“Why?” Brooke asked.
“The sheriff is about to arrive,” Doug said. “I doubt very much Nate is meant to be here.”
“Except my car is out front,” I said. “I think he’ll have figured it out.”
Doug’s face paled. “But you shouldn’t be here. He’ll be here any minute.”
“I know. Just tell him I stopped off to try and talk you into letting me see the body and that I’m using the bathroom,” I suggested. “I’ll take the stairs up to the top floor, and he’ll be none the wiser.”
Doug looked visibly relieved at the idea.
“I’ll come up with you,” Brooke said.
Doug ran off without another word.
“He really is hard work,” Brooke said as we reached the staircase and started the four floors of steps to the reception floor.
“He told me that you’re gay,” I said.
She stopped and turned back to me. “Seriously?”
I nodded. “I know you told me a while ago, and I know you’ve been telling people you feel comfortable with, but you should probably know that he wanted me to be aware just in case I decided to hit on you and was rejected.”
“He’s such a dick,” Brooke said with a sigh. “In a roundabout way, it was actually what I wanted to talk to you about the other day. I told my father. He was very happy for me.”
“I’m glad,” I told her as we reached the top of the stairs.
Brooke went first out of the stairwell, beckoning me to join her in the corridor beyond as the sounds of the sheriff’s voice drifted through the hall.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing here?” the sheriff asked me as I entered the reception area.
“Peeing,” I told him. “Also, washing my hands after. Because that’s just nasty otherwise.”
The sheriff’s eyes narrowed. “You came here to pee.”
“Well, no,” I said. “I came here to figure out why you’d think I’m a murderer. I thought that if I could get a look at the body, I might be able to work out what actually did do it. But Doug wouldn’t let me through, and I needed to pee. Then Brooke arrived.”
“And what are you doing here?” the sheriff asked his deputy.
“Nate is my friend,” Brooke said a little defensively. “We both know that he didn’t kill that man. I came to look over the notes from the autopsy.”
“And what did you see?” the sheriff asked, his anger deflating somewhat.
“Nothing. I got here about five minutes ago while Nate was trying to get Doug to let him down to see the body. I convinced Nate it was a bad idea and then went with him to the bathroom to make sure he didn’t do anything stupid.”
“I do have a habit of doing stupid things,” I said.
The sheriff stared at me for several heartbeats. The man wasn’t an idiot, and I was pretty sure he knew that I’d been down and seen the body, but considering everyone was telling him the opposite, including his own deputy, I also knew he wasn’t going to push it.
“Go home, Nate,” the sheriff said.
“I’ll drive him,” Brooke said.
“What about my car?” I asked.
“You can get a cab back here tomorrow and pick it up,” the sheriff said, in a tone that suggested this conversation was at an end.
“Looks like I’m taking you home,” Brooke said.
“Sheriff King,” I said. “Pleasure as always.”
“Nate,” Sheriff King said as I reached the door. “Don’t get involved in this. We know it wasn’t you, but you are not an officer of the law. No one seems to know exactly what it is you do for a living, but I’m sure you’re not a cop.”
“I’m independently wealthy,” I said. “And you’re right—I’m not a cop. Never have been, and it’s unlikely I ever will be. On the other hand, I’m not mad keen on the place I live being infested by Nazis.”
“Just behave,” the sheriff said. I left the mortuary and followed Brooke, who stood next to my car. She’d been to her own car and retrieved a black backpack.
“I thought we were going in yours,” I said.
“Yours is much better off road than mine,” she said. “I’ll direct you. It’s about an hour’s drive.”
The drive was done in relative silence, which was probably for the best when we turned off a main road and started driving up a dirt track through dense forest, as I needed to concentrate. After a few miles the dirt road turned onto another main road, and I could see the lights of a town in the distance.
“Make a left up here,” Brooke said.
A few minutes later we were on another dirt road, driving up a steep incline until we reached a large open area near a cliff. Brooke and I got out of the Mercedes and walked across the clearing to a wooden bench that overlooked the cliff itself.
Approximately half a mile away, and several hundred feet below where Brooke and I stood, was a large field housing what appeared to be a hangar along with several dozen buildings. There was a multitude of cars of all shapes and sizes parked on the field, and the sounds of their occupants’ party could easily reach my ears.
“What’s that?” I asked Brooke, who, after wiping away the snow on the bench, had taken a seat.
Brooke removed a set of binoculars from her backpack and passed them to me. “Take a look.”
I leaned up against a large tree and looked through the binoculars at the scenes of revelry in the distance. It didn’t take long to find the signs that those enjoying the party were part of the same group that Jackson, Bryce, and his friends were members of.
“A Nazi party . . . ,” I said, looking back at Brooke.
“Yep. This is where they all hang out.”
“How do you know this?” I asked.
“Because I’m a cop, and it’s my job to know where the trouble is. Also, I followed one of them here a few weeks ago. I used to live not far from this place growing up; my grandfather used to bring me up here as a kid.”
“I assume the Nazi backdrop wasn’t here at the time.”
“No, it used to just be some old warehouse that belonged to a packing company or something.”
“Why did you bring me here?”
“Because I wanted to tell you the truth about why I didn’t arrest Bryce, and I hoped that in turn you’d tell me the truth about who you are.”
“What truth would that be?” I asked, looking back through the binoculars.
“I’ve known you for two years. I’d like to think we’re friends. We’ve been out drinking with Antonio, Jess, and others. We’ve spoken long into the night about life and dreams, but it turns out I don’t know a damn thing about you. You’re some rich British guy who moved here to get away from the hustle and bustle of everyday life.”
“I never said I was anything of the sort.”
“You don’t have a job that I know of,” Brooke said. “But I’ve never seen you concerned about money.”
“I’m not concerned about money,” I said. “I’m also not what you said.”
“You’re also not a cop—I know that much—and I saw you fight at the game. That’s training. Real training, not someone who goes to the gym a few times a week because they want to be the next MMA star. You could have killed that man, but you chose not to.”