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Domino looked exhausted. He had a pink hairband holding up a mop of messy brown hair, and his light blue eyes looked like they were working overtime to keep his eyelids up.
“Do you always hang out in police station lobbies… waiting rooms? I don’t know what the fuck this is. Receptacle?”
“I’ll make this quick,” I said, reading Domino’s body language, which was saying “I want to get the fuck out of here.” “Where and when did you find Hank?”
“This morning, when I went to his house. He wasn’t answering any calls or texts. He’s done that before, gone off on monthlong retreats and shit, but this was different. I figured I should go and check on him. That’s when I found him next to his pool.”
“Was there any signs of breaking in? Doors unlocked?”
Domino shook his head. “Nah, I have a key.”
That made Charlie and me both perk up. “A key? Hank gave you a key to his house?”
The exhaustion must have been making Domino’s lips a little looser than normal. He pulled out a lone brass key and held it up in the air, his teal-painted nails popping against the metal. “Hank and I had a thing going, all right? It was all hush-hush. Nothing too serious. Not because he was in the closet but because he didn’t want to be seen with one of his dancers.” Domino huffed a sad laugh. “Always a fucking worried prick. A really great guy, don’t get me wrong. Just wish he wasn’t so scared of how other people saw him. Guess none of it matters now.” He dropped his head and put his arms behind his back.
That was all news to me, and judging by the expression on Charlie’s face, news to him, too. I filed it away and lined up my next question. “How did you find him?”
“Sprawled out, naked, and dead. He had a needle stuck in his arm and a bag of drugs next to him…” Domino winced and rubbed his eyes shut. “Fuck. I’ve never seen a dead body before. Not like—not like in real life. It’s… fuck. The cops said it was heroin, but… I don’t know.”
“What? What are you thinking?” I asked, recognizing a thread and not wanting to let it fall. I could tell Domino had wanted to say something but held it back, and those were usually the biggest nuggets of information.
“Hank’s used drugs, but never heroin. He’s explicitly stayed away from the stuff after he lost his little brother to an OD. I just didn’t think he’d ever use it. No, no, I know he would never use it.”
That was definitely a huge chunk of valuable info. It wouldn’t be unheard of for someone to lie about their drug usage, or even OD on their first time of trying it. But something was telling me that this wasn’t the case here. Maybe Hank’s resolve broke and he decided to follow his brother’s steps, or maybe there was something else going on here.
“And there was something else, too. The needle was in Hank’s left arm. But Hank’s left-handed… The detail really stuck with me.”
And it was a detail that would stick with me, too. “Really good observation, Domino. I’m sorry you had to be the one to find him, but I am glad you’re able to tell me this. Was there anything else that struck you as weird?”
He shook his head and said that he hadn’t seen anything else. I could tell there was still shock coloring his memories, and maybe over time things might pop up for him. For now, though, I didn’t want to push too hard. Domino’s yawn nearly cracked his jaw in half. I realized I should put an end to this impromptu interview before the guy passed out. “All right, Domino, I think you’ve helped out more than enough for today. Go get some rest. It’s going to take some time to process all this, so use that time.”
He nodded, rubbing the back of his neck. “Do you—you don’t think this was anything more than an OD, right?”
“Honestly, I don’t know. I do know one thing, though: I need to see that damn police report. I want to know if they dusted for fingerprints, interviewed neighbors, checked cameras.”
Domino gave another huff. “Good luck with that. Everyone inside this building is a walking asshole. And not even a cute one. A prolapsed one. With boils and shit. No one in there seems to care about Hank or what happened.” He rolled his eyes and started to walk away, tossing a hand over his shoulder as a goodbye. Something glinted on the dirty floor by my feet, which I quickly bent down and grabbed. “You know where to find me if you need me,” he said, shouting over the still-arguing lobster fisherman, both of them sporting cuts and scrapes from whatever drunk-driving accident they had been in.
