We approached the front gates and entered the same room Brent had questioned me in—except now a man wearing no shirt, heavy eyeliner, and spiked black hair sat behind the table.
Jordan glared as we entered.
“What’s she doing here?” he said to Brent.
“She’s a consultant. Don’t argue.”
Jordan crossed his arms. “This is ridiculous. I’ve got a gig in half an hour. I’ve already lost a ton of money because of the shutdown, and now this?”
Brent held out a chair for me, and I eyed it. He’d never been gentlemanly when we’d dated, but I sat without arguing, and Brent sat beside me.
“If you’ll cooperate,” Brent said, “then you can be out of here in time for your performance. What is it you do here, exactly?”
He shrugged. “Whatever makes people happy. I’ve shoved tacks up my nose, swallowed knives, shocked myself. I’ve eaten weird things—live wasps and snakes and such.” He held out his arm where a row of scars lined his wrists. “I brand myself every now and then—that really keeps them coming. Basically, I just show up with my shirt off, and people pay me.” He winked at me.
Someone restrain me, please. Jordan’s pasty whiteness and potbelly were going to make me swoon. For real.
Brent gave Jordan the rundown on privacy laws and the option of asking for a lawyer, though I knew Jordan would never ask for a lawyer.
“I don’t need a lawyer,” Jordan said.
Yep. There was a reason I’d diagnosed him as a narcissist.
“Then we’ll get started,” Brent said. “We need to know where you were last night between the hours of nine PM and six AM.”
“I was back in my trailer.”
“Was anyone with you?”
“Yes.”
“Who?”
He shrugged. “I’m not sure. People come and go all the time. Could’ve been a lot of people, but I was passed out most of the time.”
Brent narrowed his eyes. “Passed out?”
“Yeah, passed-out asleep.”
“So you don’t remember who was there?”
“No.”
“You don’t have one single person to vouch for you?”
Another shrug.
Brent rubbed his forehead. I knew that gesture—he was already getting frustrated. This was going to be a long interview.
“Look,” Brent said, “it really would be in your best interest to have someone corroborate your whereabouts. You say there were people in and out but can’t remember a single one. Why is that?”
“I already told you—I was asleep.”
“If that’s so,” I said, “if you were passed-out asleep, then how would you know there were people coming and going?”
He shifted uncomfortably. “Because I woke up every now and then.”
“If you woke up,” Brent said, “then you must have seen who was in your house, right?”
“No, I never saw their faces.”
“Let me get this straight,” Brent said. “Last night, you went home to your trailer and went to sleep. You woke up every now and then, found people whom you didn’t know in your house, and then proceeded to go back to sleep. Do I have that right?”
Jordan swallowed. “It’s not as weird as you make it sound. People come and go all the time.”
“In the middle of the night?”
“Yes.”
“What are they doing while they’re there, Jordan?”
“I don’t know—hanging out?”
“Hanging out?” I held back a laugh.
“Could you be a little more specific?” Brent asked.
Jordan’s cheeks reddened. “No, I couldn’t. You’re making it sound weird that I have friends who like to hang out, and it’s not weird! It happens to normal people all the time. It’s what people do—we hang out with each other. People who have friends understand that concept.” He shot me a glare.
Silence filled the room until Brent finally spoke up. “Fine. How about we discuss something else. Did you know Mr. Duncan?”
“I met him a few times.”
“When was the first time you met him?”
“He came to my show once. Never tipped me, but that’s okay. After the show, he came up to me afterwards and said he had some water moccasins in his pond back home he’d like me to get rid of—because I ate a baby rattler at that show—so, you know… that’s about it. I told him I only eat snakes, I don’t catch them.”
“And when was the other time you met him?” Brent asked.
“No, that was the only time.”
“But you said you met him a few times,” I said.
“I did?”
Brent nodded.
“Well, that’s not what I meant to say. I met him once. That’s it.”
A knock came at the door, and Brent excused himself to open it. I glanced back and saw Officer Rakestraw standing on the other side. He gave Brent a manila folder, and then Brent returned to his seat. He leafed through the papers inside for a moment, closed the folder, and then gave Jordan a hard stare.
“I want you to be very clear,” Brent said. “Are you certain that you only met Mr. Duncan once?”
“Yes.”
“Did you ever exchange anything at all—money, papers, anything?”
“No. Nothing. I already told you he didn’t tip me, right?”
Brent tapped the folder. “That’s odd. Do you know why it’s odd, Jordan?”
“No idea.”
“Because I’ve just gotten the initial results from the autopsy, and do you know what they found in Mr. Duncan’s system?
He shrugged, but I noticed he kept his hands tucked in his lap, which was odd because he usually flailed them around to emphasize his point.
Brent opened the folder and read the topmost paper. “A foreign chemical substance was found in the deceased. Test results concluded a positive match for a derivative of Aconitum napellus, commonly known as the Monkshood plant.”
Monkshood. Interesting.
“So? What’s that got to do with me?” Jordan said.
Brent passed him a small plastic baggie with a few ounces of white powder inside. “Does this look familiar?”
Jordan stared at the bag without touching it. He didn’t say a thing. Finally, he looked up. “I’d like to speak to a lawyer, please.”