Page 92 of Red Marked

Tank is not as big as Flint, but he’s just as built. He’s wearing a gray T-shirt, shorts, and is barefoot. His eyes go to Flint, to me, and back again.

“Can I help you?” He narrows his eyes.

“I hope so,” Flint says. “Are you Tank?” He smiles.

“Why? What is this about?”

“We’re journalists.” Flint keeps his smile in place. “We’re from the Mistveil Sun. We’re working on a piece about the accident that happened on the coast road a few years back. It was such a terrible tragedy affecting all who were involved. We’re doing a follow-up, and your name came up as the male who fell from the sky. Can we come inside and talk? Anything you could give us would be great.”

Tank’s expression doesn’t change.

“It would be a positive piece about life after tragedy,” I quickly add.

He frowns. “You’ve got the wrong person.”

“Are you sure?” I ask.

“Yep, I’m pretty sure I’d remember falling out of the sky. It never happened to me.” He shakes his head.

“It’s just that we have this address on record,” Flint says. “Along with your name. It’s listed in the original police report.” I watch him closely for signs of deception.

He shakes his head. “Then your records are wrong,” he says. “You should go and recheck. You’ll see I’m right.” He moves back. “You two have a good evening.”

The door closes, and the footsteps recede.

We stand there for a couple of seconds, looking at the closed door.

“Well,” Flint says. “That went well.”

I turn and walk back down the driveway, and he falls in beside me.

“Do you believe him?” I ask as we near the car.

“I wouldn’t completely scratch him off your list, but chances are he isn’t our guy.” Flint unlocks the vehicle, and we get in.

“That’s what I thought too.” I nod a few times, still in thought. “It would have been really nice if it was him.”

“Let’s go back to rich Tank’s house. We might have to start looking into some of the others as well.” Flint starts the car and pulls out.

I nod.

He drives us back across town. We pull up across from the lake house as the sky goes from orange to gray. The porch is dark, and the driveway is still empty.

“I’m not sure I could cut it as an investigator,” I mutter.

Flint smiles. “It’s a lot of waiting around.”

Flint checks his watch, lets out a breath, and puts the car back in gear.

“We’ll come back in the morning,” he says. “If he’s still not here, we’ll have to start looking into the others. I wish we had another lead to go on.”

The drive back to the hotel is quick, and neither of us speaks.

When we arrive, the lobby is quieter than it was at check-in.

Flint double-checks if a room has miraculously become available.

The receptionist looks amused when she shakes her head.