Page 8 of Desperate Creed

“Because you weren’t there?”

“I was in my apartment. We were talking on the phone.”

“Tell me, again, why you think he was assaulted.”

“He said there was a couple of guys. He thought they looked lost, and he dropped the phone. You know, by his side. I could hear him talking to them.”

“What did they say?”

“I couldn’t really hear what they said to Tyler, but his voice started getting sort of agitated. He put up his hand like he was protecting himself. That’s when I heard a pop-pop.”

“Pop-pop?”

“It sounded like a car backfiring but it didn’t look like there was any traffic on the street.”

“What happened after the pop-pop?”

“I saw just a glimpse of Tyler’s face then I think he must have fallen. The phone fell. I could see it falling. I could see the sidewalk.”

“You never saw the men?”

“Just a sliver of one of them.”

“What did he look like?”

“Dark eyes. That’s mostly what I saw. Sort of a hawkish nose.”

“Black, white, old, young?”

“White.” Frankie closed her eyes and struggled to remember. “I was looking at him from an odd angle. From down below, looking up.”

The police officer was nodding, waiting.

“Oh, there was a scar. On his neck.” Frankie’s fingers went to her own, outlining the area. “About two inches, maybe three. Part of it was all knotted, almost like a rope.”

Thankfully, he was writing this down. Everything else on his notepad looked like scratches and doodles.

“You didn’t see any street signs? Nothing familiar in the background?”

“No. There wasn’t anything I recognized.” She didn’t tell him that she hadn’t paid much attention. She was pissed at Tyler for calling that early. She also left out that he’d caught her getting out of the shower and wearing only a towel.

“Your friend, Tyler didn’t say where he was coming from?”

“Just that he had left his friend’s place.”

“What’s his friend’s name?” The detective’s pen hung over the notepad, ready.

“Deacon. Tyler calls him Deacon K. I don’t know if K is his middle initial or the beginning of his last name.”

Frankie saw the detective glance at his wristwatch as he added “Deacon K” to the notepad. There was no urgency.

Or was it possible he just didn’t believe her?

He pulled out a business card and scribbled a phone number on the backside. He handed it across the table to Frankie and said, “If you remember anything else, give me a call.”

“That’s it?” Frankie asked. “Can’t you check if someone reported a man shot?”

“Shot? This is Chicago. Chances are more than one person was shot in the last twenty-four hours.”