Parsons and Hewitt exchanged looks, but Parsons took the phone, thumbing through it.
“I would avoid the gallery unless you want an intimate look at my body.”
Hewitt flushed but said nothing.
“Javier de la Fuente,” Parsons said. “Why’s that name sound familiar?”
Before Bowie could tell the man to fuck off, Hewitt said, “He’s a victim’s rights advocate,” Hewitt said. “He’s here all the time. The outreach project. Holds the kids hands when they testify. Pam’s boys.”
Parsons nodded like that was the end of it. Weird. Who was Pam? Her name sounded familiar. Had Javier mentioned her before? Was that the end of Javier as a suspect? Jesus, this was stressful.
“What about this text from an unknown number.” Bowie frowned, taking back his phone as he read the text, his heart sinking.
Heading out of town for a family emergency. I have some friends keeping an eye on you. Don’t be scared. See ya soon, angel.It wasn’t Javier’s number, but those were definitely his words.
Still, he shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe it’s a wrong number. I used to get them all the time. I have a shitty cell company. They recycle numbers.”
They knew he was lying, but there was nothing they could do. “The secret service is going to go through your whole life with a fine-tooth comb,” Parsons said.
“Great, they won’t find anything because I didn’t do anything. I’m a ballet dancer. Do you really think I somehow figured out how to murder three people?”
“Two people,” Hewitt said. “The third man lived.”
“Oh, well, that’s good, I guess,” Bowie muttered. “Either way, I have nothing to hide. I just want my fucking life back.”
The two detectives looked at each other, then at Bowie. “Alright. That’s it for now. I’m sure you’ll be called in to answer questions at a later date. Don’t leave town,” Parsons said.
Bowie almost laughed at that last part. He didn’t know cops actually said that to suspects in real life. Where would he go?
Once they were outside, Odette walked to her car, but Bowie hesitated, looking down at his phone. He needed to talk to Javier. But if the cops really were going to go over his life with a fine-tooth comb, they’d see him going to Javier’s apartment straight from the station. Or maybe he was just being paranoid.
“What’s wrong?”
“I need you to drop me somewhere. Can you do that?”
Odette frowned. “Drop you where?”
“Just…a place. Can police trace a phone if it’s off?”
“Bowie, is there something you want to tell me?”
Bowie looked her dead in the eye. “Odette, is there something you want to ask me?”
She stared at him hard for a whole minute. “They can’t trace our phones if they’re off.”
“Won’t that be kind of sus?” he asked.
“It’s three in the morning, and we’ve been trapped at the station for hours. It’s not unreasonable to think our phones died. And my car is too old for navigation or tracking systems. Good thing my Fitbit didn’t go with this outfit, or I’d have to find an excuse to chuck that, too,” she said with a laugh. “Get in and tell me where I’m going.”
Once they were on the move, Bowie chewed his bottom lip until it was raw. Javier had killed two people and injured another. There was no question about that. He’d done it. He’d essentially told Bowie that just hours ago and he’d willfully ignored the obvious.
Did that make him an accessory? Did he care? No matter how wrong murder was on paper, the relief of knowing he’d never have to see Giordano’s face again was enough to leave him breathless. It didn’t lessen what the man had done to him, but it made it seem more like a footnote now instead of a whole chapter. How did you repay somebody for giving you your life back?
"You don’t have to wait for me,” he said once they reached Javier’s place.
“I’m going to anyway.”
“I’ll be quick,” he promised.
