“Thanks.” I tap her desk and keep on walking, leading Rose through a labyrinth of halls and desks butted up against each other. Filing cabinets overflowing with paperwork that probably should’ve been digitized a decade ago. Gym bags with the Love & War logo hang from the backs of chairs, proof that half of Plainview’s police force—those not in their sixties already—pump weights at Tommy and Chris’ gym.
Spotting Billy at his desk, I lower my arm from Rose’s shoulders, but I keep her hand in mine, then I take the lead and shield her from his beady stare until he’s had a chance to fix it.
He’s always a cranky bastard. Always pissed off at the world.
Pissed off at me.
The least I can do is walk in front and take the brunt of his bullshit.
“Billy.” I dip my chin and look at the next desk along. “Ramone. Where is he?”
“Interview room.” Billy pushes up from his chair and steps around to face Rose, digging his thumbs into his pockets and pasting on a fake-ass smile. “Hope we didn’t inconvenience you too much, Ms. Do?—”
“Her name is Rose.” I drag her closer, stopping only when her hip touches mine. “Not Jane. Not Doe. She doesn’t like it.”
Silence hangs heavy for a beat. Old grudges. Then acceptance. “Fine.” The muscle in Billy’s jaw is all the nod we’ll get. “Fair enough. We know it’s late, and we’re pretty damn sure this ain’t nothing but a load of bovine shit wrapped in flower petals, but it wouldn’t be right to dismiss him without running it by you first.”
Rose gulps, and her eyes flicker toward a closed door. It’s the storage closet door, not the interview room. But she couldn’t possibly know that, and I’m not inclined to correct her out loud. “Y-you want me to go in and see him?”
“Actually… we had an idea we wanted to try out.” Ramone stops beside his partner, then gestures to the right. “You wanna come on in and check him out through the one-way glass first?” He walks ahead of us, opening a door and holding it wide for the rest of us to pass. “He can’t see you. He can’t hear you. You can take a peek without worrying about him knowing about it.” Then he looks at Billy. “I’ll go get her. Let me know when you’re ready.”
Billy nods and closes the door, leaning back against it and crossing his ankles as casually as the uptight prick can manage. Folding his arms, he tips his chin toward the glass. “Take a look at him. His face. His eyes. He’s a restless fella, and he’s gotten up and paced the room every five minutes since he was put in there, so if you wait a minute, you’ll be able to see his gait, too.”
“I don’t think…” Rose releases my hand and approaches the glass. Her eyes are narrowed, her shoulders are bowed. She tilts her head one way. Then the other. “I don’t think I recognize him.”
“Dusty Pertkey. Thirty-seven years old, father to seven, ranging from fourteen years to fourteen months. Married, divorced, and married the same broad a second time. When he’s not with her, he’s banging the other mother of his children. He has no career to speak of, unless you consider being a loser a job. Smokes a pack a day, and his voice is worse for wear because of it. He doesn’t smile much, but when he does, he’s missing half his teeth, and the few he has are yellower than an aging banana. Known to enjoy the crack pipe every now and then, but I called the cops over in his town, and they say he’s more of a stoner than anything else. Harmless… ish. Though he’s tuned his wife up a time or two.”
“What town?” Rose glances over her shoulder. “He traveled here for this?”
“Small town, kinda like this one about three hours east. He rolled up in his unregistered, uninsured, busted to hell and back station wagon, running on fumes and hopes and dreams. Doubt he has enough money or gas for the return trip. He’s held alotof different jobs over the years—for a short time each—but they were all blue-collar positions. Mechanic. Tire fitter. Warehousing. Forklift driver. If he didn’t quit because it was,” he raises his hands, “quote, unquote,bullshit work that didn't pay what was fair, then he was fired for some kind of misconduct. Stealing from the boss. Sleeping on the job. Turning up high. That sorta stuff.”
Thoughtful, Rose goes back to studying Dusty as, right on cue, he lurches up from his chair and runs his hands through a dirty mullet. Pacing, he mumbles under his breath. Something aboutthis is taking forever.
“What time did he show up?” I dig my hands into my pockets and wander forward, stopping beside Rose. “He been here awhile?”
“Got here around five. Probably thought we run on banking hours, so if he turned up on the hour, we might be less inclined to do our homework and just write his reward check real quick.”
“There is no reward,” Rose murmurs. “No one ever said anything about a reward.”
“No one ever said dipshits like that have brains either.” He foldshis arms and exhales noisily. Heavily. “I’ve checked his records from top to bottom, and I talked to the detectives over in his little town to get a feel for who he is. They saw the thing on the news, too, and they’re saying he’s full of shit. No one at the station recognizes you as a local, but they know every time Dusty farts a little too loud. They’re calling bullshit; you ain’t his, you’ve never been in their town, as far as they know, and this ain’t his first financial con, according to them. He wrapped chains around an ATM a few years back, tied the other end to a bike.” He scratches his jaw, chuckling. “Bicycle. Not a motorcycle. The dumb shit didn’t move the ATM a single inch, but he got jail time for it anyway, and still claims it was everyone else’s fault. Nevertheless…” He drops his hand. “It wouldn’t have been right to send him away till you got a peek.”
Frowning, Rose swallows and studies him. “Do you want me to go in and talk to him? To ask him how he supposedly knows me?”
“Actually, Ramone and I were thinkin’ to send Tania in. She’s about your age, your height, same color hair.” He shrugs. “See how he responds.” He pushes away from the door, twists and opens it just an inch, then he murmurs something to whoever is on the other side, before closing it again and meandering across the room to stand on my right.
In the next room, a knock on the door brings Dusty swinging around, eyes wide and lips parted. Fast as a whip, he dashes back to his chair, like he thinks he’ll get in trouble if he’s not where they put him. The legs scrape the floor, the whole structure tilts backwards, forcing him to clap his hands to the table for balance. Then he straightens his spine and pastes on the kindest smile he can summon.
Rose trembles beside me, shivering as the door opens and Ramone strolls in with Tania a single step behind. I press my hand to her back, my fingers curled around her ribs, and the pad of my thumb running soft, rhythmic strokes along her spine.
Appreciative, she brings emotional eyes up to mine.
“Two minutes,” I whisper. “Then we’re leaving. He’s wasting our time.”
She nods, short and sharp and dripping with relief. Then she leans against my side and releases a pent-up breath, shattering my heart because she’s so fucking brave and vulnerable and hurting, all at once.
Tania isn’t usually shy. She’s young and fun and a regular down at Darlene’s bar every other weekend. But she puts on a show for Dusty, her eyes on the floor, her shoulders bowed, and her hands clasped together.
“Ms. Doe?” Ramone plays his part, too, turning back and scooping his arm under Tania’s. “Do you recognize this man?”
