Chapter Nine
1253 Words
Meanwhile, back at Peter's apartment. Officer Cassidy and I looked for any signs that Peter actually lived here. The mail just reflected that his brother Patrick and another male Mitchell Owens live here. On the same shelving unit where the recognition plaques are displayed, sits a photo of three males in a frame. Two of the males look similar to each other. Both have light brown hair, however, one has green eyes and the other one has hazel. They seem to be similar in build as well. Athletic and tall. Those must be the Bryant brothers, Patrick and Peter. It makes me wonder how Peter could have ended up the way that he did. The other one is a blonde. Your typical “All American” type. My guess is that he is Mitchell Owens.
As Cass and I continue to look around to get a “feel” of who the victim was, the door to the apartment opens. In steps Patrick Bryant, sweaty and out of breath. Their dog a black French Bulldog comes running in after him not showing any signs of over-exertion. Strange.
“Uh, who the hell are you? And what are you doing in my apartment?” seethed Patrick.
“I'll handle this,” Cass said to me in a side whisper.
“My name is Officer Cassidy Peterson and this is my partner Sargent Micah Black. We are detectives with the Wolfdale City Police Department,” began Cass while we showed him our badges. “And...”
“You wanna get on with it? I don't have all evening. I need to shower to get ready for a date,” he scoffed.
“And could you verify your name for us? Are you Patrick Bryant or Mitchell Owens?” Cass tried to continue.
“Did the super inform you who lived here or was this from your invasion of privacy?”
“We have a warrant. Just answer the damn question,” I rudely interjected.
“Fine. I'm Patrick. Need to see my ID?” he rolled his eyes while digging out his wallet. After verifying, he is in fact, Patrick Bryant.
“And, we can assume that Peter Bryant is your relative?” cautiously asked Cass.
“Yeah, he's my brother. Why?”
“So, you may want to sit down for this,” Cass heavily suggested.
“Sit down for what? I told you, I don't have time for any of this. I have a date tonight,” Patrick complained plopping onto his sofa.
“When was the last time you last spoke with him?” I inquired.
“I don't know, maybe two or three weeks ago. We really haven't been getting along lately. He's in the process of moving out,” Patrick answered pointing to a small stack of boxes. “Why?”
“Do you know if he has any enemies or those who wish to do him harm?”
“No. None, that I'm aware of. What's this all about? What are you trying to get at?” Patrick stated with his face contorted in confusion.
Taking a gulp, Cassidy took a seat beside Patrick on his sofa. “I'm sorry to inform you, but your brother's body was found this morning by a couple of our patrol officers. He was unresponsive at the scene when he was found. The medical examiner is still trying to determine the cause of death. We are so sorry for your loss.”
“Do you know why he would be at The Roundhouse?” I asked.
“What?...unresponsive?....are you saying he's?” Patrick muttered processing everything he just heard. He apparently didn't hear my question.
“Your brother Peter Bryant is dead,” I bluntly stated. Yeah, tact has never been my forte. This is why I try to leave this to Cass.
“Oh my g-d, oh my g-d, oh my g-d,” Patrick kept repeating. “He's a pain in my ass, but I never wanted this for him. I swear,” he said panting and showing signs of shock.
Cass and I are trying to get him to calm down, but considering the circumstance, this is the normal unfortunate reaction.
“How am I to tell our parents? This can't be happening! He just graduated not that long ago,” Patrick started to ramble on with tears ready to fall.
“Would you know why your brother would be at The Roundhouse?” I tried asking again.
“No! I told you before, I haven't seen nor heard from him in two or three weeks. I don't know why he would've been there. What is The Roundhouse anyway?”
“It's a shady nightclub in the worst end of town,” I put it bluntly.
“Yeah, I haven't the slightest idea why he'd be there. That definitely doesn't sound like a place that he would frequent. Maybe he went there because of his work?” Patrick suggested.
“Do you know where he was employed last?” Cass inquired.
“Uh, yeah. I think it was at The Wolfdale City Chronicler. He took journalism at the University. You could check with them.”
“Would you like us to talk to your parents or would you want to handle that?” Cass gently asked in a caring voice.
“No, thank you. I should be the one to tell them,” he spoke as his voice trailed off.
“Then we shall take our leave. Thank you for all your help in this. We do offer our apologies again for the sudden loss of your brother. Here's our contact number,” Cass said as she handed him a business card, “in case you think of anything else that might be important. And there is a number for grief counseling listed in case as well.”
“Thanks,” he grunted taking the card reluctantly.
Cass and Patrick stood up from the sofa and we all head towards the door. Patrick opens the door, both Cass and myself exit, leaving him to his grief.
“Well, he almost sounded convincing he should get an Oscar,” I sarcastically smirked raising an eyebrow.
“Seriously? Which part didn't convince you?” Cass questioned. “He seemed to react as expected under such circumstances,” Cass defended Patrick as we both made our way back to the SUV.
“The part where he acted like he actually cared about what happened to his brother,” I simply stated stepping into the passenger side. Cass in her usual fashion just rolled her eyes getting into the driver's side.
“So, should we check with the Chronicler now, or wait until tomorrow?” She put forth as she drove us back towards the police station.
“My guess would be tomorrow. There's no way someone from HR or even higher up would even be there that we could talk with at this hour.”
“Right. Tomorrow would give us a better opportunity.”
“We should get caught up on our paperwork so that you can back home to Thomas and Rocky,” I reminded her raising an eyebrow while talking out the side of my mouth.
“Are you trying to guilt schlep me, Black?”
“Whatever do you mean Peterson?” I winked with a smirk.
“Ugh, you're worse than my mother!” she joked with her eyes rolling. My partner is clearly fluent in eye rolls. Wink.
- Writer
