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“Midway Diner.”
“You and who else?” Alvarez pressed.
“Donny. TJ and Alex O’Hara and Kip, I think. Oh, and Tophman. Bryant Tophman. He was there, too, a little later. Came with Reece and Devlin.”
“Austin Reece and Rod Devlin?” Pescoli clarified.
“Yeah.”
Alvarez gave a quick nod. “The whole gang.”
“Most of us,” he agreed as a crow lit in a scrag of tree nearby and cawed loudly. “Is there anything else? I’ve really got to get back to work. I need this job.”
“Just another couple of quick questions. Is there any chance you’re the father of Destiny’s baby?” Alvarez asked.
Kywin’s lips tightened. “I said we were friends. I didn’t say we were friends with benefits.” When neither cop responded, he added, “We didn’t get it on, okay? Maybe made out a couple of times, but no. Definitely not the father. I thought Donny took a DNA test.”
Alvarez ducked that with, “We’re just ruling out everyone. So, you wouldn’t mind giving a sample?”
“A sample?” He shook his head vehemently.
“Saliva,” Pescoli assured him.
“Oh.” He let out a breath and fished in his pocket for another cigarette. “I thought you meant . . .”
“Yeah, I know what you thought,” she said and smiled inwardly that Kywin had freaked a little at the thought of having to give a sperm sample. Pescoli didn’t like him. Never had. Too cocky.
“No way that kid is mine.”
“Easy to prove.” Pescoli was tired and hot, the back of her blouse starting to stick to her. “Come to the station, give a sample. Do it today.”
“I work,” he complained. As if the rest of the citizens of the world didn’t hold down jobs. The crow, still giving out raw cries, flew off.
“That’s the beauty of the sheriff’s department,” Pescoli said. “We’re open twenty-four-seven.” She eyed him through her shades. “Who do you think could be the father?”
“Donny.”
“Anyone else?”
He screwed up his face. “Destiny . . . got around.”
Pescoli pushed. “So give me another name.”
Anger flashed in his eyes. “How the hell would I know?”
“Gee, I don’t know. Maybe because you’re her friend. Her ‘pro-tector.’”
“I wasn’t her protector. I never called myself anything like that, okay? If I was her damned protector, I did a pretty lousy job of it, didn’t I? She’s dead.” An emotion Pescoli couldn’t name passed behind his eyes. He ran a hand over his head and swiped the beading sweat from his forehead. “Destiny could have hooked up with anybody. She was . . . kinda desperate, put up with Donny’s shit and didn’t like it when he started dating some chick in college, but hell, she wasn’t exactly true-blue, if ya know what I mean.” He jabbed the second cigarette into his mouth and flicked his lighter to the tip, drawing deeply.
Pescoli asked, “So where were you a week ago Friday night?”
“I don’t know. Probably just hangin’ out.” He stared at them through the rising smoke. “Is that when . . . when she died?”
“Was killed,” Pescoli reminded him. “Give us a recap of your weekend.”
“I didn’t kill her!”
“Well, come up with someone else besides Donny.”
