“I hear that, but you have to start somewhere. You’re young, and I wish I knew then what I know now.” Jake met Detective Woo’s gaze, but still couldn’t tell what the police knew or if they suspected him of Voloshin’s murder. He sat down at the head of the conference table, which he hoped would reinforce his credibility.
“How much money do I have to have to use your services, Mr. Buckman? Do you have a minimum?”
“Please call me Jake, and no, not at all. We’d be happy to put you in our Gardenia mutual fund, which contains the same blue-chip stocks that we put high-net-worth individuals in.” Jake checked the walnut clock on the credenza against the far wall. It read 10:28. That transfer had to be stopped or he was dead meat.
“What’s the cutoff, money-wise, between me and high-net worth?”
“Those with assets over $500,000. I’d be happy to meet with you, anytime.”
Detective Zwerling cleared his throat, as he pulled a slim spiral notepad from inside his breast pocket and flipped open its cardboard cover. “Let’s get this show on the road, shall we? We have a busy day ahead of us.”
“Fine.” Jake forced himself to stop checking the clock so often. He didn’t want to show his hand to the cops, like he had Guinevere LeMenile. “I’m very sorry to hear about Mr. Voloshin’s murder. That came as a shock. We don’t have many of those in Concord Chase.”
“He lived in Shakertown, the north end. Trust me, it happens.” Detective Zwerling shifted in the chair, his belly lipping the table.
“How was he killed?” Jake wanted to make sure he asked any questions that seemed appropriate.
“He was stabbed to death. Another tenant found him in his apartment, because he left his laundry in the washer.”
“Ugh, that’s terrible.” Jake didn’t have to feign repugnance. “Do you have any suspects or is it too soon?”
“Waytoo soon. It’s not like TV, where the body hits the floor and they already cleared the case.” Detective Zwerling curled his lip in a way that suggested he’d given the lecture before. “Me, I’m a bigDexterfan. They get at least a few episodes to solve the crime.”
“I wonder why somebody would kill him. He seemed like a nice, harmless guy.”
“The details of our investigation are confidential, but his valuables appear to be missing. Wallet, laptop, phone, like that.”
“How sad.” Jake clucked unhappily, though relief surged through him. If Voloshin’s laptop and phone had been stolen, the police probably didn’t know about the video and photos incriminating him and Ryan. Still he couldn’t be certain, and if the wire transfer wasn’t stopped, it could blow everything. He checked the credenza clock as discreetly as possible—10:34.
“Mr. Buckman, Jake, you don’t mind if we tape this, do you?” Detective Woo slid a handheld tape recorder from inside his pocket, pressed a button on the side, and set it down on the table between them.
“No, I don’t mind at all. So how can I help you?” Jake hadn’t anticipated the meeting would be recorded, but his answer appeared to be moot anyway.
“We have a few questions.” Detective Zwerling clicked the back of his pen with a chubby thumb. “Jake, just tell us something about yourself. Family? Residence?”
“I’m married, and we have one son, in high school.” Jake didn’t supply any names, to keep them out of it. “I live in Concord Chase.”
“For how long?”
“Twenty years, and I’ve had the business the past five.”
“You own it?”
“Yes.”
“Good enough.” Detective Zwerling took notes. “Tell me how you came to meet with Mr. Voloshin.”
“I was at my son’s basketball game at North Mayfield, last Sunday afternoon. He sat next to me.”
“You’re a big guy, Jake. Did you play hoops in high school?”
“No.”
“College?”
“No. I worked.”
“Okay.” Detective Zwerling took notes. “Why was Voloshin at the game, do you know?”
