“Vaughn,” Clark greeted back.
“Got anything to go on?”
“Not really. A car she might be able to identify. A basic face.”
“A guy with an inverted triangle face, dark eyes, and a previously broken nose,” I repeated, hoping this detective might take me more seriously.
“You saw the car and the shooter?” Vaughn asked.
“Yes. Very briefly, but yes.”
“Would you be able to come down to the station to—”
“She barely had anything to describe,” Clark interrupted.
To that, Vaughn’s gaze cut to Clark, giving me the impression that he wasn’t fond of the guy.Hard to believe.
“What’s your name, hon?” Vaughn asked.
“Gracie.”
“Gracie, would you be willing to talk to a sketch artist? And flip through some car images?”
“Yeah, sure.”
I refrained from glancing over toward where someone was questioning Perish and Matteo Grassi. Some part of me wanted to ask them if it was okay to do those things. I’d been orbiting this world for long enough to know that when it came to issues like this, they generally chose not to involve the police. They almost always wanted to handle justice their own way. After painstakingly looking into the threat.
But the cops had arrived quickly. And, seeing who we were, were just as quick to separate us before we could speak about what to (or not to) say to them.
My dad’s words played in my head from one of the many speeches I’d gotten when growing up about the issue of law enforcement.
“When in doubt, sweetie, be honest but vague until you can talk to one of us. You never want to get caught in a lie. But that doesn’t mean you need to give them the full truth.”
I was going to go ahead and trust those words still held true.
Then, after talking to the mafia and the club, I could decide just how accurate a description I would give to the sketch artist.
“As soon as possible would be best. While the images are still fresh in your mind. Our sketch artist will be in tomorrow, if you’re available.”
“I, uh, yeah. Okay.”
“Great. I think that will be all. Do we have her contact information?” he asked Clark. He got a grumbling answer. Then the two of them both walked away.
I still didn’t dare approach Perish or Matteo.
Instead, I made my way back over toward the catering staff and guests who, I assumed, saw nothing, since they were inside. They were all standing around, faces confused, shifting uncomfortably without anyone to guide them since the police officers walked off to talk to the detectives.
“Is everyone okay?” I asked, gathering up my shaky sense of authority.
Yes, I was good at what I did. But it was really difficult at times for me to see myself as, let aloneactas any sort of leader.
“We didn’t even know anything was happening for a while,” the divorcee admitted. “I mean, we were all really tipsy.”
That was an understatement. When I’d exited, they were all skirting that line between fun tipsy and completely shit-faced.
“And the music was so loud and the… entertainment…” another of the women said, her face flushing lobster-red.
The ‘entertainment’ was still standing in his barely-there thong, not looking the least bothered by his near nudity.
