Page 117 of Flint’s Strike

“I…was told it’d already been done.”

“By whom?” I keep my voice gentle. He’s hanging on by a thread. The last thing I need to do is snap it.

Kessler gives the door another hard look. “I don’t have a name. I never have a name. It’s been half a dozen different guys over the years.”

“When did it start, then? And how?” I open my notebook. This is too important to leave to memory.

Charlie scrubs his hands over his face. “I need a drink. You mind?” He nods toward the bottle of tequila next to the couch.

“Go ahead.” Drunk Charlie might be a problem. But near as I can tell, he’s close to sober at the moment. One drink ain’t gonna derail our case.

He pours himself half a glass, and sinks back into the chair. “I’ve worked for Apex for six years. Only a couple guys have worked there longer than me. One day, Freddie—he’s been there from the beginning—asked me if I wanted to make some extra money. My girlfriend had just broken up with me and kicked me out. I was flat broke. Inspectin’ don’t pay near enough for first, last, and security deposit in this town.”

Kessler pauses, tugs at the collar of his t-shirt, and stares into the glass.

“So you said…?” Nate sits back, bright purple pen poised over his notebook.

“I said I’d do anythin’.” Shame tinges Kessler’s cheeks. He takes a long pull on the tequila, then grimaces and sets the glass down.

“About a week later, Freddie tells me I need to grab a job that just landed in the queue. It was out by Lady Bird Lake. So I do it.

“When I got there, the building was a fuckin’ mess. Suppression system was shot, the fire extinguishers had expired sometime in the seventies, and the elevators weren’t on automatic shutdown. I documented everythin’. Every problem.”

He drains the rest of the tequila from his glass. “Then, before I left, this dude the size of a linebacker cornered me in one of the utility rooms. He handed me an envelope full of cash, said there’d be more where that came from, and told me to certify the building as safe.”

“So you did?”

Kessler gives me a pleading look. “I tried not to. Gave the money back and explained the problems. Dude told me if I didn’t do what he said, I’d never work as an inspector in Austin again.”

“This ‘dude’ have a name?” Nate asks.

Kessler shrugs. “Most folks do. But he never told me what his was.”

“Okay.” Nate inks another line in his notebook. “What does Mr. ‘Bribery Is My Middle Name’ look like?”

“It’s been six years, man. He was a white guy with a Texas accent. Lubbock, if I had to guess. I never saw him again.”

I set my notebook aside, leaning forward to hold Charlie’s gaze. “That wasn’t the only time. Was it?”

He shakes his head. “No. Five, six times a year. And I ain’t the only inspector they’re usin’. They got at least two others. Maybe more.”

Shit.

“Names?” I flip to a fresh page, but Charlie’s eyes find a spot on the floor and stay there.

“Don’t know ‘em. The only guy I ever knew for sure…he went missin’ a little over a year ago.”

A cold knot tightens in my stomach. “Roger Haight?”

Charlie finally lifts his gaze. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Haight was killed the day he signed the inspection on a building in Round Rock that burned down ten days ago.” I do my best to keep my voice even.

“That don’t surprise me.” Kessler drags a shaky hand through his hair, then scrubs at the back of his neck. “Someone came to see me after the Aldrich fire.”

“Someone?” Nate’s eyes narrow. “Who?”

Kessler lets out a laugh, but there’s no humor in it. “You think these guys walk up and introduce themselves? Same guy who paid me after I signed off on the Aldrich building. I get home on Friday, and he’s in my fuckin’ living room. Sittin’ on the couch like he don’t have a care in the world.”