The man appeared a little confused, then looked around the place to see that no one was flagging him. He hesitantly sat down.
Brodie fitted his mouthpiece on the hose and took a long drag. The rush of tobacco gave him a nice buzz and a little jolt of energy to counteract the beer and cognac.
Brodie offered the hose to Taylor, who shook her head; then he held it out to the young man, who smiled and said, “No, please. But thank you, sir.”
Brodie extended his hand. “Name’s Jack.”
The man shook his hand. “Faruk.”
Taylor extended her hand and they shook. “Lisa.”
Brodie gave Faruk the same spiel about them being concerned friends of the murdered American, whose movements they were attempting to retrace for his family. Faruk seemed to react to this line of bullshit a little differentlythan the guys at the Islamic center, or the teen and the Vietnamese woman at the noodle shop. He looked nervous. Tense.
“I am sorry about your friend. But I think you should maybe talk to my uncle. He just left. You should come back tomorrow.”
Taylor asked, “Does your uncle usually leave around this time?”
Faruk nodded.
“How late are you here?”
“Closing. Usually around four on weekends. Two on weeknights.”
Brodie asked, “Were you here Saturday night?”
Faruk nodded again.
“Have you seen news coverage about the murder and are you aware of what the victim looked like?”
“Yes.”
“Did you see Harry Vance at this establishment the night he was murdered?”
Faruk didn’t answer. His eyes darted between Brodie and Taylor. After a moment he said, “The police… interviewed my uncle. He told them he did not see this man.”
Taylor pointed out, “Your uncle wasn’t here at threeA.M., when the victim would have been. You were.”
“Yeah,” said Faruk. “I didn’t see him.”
Brodie asked, “Did the police speak with you?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t know.”
“Maybe your uncle didn’t mention you were working that night.”
Faruk didn’t respond.
“Was it a busy night?” asked Brodie.
Faruk looked at him. “Yes.”
“Anyone else here helping you with the tables?”
“No.”
