Page 41 of Knocked Up by Her Daddy's Friends

The security guards seem uncertain of how to proceed so I continue to talk. “As I was saying. The man who was murdered was our friend, Brewer, though you probably know him by the name, Thomas Nelson. The same elderly man you harassed and bullied into signing away a portion of his land to you.”

Anderson looks pissed that by allowing the security guards in, he now has to defend his actions in front of witnesses. “I hope you aren’t insinuating that I had anything to do with this poor man’s death. And the sale of his land was all perfectly legal.”

“It was, much to your disappointment since after the sale went through and surveyors came it turns out that particular piece of land is worthless and cannot be developed on. That’s when you set your sights on getting a hold of the rest of Brewer’s land for your star project and the development much of your campaign hinges on.”

Feeling like he’s in more comfortable territory now we’re discussing politics, Anderson confidently replies, “I offered the man a deal which he was considering, but that is not against the law. But none of that now matters if what you are saying is true and the man has sadly passed. It will be up to whoever inherits the land to do as they see fit. But I still don’t understand why you’re coming to me with this and not the police. Though, as I’ve told you, I’m sure that an investigation would prove my innocence in any nefarious actions.”

“Perhaps we should speak to the press too, I’m sure they’d be interested to hear our concerns about corrupt politicians colluding with gangs to threaten and rob senior citizens,” Buzz says casually leaning against the desk and studying a paperweight.

“Alright, I think I’ve listened to this nonsense and slander for long enough. Please escort these men out,” Anderson says to the security guards before adding, “Any further questions should be directed to my lawyers.”

“No need, we’re done here anyway. Just remember Anderson, we’re not the forgive-and-forget type. We’ll be seeing you,” I say, enjoying the flash of fear in Anderson’s eyes.

“Don’t come back, you hear me, or I’ll call the police!” Anderson calls out as we walk away, followed by the two bemused security guards.

Chapter 21

Drifter

We weren’t expecting to get much out of Bill Anderson other than to rattle his cage and see what comes out, but we’ve made it clear that we’re not going anywhere. The meeting with our lawyers was disappointing. She couldn’t tell us much more than what we already know about Brewer’s will, that the land and buildings were to be split between the Angels of Havoc and Tommy Johnson, with his daughter Skye inheriting in the event of his death. She informed us that with the ongoing investigation and all the other legal loopholes, it won’t be a fast process.

“We need to tell Skye that she’s a beneficiary of Brewer’s will, Angel,” I say the second we leave the lawyer's office.

“I know, and we will, but you heard the lawyer, nothing’s going to happen anytime soon,” Angel replies.

“Surely, it’s a good thing that the land will go to the club and Skye. She’s one of us,” I reason.

“That’s what’s worrying me,” Angel replies. “Why would Anderson have Brewer killed? He stood more chance of conning him into selling than us or Skye.”

“Well, that’s just it, maybe the cops are right, and the thieves weren’t there to hurt Brewer, he just caught them off-guard, and they hit him too hard,” Buzz says.

“Could be…” Angel says though I can tell something is troubling him. “Come on, let’s go speak with the cops and see what they’ve uncovered.”

At the station, we cram into a too-small room with several chairs with sagging cushions covered in faint stains, it’s the area used to speak with people who aren’t under interrogation and designed to seem less intimidating, and more welcoming. It misses the mark completely and I can tell we all feel on edge being here, but we need to do everything we can to catch the people responsible for Brewer’s death, we owe him that. The detective hands us each a cup of lukewarm coffee that tastes like dirt.

“Please, take a seat,” the cop says, sitting down himself, the chair straining under his enormous girth.

Angel and Buzz comply but Gunner and I remain standing, both of us the least comfortable around cops.

The officer waits a moment before realizing that we intend to stand, “Suit yourself,” he says with a shrug. “So, how can I help you, gentlemen? Do you have any further information since our conversation yesterday?”

“No. We were hoping you might have some leads or new information you could share with us,” Angel replies levelly.

“Fraid not, forensics have dusted for fingerprints, we’re waiting for results but nothing so far. Any thief who knows what they’re doing wears gloves though, so I don’t know how fruitful that will be, and of course, it could be someone who knew the victim and had been there before, so they could explain away any fingerprints. Without a murder weapon or eyewitnesses, we’re reliant on hoping there’s DNA evidence on the victim that can be linked to the perp, but the results take time. For now, I’ve got men going door-to-door to interview neighbors and see if they saw anything suspicious. Funny thing is, most folks who even agree to cooperate all mention that there are a lot of bikers hanging around.”

He fixes us with a stare it’s clear he doesn’t like us or trust motorcycle club members, in all honesty, the feeling is mutual.

“Was there nothing of interest at the scene at all?” Buzz asks.

The detective looks as though he’s contemplating whether or not to disclose to us as he scratches his chin, “After you boys said to check for any legal documents, wills, deeds, and what have you, my men found a signed agreement. Seems not too long before he died Mr. Nelson sold some of his land, or his barbecue joint, to be more precise.”

“The land left to the Angels of Havoc in his Last Will and Testament…” Angel says.

“Well, I don’t know about that, we didn’t find a will. But the document seems legitimate, we won’t be able to confirm that until it’s been analyzed, of course.

“Let me guess, it was Bill Anderson who bought it?” Buzz asks.

The detective shakes his head, “Some company name I’ve not heard of before. We’re looking for them as we speak.”

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