“Did you know my sister was last seen in the company of this guy, Scar? His real name is Carlos Perez,” Jericho said.
It was risky bringing up this man’s name if he had the police in his pocket. Bryan had acted like the guy was Bloody Mary or Beetlejuice. Like if the name was said three times, he would appear to wreak havoc. Maybe that was Jericho’s plan. It would be a great way to draw him out, have him focus his attention on them and not on Jericho’s boys.
Vélez frowned, crossing his too-muscular arms over his broad chest until his sweater was clinging for dear life. “Last seen by who?” he asked, suspicious.
“Does it matter?” Jericho countered. It wasn’t like he could tell a cop that their lead had come from his boyfriend’s psychic brother-in-law.
Atticus could feel Vélez’s trepidation grow. “Did somebody come forward? Because we’ve interviewed everybody who was a known associate of your sister.”
“Known associate?” Atticus echoed. “That doesn’t sound like a missing person you’re talking about. That sounds like you’re talking about some kind of criminal mastermind.”
Vélez’s eyes widened. “What?”
Jericho stiffened. “Is that how you see her, Gabe? As a criminal? Another dead junkie?” Jericho asked.
Vélez scanned the parking lot, like he was afraid of being overheard or thought, maybe, somebody watched. “Of course not. That’s not what I meant.”
“So, what did you mean?” Jericho snapped.
Vélez shook his head, once more scanning the parking lot before lowering his voice. “She was hanging around with some really shady people, Jericho. The people we interviewed…friends, acquaintances…they all said the same thing. She liked to party. She liked hooking up with random guys. I know she was your sister and you loved her, but she was no angel.”
Jericho launched himself off the truck. “What the fuck did you just say?”
Atticus shot an arm out to block him from assaulting a police officer in the parking lot of the station before saying, “Wait for me in the car.”
Jericho’s eyes bulged as he looked at Atticus like he’d never seen him before. “What?”
“Wait for me in the car.” When he hesitated, Atticus gave him a gentle shove. “Go.”
Jericho stared at him hard for a solid minute while Atticus prayed he just did as he said without question. Finally, Jericho gave Vélez one more disgusted look, then turned on his heel, punching the hood of the Bronco before he slid into the driver’s seat, seething.
“Wow. You’ve really got him whipped,” Vélez said, glowering at Jericho.
Atticus didn’t pay any attention to Jericho, making Vélez his sole focus. He mirrored his body language, widening his stance and crossing his arms. “Listen, we both know how…emotional he gets over her. Family is never rational. And I get what you’re saying, but can I please ask you a few questions?”
“I don’t even know you. I could lose my job talking about this to you.”
“Would it help at all if I said my father—Thomas Mulvaney—is really good friends with the city commissioner, and I’d be happy to have him relay how helpful and professional you were. Alternatively…” He let the threat hang in the air.
“Thomas Mulvaney is your father?” he asked, like he wasn’t sure if Atticus was full of shit or not.
“Yeah. I’m his eldest son. Look, we both know that this guy is a dead end. Girls like Mercy… They get themselves into trouble all the time. They meet the wrong people, fall for the wrong people, and they end up dead for their trouble. It’s a cold case and it’s going to stay that way, but chasing down these leads makes him feel better.”
Vélez’s shoulders fell, the tension leaving his system. He really thought Atticus was on his side. “I don’t know what he thinks he’s going to find. She ran away eight years ago and somehow wound up OD’ing on some new designer drug. Somebody dumped her in the river. There’s no case here.”
“I know, but it would help me out if you could just give me something?”
“There’s no case here,” he said again, almost to himself. “He needs to understand that.”
Atticus nodded along. “I’ll get him to understand, but it would just go a long way towards helping him clear some things up if you’d just let me ask you some questions?” Atticus said, matching Vélez’s tone.
Vélez took a deep breath and let it out, throwing up his hands. “Yeah, man. Ask your questions,” he said begrudgingly.
“You weren’t the first detective on the case, right?”
Vélez shook his head. “I was still a UC for narcotics back then. I got transferred later. They threw the case at me because I was a newbie and they always throw us the cold ones.”
“How long after the case opened was that? A few years?” Atticus asked.
