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Delgado nodded. “What kinds of stuff did you steal?”
Finn flinched a little at the word “steal.” But he nodded and went on. “Riley got a brand-new Walkman. It was a real big deal to him, he always had it on him. Fuckin’ loved music, all the time. And you know. Clothes, cool shoes, and like Hustler?” He shrugged. “Stuff kids would take. You know.”
“Did Riley have any other friends?” Delgado asked. “Maybe a girlfriend?”
Finn gave a snort of amusement. “Oh, man, a girlfriend? Not Riley. He totally was a player. I mean, he had a line of bullshit like you never— Shit, Riley could talk a nun out of her panties.”
“Never somebody special?”
“Naw, not Riley,” Finn said. “Strictly flavor of the week. And every week, right? I never got how— I mean, there was just something about Riley. What, charm? I guess so. He could turn it on and the chicks were just crazy, did whatever he wanted.”
“Any other friends?” Delgado prompted. “Or just the three of you?”
“Just us,” Finn said. “I mean, we was pretty tight, but . . . I dunno. It was always like, I mean, we knew Riley was like, you know. We did what he wanted?”
“Do you know where he went when he moved away from Watertown?”
Finn shook his head energetically. “No. Naw. Uh-uh. It was weird, like—one day they was just gone. Never a word, nothing.”
“Did he ever say where he lived before Watertown?” Delgado asked.
Finn shrugged. “Naw, he didn’t say shit about that—and after he beat the shit out of Cal Simpkins in homeroom, we didn’t ask, neither.” Finn frowned. “I dunno, though. Once or twice he said stuff, like—I mean, he’d say, like, ‘Y’all coming?’ Like a hillbilly or something.” He snorted. “His mother was worse. She was like Gone with the Wind, you know?”
“You met Riley’s mother?”
Finn shrugged. “Couple times, you know. I’d stop by their place to pick him up. Once or twice we stopped at the Friendly’s when she was working, waiting tables, and we’d stop to, you know. So Riley could talk to her, maybe give her a few bucks or somethin
’.” He shrugged again.
“Do you know what her name was?” Delgado asked. “His mother’s first name?”
“Uh, lessee, yeah, you know—I mean, she had a name tag on her waitress uniform? So . . . Shirley? Somethin’ like—no, wait, Sheila. Yeah, that’s it.”
“Sheila?”
“Absolutely.”
Delgado nodded. “So Riley was close to his mother?”
Finn snorted. “Sick close. Like she was the girlfriend that gave the best head in—” He jerked to a stop, looked at Delgado, and actually blushed. “I mean, you know,” he finished lamely. “They were real tight.”
Delgado nodded encouragingly. “He was closer to her than most guys are to their mothers,” he said.
Relieved, Finn nodded vigorously. “Yeah, that’s it, you know. It seemed funny, a guy that hung up on his mother, that’s all.” He smiled and shook his head. “But hey, believe me, nobody ragged him about it. I mean, all the girls he got? Nobody would even think about he was gay or anything.”
“And the mother had a strong Southern accent,” he said. “Any guess what part of the South?”
“Naw, who can tell?” Finn said. “But you know, totally Southern. No doubt.”
Delgado nodded. He knew very well that most people couldn’t tell a South Georgian from an Appalachian accent. For now he was satisfied to know that Riley was from somewhere in the South. It wasn’t much, but more than he’d had. He had one more question, something Finn should know. “You said you stopped by his place. Where did Riley live?” Delgado asked.
“What—you mean, uh—like, here? When he—in high school?”
“Yes,” Delgado said.
Finn shook his head sadly. “Beat-to-shit old trailer, maybe a mile down Evans Road—it’s out by the airport? Practically at the end of the runway.” He snorted. “Piece-of-shit dump. All they could afford.”
“Is it still there?”
