“I don’t think you should be on the streets.”
I can feel my jaw spasming. At this rate, I’m going to need to see a dentist sooner than later. “I’ll be fine.”
“You were assaulted last night, and then your assailant was found dead on your doorstep less than twelve hours later.” At least he doesn’t bother beating around the bush. “Maybe you should take the rest of the day.”
I press my lips together and pretend to capitulate. “Fine, sure. See you tomorrow.”
“See ya,” Cuccinelli calls.
I duck out of the station and brace myself against the chill. The air bites my cheeks, and the wind sweeps up the sidewalks, sending crumpled take-out cups and newspapers tumbling into the gutter.
Across the street, a black town car is idling at the curb. I’ve been seeing them everywhere, but now the man behind the wheel looks familiar.
I stride down to the crosswalk and hustle to beat the light. A speeding yellow taxi swerves to avoid me and honks.
By the time I reach the other side of traffic, the black car has pulled away. I bite back a curse. Black town cars, strange feelings of being watched. . . I’m on the brink of something. I just need to pull the threads together.
“Ramos?” Diego Silva walks up from a coffee cart with a fresh cup of what must be his favorite chai. He stops and scans me. “You look like you’ve been through the wringer.”
“Yeah, it’s been a day.”
“Detectives Diaz and Jacobs are good. They’ll do this by the book.” His soothing tone sets my teeth on edge.
“They just finished questioning me.”
“Routine. They’ll clear you.”
I hunch into my jacket. It’s early October, and the weather is considered mild, but to my coastal California-tempered skin, anything below sixty degrees is winter. I’m wrapped in my heaviest coat and still shivering. “They’re shutting me out.”
“You wanna work your own case?”
A jogger trots by, her cheeks flushed from the cold. I wait until she’s out of earshot before saying, “What would you want if it happened to you?”
He curses. I’ve got him. “The vic’s name was Joseph Daniels. Went by Joey. Age twenty-six.”
My age.
“A tweaker,” I say.
“He was on something, yeah. Blood work should come back in a few weeks. Autopsy is scheduled for Monday.”
That’s the difference between my case and a multi-millionaire’s. Money greases the wheels and gets things expedited through the backlogged labs.
“They’re still interviewing the neighbors, but no one saw anything. By lividity, we can guess the vic was killed in the middle of the night and dumped before dawn.”
“And no one saw a thing? What about whoever lives next to me?”
“The unit next to yours is empty.”
“Really?” I could’ve sworn there were lights on at some point. And someone put birdseed in the bird feeder.
Maybe it was the landlord?
“Have you ever seen anyone there?” Silva asks, just like Diaz and Jacobs did in my interview earlier yesterday.
“No. And before I found the body, I was sleeping—totally out of it.” But I woke up with the feeling that someone had been there. A feeling strong enough to make me reach for my gun and clear each room.
Was my subconscious trying to tell me something?
