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She glanced down. “Judd and Ezra didn’t like him. They couldn’t let go that he wasn’t on our side about the highway in Oregon.”
“How do you know that?”
“They confronted him pretty much every time we were together,” she said with exasperation.
“Why did they continue to join you?”
“Honestly, sometimes I think they like to fight. A few times they got so mad, they left. Michael had video of them throwing the bottle that hit him. He was planning to press charges.”
“Were Judd and Ezra aware of this?”
She shook her head. “No. He made me promise not to tell them. I didn’t because I felt Michael was justified.”
“Why does Michael’s mother think you’re the one who killed him?”
“I don’t know.” She looked at me helplessly. “When I came looking for him, she said I’d been stringing him along. I think she might have been drunk or on something. She just kept saying it was my fault he was dead.”
“Can you prove your whereabouts at the time of his death?”
“I’m not sure exactly when he passed away, but I was at the restaurant for at least an hour before we were all supposed to meet up.”
“And before that?”
“I came straight from work.”
“Are there cameras at these locations?”
I already had my phone out and fired off a text to my private investigator. I’d have the footage in a few days easy.
If we had that, Penelope would be cleared.
I texted a contact at NYPD to see where the investigation was going and who was on the list of suspects. Most of the cops didn’t care too much for me, but a few of them were willing to help me if I helped them. Maybe it was unscrupulous, but I needed info and they needed extra cash.
“I know Naomi has some, and I’m sure the firm does.”
“How did you get from work to the restaurant?”
“I walked. It was only twenty minutes or so.”
“I need you to map out the route you took. We may be able to get some additional footage.” Whitley capped his pen. “Anything else you can think of?”
She wrung her hands. “Judd and Ezra . . . when they fight they get this . . . I don’t know how to put it. Adrenaline? A euphoria? It’s disturbing.” She shivered. “When they showed up at the restaurant that night, they had that high. And there was something red on Ezra’s shirt. He said he cut his finger, but the whole thing didn’t sit well.”
“I’ll look into it,” I said.
Whitley gave me the stink eye but said nothing.
“Have you spoken to the police?” he asked.
“A detective called me a few weeks ago. We arranged a time to meet up, but she didn’t show up either. I haven’t heard from her since.”
My spidy senses went on alert. I didn’t like the direction any of this was going.
“Give me her name and phone number,” I said gruffly.
“Chill out, daddio,” Whitley said in warning.
“When it’s your daughter, see how you feel about your chill-out,” I snapped. I focused on Penelope. “I don’t want you to have anything to do with that Ezra or Judd. Do you understand me?”
