“Valentine,” Torres called, jogging up with a last look toward the church.“We’ll hold the scene till your techs arrive.Park’s coming with you—she made the IDs on the list, she should be in the room when we make the calls.”She glanced up at the tower, then back.“Guy knows the layout like he was born in it.”
“Or taught,” Kate said.
Kate pulled the car door open.Tommy stared at his knees like they had answers.As she slid in beside him, the bell tower’s shadow fell across the windshield.For a heartbeat, the silhouette looked like a hand raised in blessing.Or warning.
“Let’s go,” she said.
The car eased from the curb.The church receded in the mirror.The night gathered itself and got on with being night.Up ahead, the precinct’s lights would be too bright for the hour and not bright enough for what waited under them.
In the back seat, Tommy stared at his cuffed hands and said nothing at all.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
The interview room had the acoustics of a tin can — every scrape of chair-leg exaggerated, every breath recorded by the ceiling mic.Tommy stared at the one-way glass as if he could see through it, wiry body perched on the edge of the chair, fingers worrying the paper cup like it might confess before he did.
Marcus set a folder down, sat opposite, left the chair’s back legs just off the floor so it creaked when he moved.He didn’t look at the glass.He looked at Tommy.“Let’s start simple,” he said, voice even.“Full name?”
“Tommy.”
“Last name.”
A beat.“People call me Tommy.Buthecalls me Man Friday.”
“Who’s he?”
Marcus waited.The ceiling vent made a patient hiss.
“I’m Tommy Rodrigues,” he muttered finally.“With a ‘s’.”
“Age?”
“Forty-one, maybe?”
“And you were sleeping in the church.”
“I’m watching the place,” Tommy said quickly, as if that part he knew how to say.“Keeping it from gettingtripped.Kids’ll rip the copper out if you let ’em.The Reverend, he—”
“Is he the one who calls you Man Friday?”Marcus asked.
Tommy’s gaze skittered to the door, then to the cup again.“I’m innocent,” he blurted.
“Of what?”
“Whatever it is you say I did.”
Marcus stifled a smile.“What about trespass?”
“I just—” Tommy lifted both hands, a reflex surrender.Dirt rimmed the nails; the skin was rough from cold.“I use the church for shelter.That’s all.”
“You ran,” Marcus said.
“Yeah, because you came at me,” Tommy said, a flash of temper.“Big guys in coats, I thought you were—”
“Gang-bangers or junkies,” Marcus finished, bored.“We’ve heard that one.We identified ourselves.”
“I didn’t hear you.”
“You heard enough to head for the side door.”
