black ink.
Satish pushed a tape recorder toward the middle of the table. Vargas bulged his eyes.
“What’s that for, man?”
Satish’s voice was as soothing as a lozenge. “Just so I don’t forget our conversation. I’m old and I tend to forget things. Want a Coke?”
Vargas nodded and asked for a cig, too.
“Tell you what. We start chatting, you and I, then you can have a cig.” Satish leaned forward across the table. “But you gotta answer my questions, Ricky. My partner’s pissed off already.”
Vargas shot me a nervous glance. We’d gotten him into one of our interview cubicles at the back of the squad room. We didn’t mention his drug caper, he never complained about his beauty treatment. Over two bottles of Coke, Vargas told us about the job his uncle and he did at Amy Liu’s house.
“Who designed the mosaic?”
He frowned. “You mean the artsy thing? My uncle did that. He’s real good with that stuff. The lady gave him a picture.”
“What did you guys do with the leftover tiles?”
“We left them there. She’d bought the stuff herself.”
Satish sent me a sideway glance. There was nothing in the garage or backyard. She could’ve already gotten rid of it, though.
I stopped pacing and sat at the table. “You ever go back to her house at night, Ricky?”
His eyes widened. “No, sir. Me? Why?” His knees rattled. He wrung his tattooed arms, hands cracked and tanned beyond their nineteen years of age.
I leaned on my elbows. “Why? I’ll tell you why. Because the lady was pretty, for one thing. And she had money. And the two things together are usually appealing to a piece of scum like you. You know what we found on her body? A hair. Our guys are extracting DNA as we speak. Makes me want to have a chat with your parole agent—”
“No! I—”
“Okay, let’s take a breather.” Satish laid a hand on the table and locked eyes with Vargas. “Ricky. You wanna make me and my partner happy? You want us to forget that you gave us a sweat over a bunch of rocks?”
He nodded.
“Then give us something, okay? The lady’s dead. You worked on her yard. There’s something puzzling about the way she died and about that sun your uncle made for her.”
“Remember how pretty she was?” I said, opening a folder on the table. “This is what she looks like now.”
Vargas’s eyes fell on the picture and then skid away like bullets bouncing off metal. “Whoa. I ain’t done that, man. No way. No way I’d do somethin’ like that.” He swallowed hard, then stared at us, heavy eyebrows slanting up like the head of an arrow. His childish features were darkened by a two-day stubble and polluted by street life.
“Make us believe you,” I said.
He ground his teeth and mused. “Suppose a guy was there to—uh—take a stroll or somethin’. But he ain’t done nothing,” he quickly added. His eyes strayed back to me. “That hair ain’t mine, man.”
Satish stretched one corner of his mouth. “Suppose the guy gave us something useful.”
He wrung his arm harder. “No, man, I—Look. She was nice to us, okay? Even offered me a cig from time to time. She’d come out and share a drag. Not like those rich ladies with all the stink up their noses. Yeah, she was pretty. She got somebody to warm up her sheets at night. Why don’t you look him up?”
Sat and I exchanged glances. Maybe Ricky was going to be useful, after all.
“You take a good look at her man, Ricky?” Satish asked.
“I saw his car. Was there that night—” He caught himself short, then stared at us like a deer stunned on its path. I knew that look. “The stuff,” he said softly. “I ain’t—”
“What stuff?” Satish replied. “Tell us about Amy’s man.”
“I never saw the guy. I’d see the car parked in the driveway. Audi, A8, one of the pretty ones.”
“What color?”
“Silver, I think…”
I slammed my hand on the table. “You think? Sat, this turd thinks he can fool us. I say we send him
Satish pushed a tape recorder toward the middle of the table. Vargas bulged his eyes.
“What’s that for, man?”
Satish’s voice was as soothing as a lozenge. “Just so I don’t forget our conversation. I’m old and I tend to forget things. Want a Coke?”
Vargas nodded and asked for a cig, too.
“Tell you what. We start chatting, you and I, then you can have a cig.” Satish leaned forward across the table. “But you gotta answer my questions, Ricky. My partner’s pissed off already.”
Vargas shot me a nervous glance. We’d gotten him into one of our interview cubicles at the back of the squad room. We didn’t mention his drug caper, he never complained about his beauty treatment. Over two bottles of Coke, Vargas told us about the job his uncle and he did at Amy Liu’s house.
“Who designed the mosaic?”
He frowned. “You mean the artsy thing? My uncle did that. He’s real good with that stuff. The lady gave him a picture.”
“What did you guys do with the leftover tiles?”
“We left them there. She’d bought the stuff herself.”
Satish sent me a sideway glance. There was nothing in the garage or backyard. She could’ve already gotten rid of it, though.
I stopped pacing and sat at the table. “You ever go back to her house at night, Ricky?”
His eyes widened. “No, sir. Me? Why?” His knees rattled. He wrung his tattooed arms, hands cracked and tanned beyond their nineteen years of age.
I leaned on my elbows. “Why? I’ll tell you why. Because the lady was pretty, for one thing. And she had money. And the two things together are usually appealing to a piece of scum like you. You know what we found on her body? A hair. Our guys are extracting DNA as we speak. Makes me want to have a chat with your parole agent—”
“No! I—”
“Okay, let’s take a breather.” Satish laid a hand on the table and locked eyes with Vargas. “Ricky. You wanna make me and my partner happy? You want us to forget that you gave us a sweat over a bunch of rocks?”
He nodded.
“Then give us something, okay? The lady’s dead. You worked on her yard. There’s something puzzling about the way she died and about that sun your uncle made for her.”
“Remember how pretty she was?” I said, opening a folder on the table. “This is what she looks like now.”
Vargas’s eyes fell on the picture and then skid away like bullets bouncing off metal. “Whoa. I ain’t done that, man. No way. No way I’d do somethin’ like that.” He swallowed hard, then stared at us, heavy eyebrows slanting up like the head of an arrow. His childish features were darkened by a two-day stubble and polluted by street life.
“Make us believe you,” I said.
He ground his teeth and mused. “Suppose a guy was there to—uh—take a stroll or somethin’. But he ain’t done nothing,” he quickly added. His eyes strayed back to me. “That hair ain’t mine, man.”
Satish stretched one corner of his mouth. “Suppose the guy gave us something useful.”
He wrung his arm harder. “No, man, I—Look. She was nice to us, okay? Even offered me a cig from time to time. She’d come out and share a drag. Not like those rich ladies with all the stink up their noses. Yeah, she was pretty. She got somebody to warm up her sheets at night. Why don’t you look him up?”
Sat and I exchanged glances. Maybe Ricky was going to be useful, after all.
“You take a good look at her man, Ricky?” Satish asked.
“I saw his car. Was there that night—” He caught himself short, then stared at us like a deer stunned on its path. I knew that look. “The stuff,” he said softly. “I ain’t—”
“What stuff?” Satish replied. “Tell us about Amy’s man.”
“I never saw the guy. I’d see the car parked in the driveway. Audi, A8, one of the pretty ones.”
“What color?”
“Silver, I think…”
I slammed my hand on the table. “You think? Sat, this turd thinks he can fool us. I say we send him
Similar Books
