Doyle eased into the conversation by saying, “Sometimes it all comes down to that one person who won’t look the other way.”
The tightness around Hernandez’s eyes softened. “Yes, exactly.” He uncrossed his arms, the defensiveness of his posture melting away as he tucked his hands into his pockets. “You have some firsthand experience in that, Detective?”
“Couch-surfed for a time,” Doyle answered.
“You look like you’ve done all right for yourself.”
“I’m trying.” And just like that, Doyle had connected on the intimate human level that Larkin hated,loathedmost about the job. Doyle had shown his underbelly, his weakness and trauma, so that Larkin didn’t have to. So that they didn’t lose this interview.
Seizing the opportunity to begin anew, Larkin asked, “Are you familiar with your guests on any personal level.”
Hernandez shrugged. “We provide for anyone who walks through our doors. We don’t ask their names, their employment status, or where they live. It’s dehumanizing—to force someone to prove they need a helping hand. Suffice it to say, lining up outside our doors at noon every day but Sunday is enough of a burden on one’s pride.” He looked at Doyle before adding, “But I speak with our guests. I ask how they are, how the food is, if there’s anything I can grab for them, and after a while, yeah. I know their names. I know how far they travel to sit down and eat here. I know about their two jobs and the one-room apartment and Mamá is feeding her family at St. Jude’s this week because it was either groceries or new shoes for the school year.”
Doyle looked at Larkin.
It was obvious—painfully so—who Hernandez wished to speak with, so Larkin nodded in suggestion for Doyle to take point.
Doyle asked, “Do you know an individual who might go by the name Dicky?”
Helpfully, Larkin raised his cell phone and showed Hernandez their composite sketch.
Hernandez looked at the screen and nodded. “Sure. I’ve known Dicky a long time. Since I was a troublemaker myself.”
“Does he visit St. Jude’s?”
Again, Hernandez nodded. “He does.”
“When was the last time you saw him?” Doyle continued.
“I seea lotof people, Detective.”
“Please do your best to approximate,” Larkin interjected.
Hernandez shot him an annoyed look. “I don’t know. A week ago? Two weeks? Something like that.”
“You don’t serve meals on what days,” Larkin asked.
“Only Sunday,” Hernandez confirmed.
“We’re trying to pinpoint the last time Dicky was seen,” Doyle explained. “Any details you can provide would be helpful.”
“Not this week,” Hernandez said. “That I’m confident of.” He smoothed his beard a few times, gaze focusing somewhere over Doyle’s left shoulder as he thought back. “Come to think of it, maybe not last week either….”
“So prior to the weekend of May 9 and 10,” Larkin asked.
“That sounds about right. Dicky doesn’t come every day to begin with, so it’s not strange to only see him once or twice a week.”
“Except it’s been thirteen days,” Larkin said.
Hernandez frowned at him. “I guess it has been. Is he in trouble?”
“We’d like to speak with him,” Doyle answered.
“I can’t help you there. Look, I’m trying to be cooperative. What’s going on? You said you were Cold Cases?”
“That’s correct,” Larkin said. “I’m looking into the unsolved murder of Marco Garcia. He was—”
“Marco?”
