She groaned again, her voice more worried than before. “Do you really thinks it's that bad?”
We both shook our head, not wanting to alarm her. You want a client to realize how serious the situation could possibly become, but you definitely didn't want them in a panic state. Panicked people did crazy things, like that bull elk from the other night, the one that cornered itself.
“No, we don't think it's necessarily gotten to that level. But, the longer we can keep them talking, keep them making their threats, the more we can possibly pick up from their recordings. Clues to their whereabouts, how they might know you, who they might be.”
“You think it's someone that knows me?”
“Unfortunately,” I said with a nod and a wince, “that's likely the case. Angry customer, business rival, someone you may have ignored in the past? Who knows right now?”
The look of worry on her face cut right through, gutting me as she tightly gripped her coffee cup in both hands like it would somehow bring her a bit of stability in all this. Her shoulders were tense, her eyes sad. She didn't deserve this, and all three of us knew it. “Well,” she said, almost mournfully. “when do we start?”
“Right now,” Peter said. “We'll get a quote typed up for you before you leave the office, and then I'll send you out the door. Richard'll meet you at the Curious Turtle, and I'll get with our IT person to get your phone records looked at, see if we can’t try to trace the numbers or follow any other leads that come up.”
“Wait,” she said, setting her coffee cup back down. She looked at us and slowly blinked. “You guys have like an actual IT person who can do that?”
Peter and I exchanged a look of confusion. “Well, she's not Q, or anything, and we don't have crazy gadgets,” he said with a smile. “But she can at least record phone calls and maybe figure something out from them.”
Jessica laughed and shook her head as we both got up to leave. A couple moments later, we were back in Peter's office, the door closed behind us.
“You doing okay?” he asked as he settled down behind the computer and began to bring up the invoicing software.
“Me?” I asked, trying to fake a lack of concern. “Why wouldn't I be?”
“Don't play dumb, Murdoch,” he said as he began typing up the computer. “I can tell she's already gotten to you.”
I slumped into the chair. “Gotten to me? What're you talking about?”
“You know, I've noticed something over the last few years,” he replied as he continued to type. “When you're not being completely truthful, you just repeat back someone's answers as questions.”
Shit. He knew me too well.
“She's an attractive woman, and seems genuine,” Peter continued. “You don't need to be ashamed of thinking she's good looking.”
I laughed, leaned forward in my chair and rested my elbows on my knees. “Fine. Yes, okay, I think she's good looking. And, no, I don't think it'll effect my performance on the job. We good?”
“We were good even before you told me that, brother,” Peter said, continuing to type up the invoice. “Just wanted you to hear yourself say it, that's all. I trust you with my life, why wouldn't I trust you with hers?”
“Think it's that serious?” I asked. “Trusting me with her life, and all that.”
A peculiar look came over his face, and he took a break from typing to turn his attention to me. “Something just seems off about the whole thing. The death threats starting up right around her silent partner's death? That just seems very coincidental, doesn't it?”
“Sometimes a cigar is just a cigar,” I replied, playing devil's advocate. We did that, bouncing ideas around on cases, trying to chew holes in each others theories. You had to if you wanted to get to the truth of the matter and keep from making your evidence fit your narrative.
He grimaced and turned back to the computer screen, began typing again.
As he finished, I chewed over my thoughts on the subject. Something definitely sounded strange about the whole thing, but it was something I couldn't really put my finger on. A lot of times, you just needed to get into these cases and look around at every possible person, every little clue, and let the back of your brain sort them out for you.
He printed up two copies of the quote, one for the client and one for Gen so she could make a file, and handed it to me.
I glanced down at the page. “Cutting it a little close to the bone on this one, aren't you?” I asked when I saw the pricing he'd offered.
“Hometown discount,” he replied. “I popped my head out to see her car,” he said when I gave him a strange look, “and I can tell she's not exactly rolling in cash. Plus, she just lost her partner in the business. I figure this might give us some goodwill, help us get a discount on some art for the lobby. And come on, Murdoch, you know I only seriously charge the corporate clients.”