LITMIR.BIZ

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“I’m no detective, but it just doesn’t seem that way to me.”

      After a bit, Jasper said, “You think you know people, and they end up getting arrested for murder. It happens.”

      Enrique nodded. “Yeah. The quiet neighbor. Teachers molesting students. Priests.” He nodded again. “Yeah. Sabrina seems nice, but she could have murdered him.”

      “Who else could it have been?” Jasper asked.

      “The married woman,” Sajal said.

      The two mulled that over.

      “She was pretty upset when she came here,” Enrique said. “I didn’t hear her talking to Tristan, but I did see her leave. She was crying.” His accent drew out the last word.

      “The news said the knife used to kill Kirby was found in a Dumpster near Sabrina’s house. Her prints were on it,” Jasper said.

      “Of course they were,” Sajal argued. “It was her knife. It came from her kitchen. Anyone could have put it there.”

      “Like the secret woman,” Enrique said.

      Or someone else. Sajal thought there was more going on than any of them knew. If Kirby’s murder would ever be solved, he’d bet they’d all be surprised by the outcome. But it was nothing the three of them would solve over espresso. And Sajal had a wife to go home to.

      “Well, I should get going. My wife said she’d wait up for me tonight. I don’t want to be late.”

      “Ah,” Enrique teased. “Sajal’s gonna get lucky tonight.” His accent accentuated lucky tonight. It sometimes annoyed Sajal.

      Jasper said nothing, his face turning somber. He’d recently finalized his divorce, and he wasn’t the one who’d wanted it. His wife had declared she’d grown beyond what their relationship could give her. Jasper hadn’t known until after she’d served him that she’d met another man. He was devastated. Sajal was concerned his friend and coworker wouldn’t be able to overcome it and move on.

      Enrique, on the other hand, had yet to be married. “Someday you’ll understand.” Sajal finished his espresso and threw out the small cup. Then he gave Jasper a pat on his shoulder. “Try to distract yourself with your work. If you’re going to think of her, think of the good times and don’t regret.”

      Jasper’s sorrow lifted just a little. “You always know what to say, Sajal.” He checked his cell phone. “Too bad it isn’t as easy as it sounds.”

      Turning, Sajal went to his cart. “See you both tomorrow.”

      “Have fun tonight,” Enrique said, drawing out tonight.

      Without responding, he kept his annoyance to himself and left the cafeteria. He pushed his cart toward the executive and management offices. He cleaned those last since the executives and managers were always the last to leave at night.

      Thinking of Maeve, Sajal finished the executive offices and headed for the storage closet down the hall for more supplies. He’d clean the managers’ offices and then he’d be finished. A man passed him in the hall as he unlocked the door. Sajal glanced at him, but the man paid him no heed. Tension deepened otherwise shallow wrinkles on his brow and around his mouth. He was perhaps in his early fifties. His strides were long and purposeful. He wasn’t a tall man. Average. In pretty good shape, with only a slight protrusion in the stomach area. He had green eyes and fine, medium brown hair that had yet to go gray.

      The man reached Tristan Coulter’s office and pushed the door open without knocking.

      “We need to talk.” The man intended to close the door behind him, Sajal thought, but it stopped an inch or so from doing so completely.

      Any other office, Sajal would have moved on out of respect for privacy. But this was Tristan’s office, the very one visited by Kirby’s secret lover. Sajal wasn’t one to give in to gossip, but he found himself curious nonetheless. He dallied in the supply closet, which was directly across the hall from Tristan’s office. He didn’t understand Tristan’s job. As account manager, he was part of customer service and had a team of representatives who reported to him.

      “The chief came to see me this afternoon,” the visitor said.

      Sajal heard Tristan’s chair move as though he leaned back against it. He didn’t know what kind of man Tristan was, but he’d heard rumors that he had a bad temper, that most of those who reported to him didn’t like him and even feared him.

      “Have a seat, Archer. Calm down and tell me what’s got you in such a lather.”

      “Don’t patronize me. It’s easy for you to sit behind that desk and tell me to calm down. This whole thing is blowing up, and I want nothing more to do with it.”

      “Sit down, Archer.”

      “You son of a—”

      “Sit down!” Tristan shouted.

      Archer must have gone to sit down. Sajal leaned to peer through the open supply-closet door. The windows on each side of the door to Tristan’s office had blinds on the inside that were closed. He could see a sliver of the back of Archer’s head through the barely open office door. He had gone to sit in front of Tristan’s desk. Sajal couldn’t see Tristan. His chair was blocked by the door.

      “He suspects something,” Archer said. “He asked me why I was so convinced Sabrina Tierney killed Kirby when the crime scene suggests there were more than two people involved. Fibers were found that aren’t linked to either Kirby or Sabrina. He knows there was a third person there, Tristan. I can’t keep insisting Sabrina Tierney is my primary suspect. Nobody will believe me.”

      Tristan remained silent for a beat or two. “What fibers were found?”

      “Clothing. A green cotton fiber.”

      Tristan didn’t say anything at first. “That doesn’t mean anything. Fibers alone can’t convict someone. You have to be able to prove someone committed the crime. Let the chief speculate. Tell him you’ll look into it.”

      “I did. But he asked why I hadn’t yet.”

      “What did you tell him?”

      “That I missed it. He looked at me funny and told me to report to him after I finished checking it out.”

      “So check it out. It won’t lead anywhere.”

      “How can you be so sure?”

      “Because you won’t let it lead anywhere.” Tristan paused. “Right?”

      Archer now paused.

      Sajal heard Tristan move. Archer stood from the chair, and Sajal saw Tristan’s hand go to his back.

      “You worry too much,” Tristan said. “This will all work out. You’ll see.”

      “I should have never listened to you.”

      “You had no other choice. You did the right thing, Archer. Now, go home and relax. Tomorrow you can check into the fiber and report it to the chief. He’ll forget all about it then, and all of this will be a thing of the past.” He guided Archer to the door.

      Sajal turned his back and pretended to be busy in the supply closet. He put some window cleaner into his cart. When he emerged from the closet, Archer was gone, and Tristan stood in his now-open doorway, slightly graying hair belying his sixty years. He was in shape and looked younger than he was. Sajal only knew his age because one of the administrative assistants had told him.

      “Oh,” Sajal said. “Mr. Coulter. Working late tonight?”

      “How long have you been in there?” Tristan asked.

      Sajal shrugged. “Not long. Just restocking for tomorrow.”

      Tristan merely studied him, picking him apart. Sajal could feel him wondering if he’d heard any of the conversation between him and

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