The wide-eyed kid nods. “Okay. I understand but as I already told the police, I never left any package for the dead lady.”
“How did it end up in her apartment?” I fire off the first question.
The man reddens but with no sign of deception as he stares straight into his laptop. “I have no idea but it didn’t come from me. Check my logs. I’m the one who reported the box was missing. Ask anyone. I am fucking good at my job.”
I believe him but need to be sure. “Could you lift your hands in front of the screen please?”
“What for?” The kid’s mouth drops open in one pane while Andy frowns in another.
In the one on the far left, Sam jumps in to explain. “The AI app can tell if his match the killer’s.”
The driver nods, chin bobbing. “It’s okay, Mr. Quinn. I didn’t do nothing wrong.”
“Hold on.” Andy’s fingers fly across the keyboard and stop. “Jason, could two people have the exact same hand measurements?”
“No.”
The lawyer’s not convinced. “What about when wearing gloves?”
“The comparison would not be accurate.” Today, Jason has opted for his original geeky glasses look.
Andy frowns as our witness waves his fingers at the camera. “Mr. Benitez, the police may arrest you if you’re a match.”
“But if I’m not, I’m off the hook, right?” His eyes dart about, then seem to land on Suds when he answers.
“Yes.”
“Let’s do it.” The driver holds his hand in front of his screen until the typing noise stops.
Emotionless, the avatar states his decree. “The proportions are not the same.”
I smile and shoot Sam a wink because I already decided it wasn’t him and wouldn’t want to argue with the machine.
“I told you. We did good, right Mr. Quinn?” The kid fist pumps the air.
“Perfect.” Andy smiles but it disappears when the kid’s worried brows lift.
“You’ll tell my boss I cooperated, won’t you?”
“Sure thing.” I give him a thumbs up, shut down the meeting, and immediately Andy calls back bouncing a baby on his lap.
Leaning in, eyes misty, Sam coos at the infant and my heart does a double-take. Damn, I’d love to make babies with her. Quinn, tilts his head with a half-smile, letting us see his thoughts.
The moment over, he dons his poker face and gets to the reason he called. “There were two other murders. Do we know if those victims had packages stolen?”
I follow his line of questioning. “Yeah but each had different drivers, different carriers… I figure the killer stole the boxes off their trucks.”
“Why do I feel we’re back where we started?” Sam sighs and shakes her head.
“Okay, boys and girls, let me know if there’s anything else I can do.” After Andy hangs up, she places a sauce pot on the stove, adds olive oil, and drops in a raw tortilla.
Cringing, I almost hate to ask. “What ya makin’?”
“Tacos but I think these are stale.” She hands me her cellphone playing a cooking video. “They’re supposed to sizzle.”
My poor domestically challenged babe.“Want help?”
When she nods, I grab a fry pan out of the cabinet, splash in a dab of peanut oil, and turn up the heat. Once it’s real warm, I slide in the corn shell.
