was your cousin, wasn’t she.”
He hadn’t brought up In Cold Blood because he was planning to kill me.
He’d brought it up because Truman Capote had investigated the murders to write about them.
Just like I was doing here in Richards.
He knows.
HE KNOWS WHY I’M HERE.
I couldn’t speak.
I was almost on the verge of a panic attack.
“Cat got your tongue?” my interrogator asked mockingly.
I forced myself to calm down.
He knew about Sid. He knew about being a P.I. Of course he was going to know about Alison.
As soon as I said it in my mind – as soon as I listed the things he knew – I started to realize he knew a lot of things about me.
A lot of things there was no way he should be able to know.
I wasn’t listed on the website as one of Sid’s employees, and I never even met with clients unless they demanded it.
So how did he know who employed me?
He could have combed through court records. I’d had to testify on several occasions. But that would have been like looking for a dozen needles in thousands of haystacks.
He could have gotten info on my employer through my friends back in LA – but then he’d have to know who my friends were, which was a whole different set of problems in itself. That would imply a stakeout going back months and months.
The bank, maybe? I got my paychecks direct deposit from Sid. Did this guy hack my records?
Maybe, but that seemed extreme. Too much like a spy movie. People who hack banks do it to steal money, not information.
The only other way I knew was my tax return. Or bugging my fuckin’ phone.
Wait a minute…
Tax return.
IRS.
Bugging my phone…
NSA.
Knowing I wasn’t licensed anywhere in the US as a private investigator…
Department of Homeland Security.
“Are you with the government?” I asked incredulously.
There was a telling pause. Not long – only a second – but it was enough.
