entered.
“Dr. Romero?”
“Two times,” she said. “How long have you been working for me, now? Ten days?”
“Ten days,” Natalie confirmed.
“And this is the second time someone has attacked me.” She looked up from the mug at Natalie and me. “Did you get him?”
“He’s under arrest now. I’m going to follow him to the Two-six and talk to Lozano.”
“If that had hit my head,” Felice said, then stopped. “If it had hit my head and broken, I could be blind.”
We didn’t say anything.
“My hands won’t stop shaking,” Felice said.
I looked at Natalie, who said, softly, “I put a lot of honey in the tea.”
“I’ll be back in a few hours,” I told her. “I should be in radio range, if there’s an emergency.. Otherwise I’ll be at the Two-six.”
I closed the door quietly when I left.
As far as interrogation rooms went, the one they put the thrower in was pretty run-of-the-mill. One table, bolted down. Two chairs, bolted down. One one-way glass window, dirty. One detective, frustrated.
Lozano worked on him for over an hour, with me watching from behind the smudged glass, and we learned next to nothing except the man’s name, and that had come from the computer, not from the suspect.
Clarence Jesse Barry, thirty-three years old, and sporting a yellow-sheet that detailed crimes from criminal possession to attempted rape. It made me wonder if all Sword of the Silent members had such checkered pasts.
The only honest thing Mr. Barry said was, “Get me my lawyer.” He said that after Lozano showed him the three photocopied wanted posters for Romero that had been taken from Barry’s person before he went into holding. Lozano went after him hard on the posters, and after he’d tried being smart for a while Lozano must have gotten to him, because Clarence played his lawyer card.
At which point Lozano rose and left the interrogation room, circling back to where I stood. He arrived with two paper cups of that awful coffee. We looked through the glass together at Barry. Barry looked at the window and smiled. He didn’t look at the wanted posters arrayed on the table before him.
“I am disappointed,” Lozano said. He had removed his suit coat, and his white button-up shirt was wrinkled but clean. There was an orange plastic lighter in his breast pocket that showed through the fabric.
“Maybe he wants you to earn your pay,” I said. “Public-spirited asshole, isn’t he?”
“You should have said something about his height. He loves that.”
Lozano looked at me and grinned. “I’ll keep that in mind.” He finished his coffee in two gulps, then crumpled the cup and viciously shot it overhand to the trash can in the comer. The cup hit the inside lip of the can with a low ring and dropped inside, and the trash can rocked slightly on the impact.
He said, “ El cafe es una porqueria. Means, this coffee is for shit. Roughly.”
“The gesture communicated the sentiment.”
“Good to know a little Spanish,” he said. “Say it with me. El cafe es una porqueria.”
I said it with him.
“You learn fast.”
“I’m a gifted linguist.”
“Sure you are.”
The door opened into our viewing room and Special Agent Fowler came in, shaking his head and saying, “Dude, sorry I’m late.”
“Why break a pattern?” Lozano said.
“Scott,” I said.
“Atticus. Detective.” Fowler looked at Lozano for a moment, who didn’t turn away from the window, then shifted his eyes to Barry. “What’d I miss?”
“He confessed,” Lozano said. “Came completely clean. He’s writing it up now.”
“Uh-huh,” Fowler said. He ran a hand through his hair. His hair was straw blond, and he was wearing a subdued blue suit with a white shirt and a navy tie. He had a good tan on, too, and it looked darker than I suppose it actually was against his collar and in this light. He was wearing his glasses, thin-lensed, and he had his diamond stud stuck in his left ear. All in all, he looked
“Dr. Romero?”
“Two times,” she said. “How long have you been working for me, now? Ten days?”
“Ten days,” Natalie confirmed.
“And this is the second time someone has attacked me.” She looked up from the mug at Natalie and me. “Did you get him?”
“He’s under arrest now. I’m going to follow him to the Two-six and talk to Lozano.”
“If that had hit my head,” Felice said, then stopped. “If it had hit my head and broken, I could be blind.”
We didn’t say anything.
“My hands won’t stop shaking,” Felice said.
I looked at Natalie, who said, softly, “I put a lot of honey in the tea.”
“I’ll be back in a few hours,” I told her. “I should be in radio range, if there’s an emergency.. Otherwise I’ll be at the Two-six.”
I closed the door quietly when I left.
As far as interrogation rooms went, the one they put the thrower in was pretty run-of-the-mill. One table, bolted down. Two chairs, bolted down. One one-way glass window, dirty. One detective, frustrated.
Lozano worked on him for over an hour, with me watching from behind the smudged glass, and we learned next to nothing except the man’s name, and that had come from the computer, not from the suspect.
Clarence Jesse Barry, thirty-three years old, and sporting a yellow-sheet that detailed crimes from criminal possession to attempted rape. It made me wonder if all Sword of the Silent members had such checkered pasts.
The only honest thing Mr. Barry said was, “Get me my lawyer.” He said that after Lozano showed him the three photocopied wanted posters for Romero that had been taken from Barry’s person before he went into holding. Lozano went after him hard on the posters, and after he’d tried being smart for a while Lozano must have gotten to him, because Clarence played his lawyer card.
At which point Lozano rose and left the interrogation room, circling back to where I stood. He arrived with two paper cups of that awful coffee. We looked through the glass together at Barry. Barry looked at the window and smiled. He didn’t look at the wanted posters arrayed on the table before him.
“I am disappointed,” Lozano said. He had removed his suit coat, and his white button-up shirt was wrinkled but clean. There was an orange plastic lighter in his breast pocket that showed through the fabric.
“Maybe he wants you to earn your pay,” I said. “Public-spirited asshole, isn’t he?”
“You should have said something about his height. He loves that.”
Lozano looked at me and grinned. “I’ll keep that in mind.” He finished his coffee in two gulps, then crumpled the cup and viciously shot it overhand to the trash can in the comer. The cup hit the inside lip of the can with a low ring and dropped inside, and the trash can rocked slightly on the impact.
He said, “ El cafe es una porqueria. Means, this coffee is for shit. Roughly.”
“The gesture communicated the sentiment.”
“Good to know a little Spanish,” he said. “Say it with me. El cafe es una porqueria.”
I said it with him.
“You learn fast.”
“I’m a gifted linguist.”
“Sure you are.”
The door opened into our viewing room and Special Agent Fowler came in, shaking his head and saying, “Dude, sorry I’m late.”
“Why break a pattern?” Lozano said.
“Scott,” I said.
“Atticus. Detective.” Fowler looked at Lozano for a moment, who didn’t turn away from the window, then shifted his eyes to Barry. “What’d I miss?”
“He confessed,” Lozano said. “Came completely clean. He’s writing it up now.”
“Uh-huh,” Fowler said. He ran a hand through his hair. His hair was straw blond, and he was wearing a subdued blue suit with a white shirt and a navy tie. He had a good tan on, too, and it looked darker than I suppose it actually was against his collar and in this light. He was wearing his glasses, thin-lensed, and he had his diamond stud stuck in his left ear. All in all, he looked
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