Mike was in the familiar office of Dwight Moss, his foot shaking uncontrollably as he sat on the couch. Dwight was at his desk, talking loudly on the phone. He wasn't sitting but standing and almost pacing as far as the cord would allow.
Jenny walked into the room with a Diet Coke and handed it to Mike. She turned to see Dwight waving her off frantically as he continued to bark into the phone. Maggie scampered off as quick as she came.
"I'll bring him in when you assure us there will be no arrest," Dwight said between pauses. "No, let them come here to interview. I'm right down the street. They could walk here. We'll be waiting. Ten minutes? Fine."
Dwight slammed the phone down and ran his fingers through his hair. "Cops are on their way," he said as he looked at a piece of paper. "Detectives Givens and Chavez. You familiar?"
Mike nodded. He was very familiar with the lead investigators. It was interesting that they were the ones assigned to Brad's death as well as Wendy's. He could barely bottle in the tension squirming down his spine.
Dwight came over and sat down at the other end of the couch. "What are you worried about?" Dwight asked. "You've got an alibi, right? If anything this is going to clear your name."
Mike frowned. "Say what?"
Dwight leaned back confidently into the cushion. "You think it was a coincidence Brad was run over in a hit-and-run three weeks after his wife was murdered? I don't believe in coincidences, especially here. This case is a soap opera."
"This case is my life," Mike said as he stood. "Nobody has told me anything. What happened to Brad?"
"Brad was leaving the club after a game of tennis. Someone clipped him in the parking lot. Nobody saw a thing. That's all I know. I'm sure the cops are looking for a security tape but so far no leaks to me."
Mike started pacing the room. "When did this happen?"
"This morning. The president of the club said Brad had a standing Tuesday morning game before work."
"How do you know the president of La Rinconada Country Club?"
Dwight shrugged. "I'm a member of the club."
Mike looked around the opulence of the office and nodded. He should have expected that the top defense lawyer in the valley might be able to afford the best country club in the valley.
Dwight leaned back in the chair, the sound of leather stretching as he got comfortable. "Don't worry, we never met. There are over 400 members. I can confess I'd seen him around – he's hard to miss - but we never played eighteen or anything."
Mike plopped back down on the couch. "So why are the cops showing up if not to arrest me?"
Dwight leaned forward. "They are going to question you. You're going to tell them the truth. Let's go through it all. Where were you this morning?"
Mike explained about getting fired, the jog downtown, and the abrupt 7-11 scene with his family. "Then I went home and realized my wife was having an affair. Or, at least I think she is."
Dwight whistled. "Well, I'd say the only person who has had a worse morning is Brad Coleman. And you have an alibi with witnesses. If it was any more perfect I'd think you planned it that way."
Mike still didn't see how this was going to make him look good, but he was tired of asking questions and wanted to mentally prepare for the staredown with Detective Givens again.
YOU ARE READING
Westhill DriveMystery / Thriller
Mike Thomas lives in a picturesque, upscale neighborhood in the heart of Silicon Valley, where nobody locks their doors, every home has a perfectly manicured lawn, and Teslas and $100 yoga pants are the norm. All of this is shook to the core when hi...