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“You’re a pain in my ass.” Digging a hand into my back pocket, I take out my wallet and search for cash. “I paid the last one.”
“You’ll pay ‘emall,for all I care.” Shedding a little of the anger he felt during our talk of rats and cops and internal affairs, Fletch reaches back to take out his wallet. He fans it open and makes a show of waving a hand over the top. “I got moths and condoms. What about you?”
“I’ve got a freeloader.” I take out a twenty and shove it toward Alastair. “I don’t have a five. But I’ll get more out when Fletch buys your lunch.”
At that, Alastair’s eyes swing to my partner in expectation.
It takes Fletch a moment to notice, and then another to understand and put his useless wallet away. “Yes, fine. I’ll buy you lunch. Fuck. Give us what we need so we can move along.”
Folding the twenty with careful movements, Alastair palms the small square and slips his hands back into his ratty pockets. “The guy wanted to know someplace private.”
“So you sent him two hundred yards that way?” I nod toward my crime scene.
He shakes his head. “I told him to go back to his place or get a hotel, because a person is more likely to catch Hep C down here. Not love.”
“Still, he brought her?”
Alastair turns back to the water and throws his pebble. “I said how there’s a pier they could at least sit on. He didn’t want that. Said he didn’t want anything public. He didn’t wanna be interrupted. So I said how around there,” now he nods toward my crime scene, “is quiet, and because there’s nothing there to break the wind, no one sleeps up there at night.”
He brings his gaze back to us. “Guy liked that and asked me to show him exactly where. So I did. That was a week ago, and he gave me ten bucks for my time.” Bending at the waist, Perrone picks up another pebble and tosses it. “I didn’t think of him again until cops started turning up. Some of the other guys I know happened to catch a little bit of the news, so the girl’s death was the big talk around the bay after that.”
“Can you describe him?” Fletch bends too, and collects a rock to roll in his hands. “Young or old? Big, small, short, tall?”
“Mm. Dark hair. Almost black, but I think it’s maybe more of a really dark brown. Dark eyes, too. He’s kinda small.” Pausing, he looks back to us and glances up. “Taller than me, but shorter than you. He’s skinnier, too. Like, little spaghetti arms and bony shoulders.”
“Tattoos?” I ask. “Scars? Jewelry?”
He shakes his head. “None of that. He was just… a normal-lookin’ guy, but, ya know, normal for the club scene.”
I fold my arms across my chest and narrow my gaze. “How do you mean the club scene?”
“Like, dark features, dark makeup, dark clothes. Those types of people.”
“He wore makeup?” Fletch demands.
“No, I just meant he’slikethose types. He wore jeans and a hoodie last week. And yesterday, he wore jeans and a button-up shirt.”
My head snaps up faster than my brain can formulate thoughts. “Yesterday? You saw him again yesterday?”
“Oh yeah. He was down here about the same time the media got here. And Ms. London? The hottie reporter? He was looking at her, but I didn’t see if she saw him.”
Fletcher’s eyes swing across to me. “Maybe our perp’s gonna accidentally get some time on the news. We gotta see that footage.” He takes out his phone before I think to tell him to. “Gotta ask for the stuff that didn’t make it to the air, too.”
“Would you be willing to talk to our composite artist?” I step forward as Fletch moves away with his phone pressed to his ear. “Perrone?”
I drag his curious gaze back to me. “I’ll get you another fifty and a hot dinner if you commit the rest of your day to this. We have a sketch artist down at the station trained to talk to witnesses like you and draw what you saw.”
“But I…” He scowls. “I’m not good at drawing.”
“You don’t draw. He does. You just tell him what you remember.”
“But I don’t… I don’t know how to say he has eyes except to say he has eyes.”
“That’s McNamara’s job. He’s done all this fancy FBI training to learn how to get what he needs. In the end, you’ll have a face to show me, plus two hot meals and a little cash on top.”
When Alastair’s eyes move to Fletch, who paces twenty feet away, I grab his arm and bring him back to me. “That guy you spoke to murdered two women, Mr. Perrone. He’s gonna get more if we don’t stop him. All you have to do is spend a few hours with my colleague, and you’ll have potentially saved lives.”
“But I—”
