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“When’s the last time you saw him?” Frank asked.
“It’s been about five or six days, I guess.”
“And no issues with him? Was he always professional and cordial?”
“Seemed to be. Of course, I only ever saw the businessman side to him. He seemed like a nice enough gent, I suppose.”
Ava got to her feet, very much aware of the passing of minutes as her one day to solve this case inched closer and closer to its end. “Tony, thanks again for the time. And like Detective Wimbly said, wait a day or so before reaching out to him.”
Tony nodded, with a sour look on his face. Ava supposed this whole ordeal might put an entirely different spin on trying to sell his establishment. Because he was right in how he’d phrased it: the financial landscape was only getting worse. And if it suffered anymore, Tony probably wouldn’t be able to find an interested buyer at all, leaving him with a small club in one of the poorest areas of the city.
It was yet another reminder of just how much money could skew things. Ava understood how it made some men desperate and power hungry—both of which, for all she knew, Alfred Moss also understood.