“Unfortunately, your problems aren't over. Singh was involved in a killing game. All game members are dead now with the exception of the game organizer. And I'm pretty sure the game organizer works at TriBro.”
Andrew went perfectly still and the color drained from his face. “You're kidding, right?”
I shook my head. “I'm serious.”
“The police have been around talking to us, but no one ever said anything about a killing game.”
I shrugged.
Andrew got up and shut his office door. “Are you sure about this? This isn't another witch hunt like the one Bart went through? That was a nightmare and nothing ever came of it.”
“Lillian Paressi was a player in a previous killing game.”
“What?” Color was returning to his face, the shock morphing to disbelief and anger. “That's ridiculous. That's the most insane thing I've ever heard. Why wasn't any of this brought out by the police?”
“They didn't know at the time.”
“But they know now?”
“Yes.”
“Then why aren't they here?” he asked.
I did a palms-?up. “Guess I got here first.”
“When you say you suspect the organizer of this game works at TriBro, does that include me and my brothers in your list of suspects?”
Up to this point I hadn't considered the possibility that Andrew or Clyde might be involved, but what the hell, cast a wide net, right? I took a shallow breath and jumped in with both feet. “Yeah.”
Even as I was saying this I was thinking to myself that I had a lot of nerve making such an accusation. There was a really good chance that the webmaster was Bart Cone. There was also a chance that the webmaster was someone entirely out of the loop. And there was pretty much no chance that the webmaster was Andrew or Clyde. “So,” I said, doing some mental knuckle cracking. “It isn't you, is it?”
He was back in his chair and he was stunned. His mouth was open, his eyes were wide and blank, and a red scald rose up his neck into his cheeks. “Are you crazy?” he shouted. “Do I look like a killer?”
I had a vision of Ranger listening to this in the Porsche, laughing his ass off. “Just asking,” I said. “No reason to get huffy.”
“Get out. Get out now!”
I jumped out of my chair. “Okay, but you have my card and you'll give me a call if you want to talk, right?”
“I have your card. Here it is.” He held the card up and tore it into tiny pieces. “That's what I think of your card.”
I left Andrew and I scurried down the hall to Bart. The door to his office was open so I peeked inside. Bart was at his desk, eating lunch.
“Can we talk?”
“Is it important?”
“Life and death.”
He had a sandwich, a bag of chips, and a can of Coke in front of him. He took a chip and watched me while he ate.
“And?” he asked.
I gave him the same suave spiel. “I know about Lillian Paressi,” I said. “I know she was part of a killing game.”
“Do you have proof of this?”
“Yes.” Sort of. “I also know about the current game. And I think the game organizer works in this building.”