“Ever since the AB brought in the youngsters, there’s been a bit of an attitude shift about dealing with the mud people,” I said.
“When it comes to money, the new kids go a little color-blind,” Bailey said. “They’ll deal to blacks-”
“Or date Latina girls,” I added.
“Sex and money,” Toni concluded. “The great integrators. See? We can all just get along.”
The waiter took our orders.
“I’m going to call Luis,” I said, getting out of the booth. “Well, realistically, leave him a message and get the ball rolling.”
I had to move outside to find a space quiet enough to use the phone.
As predicted, I got his voice mail.
“’S Luis, leave a message, I’ll get ya back.”
I did. But as I hung up, I felt it again: a presence, hidden and menacing, watching me. I tried to look over my left shoulder without turning my head, hoping to catch someone off guard. Running valets and brisk walkers, a woman with bright-orange shoulder-length hair the consistency of steel wool deep in conversation with a young, sullen-looking-is there any other kind?-teenage girl. No one who gave a damn about me. Unsettled, I went back inside the restaurant, my appetite gone.
We were heading up Broadway when my cell played “FM” by Steely Dan.
I opened my phone. “Knight.”
“Nah, ’s daytime. You sittin’ in a box or something?” Luis said, then laughed, cracking himself up.
“Luis,” I replied, a smile in my voice. “How’ve you been?”
“I ain’t complainin’-I mean, I’m not complaining.” He corrected himself with a sigh. “Whassup with you?”
“Can you spare us a half hour or so?” I asked. “We need some information.”
“You still hangin’ with that hot blonde?”
“Detective Keller, yes. And I’ll tell her you-”
“Aw, come on,” he interrupted. “You know I was jes’ jokin’, Miz Knight. You ain’t-damn, aren’t-going to tell her I said that, are you? Jeez.”
Luis sounded truly aggrieved.
“No, I won’t,” I said. “What’s a good time?”
Luis gave a protracted yawn. I turned to look at the clock on the Times Building. Nearly three o’clock, and he was just now joining the world.
“How about five?” he eventually answered. I heard him whisper to someone nearby, “No. No más ahora.”
Not wanting to know what he didn’t want más of, I quickly agreed. “Five, it is-”
“You’re buyin’, right? ’Cuz I’m gonna need to eat about that time…”
Of course he would. Luis knew how to work it with the best of them.
“How about Les Sisters?” I suggested.
“Les Sisters, yeah,” Luis said with a satisfied sigh. “That’s what I’m talkin’ ’bout.”
I told Bailey the plan as she turned onto Temple Street and pulled to the curb to drop Toni off.
Luis got busy-with what, neither of us wanted to know-later in the evening. He was, as they say, a mixed bag. Well on his way to earning a GED and aiming for college and an MBA, he fully intended to leave the gang life behind. And, no question, he’d provided invaluable help on our last case. But there was no sense denying that he still had a foot planted on the less-than-savory side of the street.
“I sent in our latest video footage to get a still blowup of our stabber’s hand,” Bailey said to me now. “It’s supposed to be in. Why don’t you come back to the station with me and we can check it out?”
I was dying to see that photo. A blowup might show some identifying detail on the stabber’s hand. But that could also mean a possible run-in with Graden.
Bailey looked at me. “You can’t avoid it forever.”
Toni added, her voice warm, sympathetic, “And believe me, we’d both be feeling the same if we were in your shoes.”
She opened the door and stepped out onto the curb, then leaned down and pointedly looked at my feet as she spoke through my window. “Though I’d have better shoes.”
She would’ve too.
53
When we got off the elevator, my palms were sweaty. I put my hands in my pockets, forced a long, slow exhale, and kept my eyes fixed straight ahead on Bailey’s back. We got to her desk without a Graden sighting. Making it look casual, Bailey carefully scanned the room.
She whispered, “I don’t think he’s here.”
“Thanks,” I said.
“He’s a lieutenant with a job. It probably eats into his mooning-over-you time.”
“It’s heartwarming the way you go that extra mile to comfort me.”
I pulled a chair over and sat down while Bailey sifted through her in-box. She pulled out a single piece of paper and a manila envelope fastened with a string on the back flap.
“Well, whaddaya know,” she said. “We got the crime-lab report on Simon’s clothes and the photo.”
She quickly scanned the page. “Ha!” she exclaimed as she flicked the paper. “They’ve got a small speck of blood on one of the buttons on Simon’s shirt. Preliminary tests show it doesn’t match his.”
I moved next to her and scanned the report over her shoulder.
“But that doesn’t necessarily mean it came from the stabber,” I said. “Simon was homeless. Who knows where that shirt’s been?”
Looking deflated, Bailey reluctantly agreed. “You’re right. The crime lab won’t even bother to put it through the database. Even if it matched up to someone…”
“It might not mean anything,” I said.
“So it’s a low priority for them,” she replied. “’Course if we get someone in custody who looks good for it-”
“They’ll jump right on it,” I finished. “Perfect. Now all we need is the stabber. Gee, we’re almost there.”
“A journey of a thousand miles must begin with a single step,” Bailey said.
“Thanks, Lao-tzu. Let’s see the photo.”
She removed two eight-by-ten grayscale photographs and set them on the desk. Together, we pored over the images. The tech had done a nice job of zeroing in on the area of interest. I’d hoped to find an unusual tattoo or some kind of deformity, such as webbed fingers, or a hook. We didn’t get either of those. But we did get something.
“See, that’s what I thought when I saw this view the first time. Look at the watch he’s wearing.” I pointed to the large dial with what seemed like chronographs inside it. “What do you know about men’s watches?”
“Not much,” Bailey admitted. “But I’d say it looks expensive.”
I was no expert, but that seemed right to me.
“This might help ID our stabber in the video if we catch him wearing it. We should get an expert who can testify to the type of watch, how rare it is, yadda, yadda,” I said, thinking out loud.
“I agree,” Bailey said. “Want to keep this, just to have?” She held out one of the photos.
I took it. “You got a spare envelope, so I don’t mess it up?”
Bailey found one in a drawer, and I tucked the picture in. For some reason, looking at the photograph gave me a chill. Reminded me of that creepy sense I’d had that someone was watching me.