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“I refuse to let you make me feel bad when I’m doing the dirty work on the street,” I comment. “You’re the one who gets to sit in his nice cozy apartment and go over security cam footage.”
“It’s a thankless job.”
I scoff. “Then don’t expect thanks from me.”
We’ve reached a sort of impasse in terms of today’s argument but things will blow over in a few hours. Especially when Devan grabs the car keys and jerks his head for me to follow him to the lead’s house.
“I’ve sent the clip to your email,” Devan says on our way to the car. “Take a look and see what you think.”
I’m still in my gym clothes but throw on an overly large button-up shirt to cover the sweat-stained tank. A quick ponytail adjustment and a check to make sure I’ve got what I need for my gun before I’m sliding into the passenger seat.
“The time stamp is only a few minutes before the coroner’s supposed time of death,” I comment, playing the video from my cell. “Is that why you think this is the last man to see our vic alive?” He’s large, but even from the video I can tell it’s not Gabriel. I’m not sure whether to feel relieved or not.
“That and a few other things,” Devan says, unnaturally cagey.
The footage shifts so that the man’s face is clearly visible, a greasy-looking Italian mobster thug type who smacks our vic’s ass and lingers a little too long outside a tattoo parlor. Men like this, who think that making women uncomfortable in public is hot…make me sick.
Devan drives to our lead’s house in a surprisingly nice neighborhood. Here there are cute little storefronts lovingly tended. There are restaurants and churches and, Christ, even a dance studio. We pull to a stop in front of a white colonial type with a single white marble statue in the walkway.
“Keep your cool,” Devan reminds me.
And because I’d been a little harsh with him, a little cruel, I let it slide.
“I’m…sorry for earlier,” I say.
Devan doesn’t respond until we’re both out of the car and on the walkway toward the house. Then he clasps my shoulder and replies, “I can take it.”
But he shouldn’thaveto take it.
I’m a big girl and I should be able to handle myself and my mental issues. Game faces are on in our next breath, a flow and a dance we’ve done so many times before, and Devan reaches out to throw a dark fist against the door.
Our lead, twenty-six-year-old Mario Martinello, answers but the door only opens as far as the chain on the lock.
“Yeah?” he snaps.
“If you don’t open the door then I’m going to have to break it down.” Only Devan can manage to make his threat conversational as both of us hold up our badges in tandem.
The greaseball looks ready to say something nasty to Devan, which he’ll regret sooner than later when I break his arm, before his gaze falls on me. He stares me up and down before the greaseball licks his lips and closes the door to unlatch it.
“Fine, sure,” he replies lightly. “Anything I can do for Empire Bay’s finest.”
He steps back to let us inside and slicks a hand over his hair, pushing it away from his face. The motion doesn't make him look any better. If anything, it exposes more of his pockmarked skin, and his smile shows me nothing but cracked and yellow canines.
Devan stops in the hallway, unwilling to go any farther, and Mario gestures for us to follow him into the living room. A black-and-red-checked sofa is pushed up against one of the walls and a giant flat screen television takes up most of the opposite wall.
“What can I do for you?” Mario asks.
Devan slides his badge back into the pocket of his jacket. “We’ve got a few questions for you, Mr. Martinello.”
We roll through the standard questions of where, when, why, how. Doing our best to get Mario to spill without us giving too much away. Eventually, we hit gold and the truth.
“Yeah, Candy was my Sub.” Mario looks at me as he speaks. “One of many. You ladies usually don’t like stopping once you’ve had a Daddy like me.”
I almost put him in his place, bloodlust rising inside of me and my hands itching for awesome split knuckles as long as Mario looks worse, but Devan steps in.
“You were the last to see her alive,” he continues.
I want to disembowel Mario when he laughs. “So that’s why she’s not returning any of my calls. Hadn’t seen her for a while, thought she ran. She was spooked about something.” He studies his nails. “Didn’t want to go back to our spot, you know? Figured she just wanted a relationship and when she couldn’t get me tied down, she took off.”
