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Cohen was shaking her head.
“We need a wet vac in here!” Deena yelled.
Benoit gagged then.
Oh yeah, homicide was the best.
It was three days of interviewing people, looking at surveillance video, running down phone numbers and license plates, and talking to the club manager, bartenders, security, and waitstaff. We put everything on the board, listed names, ran down leads, scanned pictures, and spent a ton of man-hours cross-referencing events and people from Facebook, following tweets, and checking phone records. It was tedious, and in the midst of it, I realized I really needed to get laid.
I came to that conclusion while questioning Nick McCall. Sitting across the table from him, having just delivered him a cup of coffee with cream, I noticed, more than anything else, the divot under his nose. The fine sheen of sweat above his upper lip, the freckles on the exposed patch of throat, and his collarbone were also a treat. His skin was a sort of warm nut-brown color my own paler version would contrast well with if, say, we were naked. He was younger than me, beautiful and hot, and the way he stared at me from beneath his thick lashes, I got the idea that maybe I was a little interesting myself. I was at least appealing in the one-night-stand kind of way. It was all I really wanted.
My body, which was now finally healed but forever altered, was ready to be used or to use another’s. Unfortunately, since Nicholas McCall had not been cleared from our suspect list, I couldn’t take him up on what he was offering.
“So, tell me about the drugs,” I said.
His eyes were dark, rich, warm brown, and they were locked on mine. “You know about that?”
I’d had confirmation from Deena, but I had known even before that. Evan Polley was someone’s mule, and I needed to find out whose.
“I do. Is there any possibility that you have a name for me? That you might have seen him with someone?”
“No,” he confirmed but hesitated.
I sat there, listening to him breathe, watched him worry his bottom lip. “But?” I led him.
“But,” he said, slouching forward, never breaking my gaze, “that’s because we really hadn’t been that close for the last couple of years. He got to be the kind of guy who, if you couldn’t help him, if he couldn’t get something from you, he didn’t have time for you anymore.”
“Sorry.”
“No, it’s fine. I got over that a long time ago. But if you really want to talk to someone who knew him, you should talk to Max Sutter. He and Evan have been friends since prep school—I mean, we all have—but Ev, he hit Max up for a lot of cash when the business started bleeding money.”
“Okay.” I smiled, closing the file and pushing back from the table.
He cleared his throat. “So, am I still a suspect, Detective?”
“Until we rule everyone out, I’m afraid so.”
“Okay.” He sounded disappointed.
“Why?”
His sudden grin was really nice. “You know why.”
And I did. Pulling a card from my wallet, I passed it to him. “If you think of anything else, don’t hesitate to call me.”
He seemed so relieved as he ran the card across his lips. “I won’t.”
I was up and out of the room seconds later.
Once I was back at my desk, I called Cohen and relayed the message for her and Benoit to go talk to Max Sutter.
“He’s just going to lawyer up.”
“Maybe not. Just go see what he knows.”
“Shouldn’t it be you and O’Meara?”
“No,” I said, making sure there was a tone in my voice that let her know she was not allowed to question me.
