back to the joint and wait for the DNA results.”
Satish indulged in his brotherly smile. “Give us something Ricky, or else we’ve got no choice.”
Vargas’s voice cracked in shrills. “Look—Silver! Definitely silver.”
“And how do you know it was the boyfriend if you never saw him?”
He sneered, and for a moment, the adrenaline in his perspira tion ebbed off. “I got ears, okay?”
I leaned back in my chair. “That’s hardly anything we can work with, buddy. You gotta give us something more if you want those rocks to go down the toilet.”
His perspiration spiked again. He rubbed his cheek, forehead shiny with sweat. I inhaled. Sour, spiced with the nice cocktails he smoked and sold. “I was with a girlfriend. She can tell you I ain’t done nothing.”
I passed him a pen. “Write your friend’s name and number.”
He took the pen and fiddled with it. “That night. The car was there. Not in the driveway. A few yards down the road. My friend saw it, too.”
“What were you doing there, you and your friend?”
He shrugged one shoulder, gave us a pale little smile. “I told her the lady was nice. Lived in a nice house. She said she wanted to see it. So we grabbed the bike and went. You know. Just to do somethin’.”
Satish pointed to the pen. “Your lady friend’s number.”
He wrote it down. Satish grabbed the piece of paper and walked out of the cubicle. Vargas frowned. “Where’s he going with that?”
I smiled. “Some girlfriends have a short memory—better catch them early. You sure it was the same car?”
He shrugged. The lizard on his shoulder winked. “It was an Audi. Nice cars those are. They make a smooth rumble, Audis. They do.”
“Yeah, we all love ’em. Keep talking, dude.”
“It was kinda late, but the lights were on in the lady’s house, and me and my friend—we just wanted to take a peek inside the fine car,’ ya know? So I stop, and the streetlight ain’t working, but my girl starts screeching that there’s a dead body inside the car.”
I blinked. “In the car?”
Vargas started playing with the label on the Coke bottle. He nodded. “I only took a glimpse. Saw a shadow in the back. Maybe somebody’s sleeping—dunno. My girl gets scared and wants to leave. I tell her to get ahold of herself. The dude in the back of the car probably high or somethin’. I turn around the bike just the same and ride around the block. Then I go back, cuz I want to take a better look, ya know? Right as we’re rolling by the house, this other dude comes out of the lady’s house. Running. Gets in the car and guns off. Must’ve been drunk or something. Almost took the curb away with him.”
“The other dude being Amy’s boyfriend?”
He nodded.
“You’re sure about it? Same guy you saw at her house other times?”
He nodded again.
“What time was it?”
“’Round two. Only crickets out that early.”
“Yeah. Crickets and loons looking for trouble.”
And us coppers love our loons. Especially when they start chirping.
* * *
I dropped in my chair, opened the drawer—now properly replenished with my usual junk—grabbed a paperclip, bent it, and stuck it between my teeth. An officer from Northeast Community Station had delivered the Callahan murder book a few hours earlier, so I took the chance to examine it. Charlie Callahan, age twenty-eight, found dead behind the dumpster of his apartment building in Silver Lake, his face and neck mauled with acid, and the side of his head whacked. There were traces of meth in his pockets, but the tox results from the autopsy came back negative. The autopsy also determined the head injury had been caused from falling against the cinder brick wall after he was attacked. An eyewitness, a neighbor from the building next door, testified he’d seen Callahan exit from his apartment door to dump the trash. A few minutes later he saw a tall, blond man walk away from the driveway, though no car had come in.
Two
Satish indulged in his brotherly smile. “Give us something Ricky, or else we’ve got no choice.”
Vargas’s voice cracked in shrills. “Look—Silver! Definitely silver.”
“And how do you know it was the boyfriend if you never saw him?”
He sneered, and for a moment, the adrenaline in his perspira tion ebbed off. “I got ears, okay?”
I leaned back in my chair. “That’s hardly anything we can work with, buddy. You gotta give us something more if you want those rocks to go down the toilet.”
His perspiration spiked again. He rubbed his cheek, forehead shiny with sweat. I inhaled. Sour, spiced with the nice cocktails he smoked and sold. “I was with a girlfriend. She can tell you I ain’t done nothing.”
I passed him a pen. “Write your friend’s name and number.”
He took the pen and fiddled with it. “That night. The car was there. Not in the driveway. A few yards down the road. My friend saw it, too.”
“What were you doing there, you and your friend?”
He shrugged one shoulder, gave us a pale little smile. “I told her the lady was nice. Lived in a nice house. She said she wanted to see it. So we grabbed the bike and went. You know. Just to do somethin’.”
Satish pointed to the pen. “Your lady friend’s number.”
He wrote it down. Satish grabbed the piece of paper and walked out of the cubicle. Vargas frowned. “Where’s he going with that?”
I smiled. “Some girlfriends have a short memory—better catch them early. You sure it was the same car?”
He shrugged. The lizard on his shoulder winked. “It was an Audi. Nice cars those are. They make a smooth rumble, Audis. They do.”
“Yeah, we all love ’em. Keep talking, dude.”
“It was kinda late, but the lights were on in the lady’s house, and me and my friend—we just wanted to take a peek inside the fine car,’ ya know? So I stop, and the streetlight ain’t working, but my girl starts screeching that there’s a dead body inside the car.”
I blinked. “In the car?”
Vargas started playing with the label on the Coke bottle. He nodded. “I only took a glimpse. Saw a shadow in the back. Maybe somebody’s sleeping—dunno. My girl gets scared and wants to leave. I tell her to get ahold of herself. The dude in the back of the car probably high or somethin’. I turn around the bike just the same and ride around the block. Then I go back, cuz I want to take a better look, ya know? Right as we’re rolling by the house, this other dude comes out of the lady’s house. Running. Gets in the car and guns off. Must’ve been drunk or something. Almost took the curb away with him.”
“The other dude being Amy’s boyfriend?”
He nodded.
“You’re sure about it? Same guy you saw at her house other times?”
He nodded again.
“What time was it?”
“’Round two. Only crickets out that early.”
“Yeah. Crickets and loons looking for trouble.”
And us coppers love our loons. Especially when they start chirping.
* * *
I dropped in my chair, opened the drawer—now properly replenished with my usual junk—grabbed a paperclip, bent it, and stuck it between my teeth. An officer from Northeast Community Station had delivered the Callahan murder book a few hours earlier, so I took the chance to examine it. Charlie Callahan, age twenty-eight, found dead behind the dumpster of his apartment building in Silver Lake, his face and neck mauled with acid, and the side of his head whacked. There were traces of meth in his pockets, but the tox results from the autopsy came back negative. The autopsy also determined the head injury had been caused from falling against the cinder brick wall after he was attacked. An eyewitness, a neighbor from the building next door, testified he’d seen Callahan exit from his apartment door to dump the trash. A few minutes later he saw a tall, blond man walk away from the driveway, though no car had come in.
Two
Similar Books
