“Did this guy talk about who he visited?”
“No. Well, maybe. I don’t recall.”
“Could you describe him?”
“Hm. Now, let’s see.” Marcy returned to her inner data bank, a stitch deepening her brows. “Not with any accuracy. He had his hoodpulled up. It was a cold day, but it shadowed his features. I remember trying to pin an age on him, but his face was too obscure.”
“Did he have any unique markings? A mole or visible scar?”
“I told you. I couldn’t see his face.”
“Did he talk with a lisp or have bizarre tics like excessively wetting his lips or cracking his knuckles?”
“He smoked.”
I bit back sarcasm and went with, “Yes, we knew that already.”
“Oh, right. The video.”
“How about tattoos or piercings?”
“No. Like I said—” She jolted upright. “Wait. Wait, yes. Tattoos. On his knuckles. I noticed when he smoked. Awful things. One side saidANTI, the other saidHERO. They looked…” Shetsked. “Unprofessional. Not that tattoos ever look professional. He also wore a fidget ring on the index finger of his left hand. It covered theHin hero, but I could still make it out. On the bus, he spun the ring endlessly. Round and round like he was nervous. It caught my attention.”
“A fidget ring. What’s that?”
“It has an outer band that spins around the stationary inner band. His was braided. The outer part. It’s a tactile thing. People use the rings for stress relief. ADHD. They help with anxiety and restlessness. Smokers and nail-biters in particular use them because it gives them something to do with their hands.”
Marcy spread her fingers on the table, yellow nicotine stains coloring the cuticles. “I should get one. Aaron’s been telling me to quit smoking for years. I picked it back up again after his father left. Forty years without a cigarette, thenbam. Like I never quit. I started back in high school. In college—”
“What color?” I interrupted. I had no desire to walk down memory lane with Marcy. I had my own issues with addiction.
“I’m sorry? Color?”
“The ring. Was it silver? Gold?”
“Oh. The braided part was blue. The exterior was black. I don’t think it was valuable. Cheap cosmetic jewelry. You know the type. He seemed nervous. Buzzing on the inside. I wanted to ask if everything was okay, but it wasn’t my place.”
Tallus set the iPad on the table. He’d found a bus map and zoomed it in on the route between Evergreen and Islington Station. “Can you give us an idea where his stop might have been? Ballpark, even.”
Marcy studied the map for a moment before indicating a general area. “Somewhere in here. The stop was right outside his building. Like I said, he got off and went directly inside before we pulled away. It was a two-story brown brick structure. Not in great shape. The paint around the window frames was flaking and peeling. It had a black wrought iron railing leading to the front door. A few steps up to a cement porch.
“The basement entrance was off to the side. In the bay window, someone had hung a flag instead of a curtain. I don’t know what it represented. It was orange and… not a country flag, but for sports, I think. Football maybe? Not a team I recognized. It had an animal on it. I can’t remember what kind. With teeth. A lion? A tiger? Gosh, I’m not very helpful.”
“You’ve been exceptionally helpful.” Tallus took the iPad back and drew up a Google map, zeroing in on the area Marcy had indicated. He zoomed in, focusing on a four-block radius.
I dug a card from my wallet and slid it across the table. “If you remember anything else, give us a call.”
14
Tallus
In the Jeep, I directed Diem where to drive. The heavy morning traffic had cleared, but not enough for Diem to coast slowly by as I scrutinized houses. It didn’t help that once we were in the right area, all the structures mirrored one another and were in a similar state of disrepair, matching Marcy’s vague description.
On the third pass through the neighborhood in question, as Diem seemed primed to tell me to forget it, I spotted a brownstone that met the criteria. “Whoa! There. Stop. I think I see it.”
He didn’t stop—couldn’t with the flow of traffic—but turned down the next side street, circling the block. Locating a parking space a short way down the road, Diem pulled over and put the Jeep in park.
We studied the complexes, and I pointed to one several car-lengths away. “There. That one. See the flag in the window? Orange, like she said. No teeth on that animal, and it’s definitely not a lion or tiger, but close enough, right? How many orange flags are there in windows in this area? Plus, I saw basement access and a wrought iron railing.”
