Page 71 of Burning Justice

Brett and Gemma sat, while Blaze lay down in the space between the two chairs.

Gemma yanked open the zipper on her portfolio. Hawkin had to be twenty years Robert Hicks’s junior, and Brett suspected he was well on his way to being the newest addition to Gemma’s list of prehistoric reptiles.

Ignoring the sexist remark, though what he’d like to do was smash his fist into the other man’s face, Brett said, “We’d like to ask you a few questions about Johnny Nash.”

Hawkin held out his arms. “What about him?”

So Hawkin did know Nash. He’d half expected the man to lie about it. “How long has he been working for you?”

“He worked here for two weeks.”

Worked? “Does he still work for you?”

“No.” Hawkin shook his head. “He stopped showing up.”

“When was the last day he worked for you?”

Hawkin shrugged. “Yesterday or the day before. I don’t have time to go to all my sites. My supervisor told me he was a no-show. It happens a lot in this business.”

“Did you try calling him?”

Again, Hawkin shook his head. “Not worth my time. If the guys I hire don’t show, they don’t show. I’ll find someone to replace them.”

The man still hadn’t exhibited any outward signs that he was lying. He’d looked Brett straight in the eye, wasn’t fidgeting with his hands, or rocking back and forth in his chair.

“Do you have an address for Nash?” Gemma asked, reading Brett’s mind, because that was his very next question.

Hawkin would have basic information on all his employees, including their social security numbers so that he could make the required filings with the DOL.

“I should have.” Hawkin glanced at his watch, then opened a file cabinet drawer behind his desk. After searching for a few seconds, he pulled out a folder and opened it. The tab on the folder had Nash’s name on it. “Is he in some kind of trouble?”

“We just need to ask him some questions.” Like did he set the warehouse fires and was he in cahoots with Hawkin to torch the Torrance Lane house. That question could wait. For the moment, anyway.

“Here it is.” Hawkin held out a sheet of paper. “His address is on his employment application form.”

Gemma took the document, scanning it for a moment. “He listed his sister’s place in Colorado Springs as his home address.”

They already knew he wasn’t there, so finding him was still an issue. Brett wasn’t finished squeezing Hawkin for information. “Did you know Nash before he started working for you?”

“Never met him before. He just showed up here one day looking for work. I needed another hand, so I hired him.”

“Nash is from Colorado Springs. You renovated a house down there last year. The one that burned down, killing two kids,” Brett added for effect, watching closely for any outward signs of discomfort, but the man’s cool-as-a-cucumber demeanor prevailed.

“Shame about those kids,” Hawkin said, frowning.

“Yeah, it was.” Brett locked eyes with Hawkin for a long moment before continuing, but the man didn’t flinch. “Where did you buy your supplies for that job?”

“Frodo. Everyone down there buys from them. They’re the biggest contractor supplier in the Springs.”

It wasn’t much, but at least they’d made another connection between Hawkin and Nash. “Are you sure you never met Nash before he came to Denver? He used to work at Frodo.”

Hawkin made a noncommittal shrug. “Frodo’s a big place. They’ve got lots of people working for them, and it’s been a while since I did any work down there. I’ve been buying from suppliers up north, closer to Denver where most of my work is now.”

“Did he ever work for you before or help you out with anything, such as a problem you had?” Brett emphasized the words Sally Nash had used when she’d said that a contractor up north owed her brother a favor.

Hawkin raised his brows. “Help me with what? I already told you I never met the guy until he showed up here looking for work. He could have been working at Frodo when I was buying from them, but I don’t remember. Do you want to tell me what all these questions are really about?”

No. Not yet, you sonofabitch. The man was smart; Brett would give him that. “Where were you this past Saturday night between nine and ten p.m.?” As Gemma had pointed out, at five-ten, Hawkin couldn’t have been the man who’d attacked Gemma, but he could have been the shooter at the Piggly’s parking lot. Unfortunately, with Colorado’s loose gun laws, Hawkin could own a 9mm and there’d be no record of it.