“Eric Joiner,” the man said as he hobbled over to where we were standing, pushed through to the table, and laid the file down flat. He opened it up and started thumbing through the contents before plucking one out and raising it up to me like it was a medal he’d just won.
I took the paper from his hands and read it as quickly as I could. What I read made my heart start racing at a million miles per hour.
Seeing Duncan and Jay’s confused faces, John started to explain. “The police department somehow never released this to the media. They had a whole file full of stuff like that, in fact. I couldn’t believe I still had it. I remembered I made some copies of it—not that I was supposed to do that kind of thing, of course, but I was friends with Marty, who ran the file room, and we used to bowl together, and so—”
“Get on with it, old man,” Duncan snapped. Jay gripped his shoulder and Duncan growled but fell silent.
Hunter cleared his throat and continued. “Sorry, sorry. Anyway, I was a cop at the time, yeah? Different unit, beat cop instead of murder, you know how it is, but anyhow, not important. Apparently, word came down from on high that the investigation needed to end right away. Inconclusively was the word that was used. Came straight from the commissioner’s mouth, according to my sources. Whoever had that woman and your, uh, your friend bumped off, he must have had some pretty powerful friends. It takes serious influence to get a double murder investigation cut off. But whoever it was, he had that kind of influence, and the whole thing went kaput. They stashed all of the files they had into the storage closet and told the press that they didn’t have any leads and they couldn’t keep devoting resources to the case. So they moved on. And that was that. No suspects, no witnesses—at least, that’s what the press was told.”
Jay’s eyes narrowed. “But what?”
“But there were witnesses!” John said, beaming with pride. He pointed at the paper I held in my hand. “Eric Joiner. He was there! Lived in the apartment right across the hall from where it happened. He saw it all. The cops interviewed him, but he was in shock and his memory was so jumbled up, and they didn’t have time to sort it out before the commissioner’s order to put a bow on the whole thing. So his side of the story got buried. Until now.”
“Let me get this straight,” Duncan interrupted. “There was another guy at the apartment complex that night who saw the man who did it. Cops interviewed him. Then, before they could follow up on what he told them, the police department ordered the investigation be squashed.”
“Yes, yes,” John said, nodding. “That’s right.”
“That’s bullshit!” he exclaimed. “Motherfucking pigs!”
“Anyway,” Jay drawled, “now that it’s been broken down so our simple-minded friend here can understand what’s happening, can you tell us what that paper says, Ben?”
“What’s it say, boss?” Duncan asked eagerly. “Can Joiner ID the bastard?”
Everyone’s eyes shifted to me. I let the paper fall onto the table. “It doesn’t say shit,” I mumbled. “His statement doesn’t make any sense.”
Duncan snatched it up and scanned it furiously, but as he read, his face fell further and further. By the time he reached the bottom, he looked depressed enough to jump out the nearest window. “Whoever took down this statement didn’t give a damn about getting it right. It’s just a bunch of nonsense. ‘I saw a man in a mask, oh wait, it was a woman, no, it was a pygmy dwarf.’ I mean, what the fuck, man?” He fell into a slump in a nearby chair. “We’ve still got nothing.”
“We need to find the guy,” Jay said quietly. “If we talk to Joiner ourselves, maybe we can wring some sense out of him.”
“Yeah!” said Duncan, jolting forward. His eyes were suddenly glistening again. “Let’s find the motherfucker! He’ll talk. He won’t have a choice.” He looked back and forth at us excitedly.
“What do you think, Ben?” Jay asked me.
“It’s a good idea. Any lead is helpful at this point. Put out the word for everyone to start looking around for this Eric Joiner guy.” But then I noticed John was wringing his hands and frowning. “What is it?” I asked, turning to him.
He swallowed a lump in his throat before pointing to the file. When he spoke, his voice was barely more than a whisper. “Next page.”
I plucked up the next sheet of paper in his folder and started reading. When I finished, I buried my head in my hands on the table.
“Please tell me that’s good news,” Duncan whispered.
“It’s an obituary,” I said. “Eric Joiner is dead.”