thinks she may be deceased.”
Okay, that’s weird
, Cat thought. By her answering expression, Tess was thinking the same thing.
“Let’s get back to work,” Robertson said. He put on a pair of gloves and began to search methodically through the clothing on the bed. He dug his hands into pockets and turned socks inside out. Gonzales flicked on a flashlight, dropped to his knees, and peered under the bed.
He pulled out what appeared to be a sketchbook, but was actually a musical composition book. Robertson kept examining the clothing. Cat put on fresh gloves and Tess followed suit, even though it was odd to both of them that ERU wasn’t performing these tasks, and soon they were slowly paging through the book. There were no lyrics, just notes on musical staffs.
“You said he collected,” Cat said.
“Oh. Yeah.” Gonzales walked to what appeared to be a standard clothes closet. But when he opened it, a huge room was revealed, and in it, there were dozens of guitars in glass cases like the Stevie Ray Vaughn in the stair landing. On the walls hung large black-and-white photographs of guitarists. Cat recognized Elvis Presley and Jimi Hendrix. The others were unknown to her.
“Does he play as well as collect?” Cat asked. She looked down at the music book. “Are these his songs?”
“He’s terrible,” Mrs. DeMarco said behind them. She came up beside Cat and tapped the book. “He liked to go to clubs and write down what he heard. So he could steal it. Sometimes the musicians invited him to sit in but trust me, they were doing it because of who he is. He was so bad he didn’t even know he was bad.”
Okay, and at least some parts of sentences were in present tense
, Cat thought.
So maybe she doesn’t have special knowledge that our vic is dead.
Speaking of missing persons in past tense could serve as an indicator of participation… and guilt.
Mrs. DeMarco ambled down a row of guitars. “You can’t believe how much money is in these things. Tony’s such a sucker when it comes to that kid.”
“But of course you’re worried sick about him,” Robertson coached her.
“Huh? Oh, right. Of course I am.”
And for one moment, something slipped on her face and she looked completely and utterly miserable. It was as if she forgot to be hard and instead revealed just how young and out of her depth she was. People under extreme stress did that, just dropped the act and showed their real faces. The best example of that was Vincent, whose classic stress reaction was to beast out.
Not any more. He’s got it under control
, Cat told herself firmly.
Cat didn’t go so far as to pity Hallie DeMarco but she made a mental note to check into her history. And to see what they could discover about Angelo’s mother. There was a lot going on beneath the surface of the DeMarco compound, that was for sure.
“Sir?” said a voice, and Cat, Tess, and the two agents all turned to see the dark-skinned woman from the recovery unit hovering in the doorway with a matchbook in her hand. Cat hadn’t even seen her enter the bedroom.
The tech was excited. “I just found this under the vic’s bed.”
“You mean Angelo DeMarco. He has a name,” Robertson growled. His eyes flashed with fury as he advanced on the young woman and grabbed the matchbook. “I
said
that Special Agent Gonzales and I would personally search his room.”
“I’m sorry, sir. I—I didn’t hear that,” said the crestfallen woman.
“No matter. The damage is done now.”
Damage
, Cat noted. She knew Tess was listening just as hard.
Tess and Cat gathered next to Robertson. The front cover of the matchbook was gray, and the word
turntable
was printed in smeared black letters.
“That’s a club,” Tess said. “For people into vinyl records. You know, the classics.” Cat blinked in surprise that Tess would know such a thing. “J.T. took me there.” Her cheeks reddened and Cat forced away a grin. A real date. That she had not yet heard about.
Okay, that’s weird
, Cat thought. By her answering expression, Tess was thinking the same thing.
“Let’s get back to work,” Robertson said. He put on a pair of gloves and began to search methodically through the clothing on the bed. He dug his hands into pockets and turned socks inside out. Gonzales flicked on a flashlight, dropped to his knees, and peered under the bed.
He pulled out what appeared to be a sketchbook, but was actually a musical composition book. Robertson kept examining the clothing. Cat put on fresh gloves and Tess followed suit, even though it was odd to both of them that ERU wasn’t performing these tasks, and soon they were slowly paging through the book. There were no lyrics, just notes on musical staffs.
“You said he collected,” Cat said.
“Oh. Yeah.” Gonzales walked to what appeared to be a standard clothes closet. But when he opened it, a huge room was revealed, and in it, there were dozens of guitars in glass cases like the Stevie Ray Vaughn in the stair landing. On the walls hung large black-and-white photographs of guitarists. Cat recognized Elvis Presley and Jimi Hendrix. The others were unknown to her.
“Does he play as well as collect?” Cat asked. She looked down at the music book. “Are these his songs?”
“He’s terrible,” Mrs. DeMarco said behind them. She came up beside Cat and tapped the book. “He liked to go to clubs and write down what he heard. So he could steal it. Sometimes the musicians invited him to sit in but trust me, they were doing it because of who he is. He was so bad he didn’t even know he was bad.”
Okay, and at least some parts of sentences were in present tense
, Cat thought.
So maybe she doesn’t have special knowledge that our vic is dead.
Speaking of missing persons in past tense could serve as an indicator of participation… and guilt.
Mrs. DeMarco ambled down a row of guitars. “You can’t believe how much money is in these things. Tony’s such a sucker when it comes to that kid.”
“But of course you’re worried sick about him,” Robertson coached her.
“Huh? Oh, right. Of course I am.”
And for one moment, something slipped on her face and she looked completely and utterly miserable. It was as if she forgot to be hard and instead revealed just how young and out of her depth she was. People under extreme stress did that, just dropped the act and showed their real faces. The best example of that was Vincent, whose classic stress reaction was to beast out.
Not any more. He’s got it under control
, Cat told herself firmly.
Cat didn’t go so far as to pity Hallie DeMarco but she made a mental note to check into her history. And to see what they could discover about Angelo’s mother. There was a lot going on beneath the surface of the DeMarco compound, that was for sure.
“Sir?” said a voice, and Cat, Tess, and the two agents all turned to see the dark-skinned woman from the recovery unit hovering in the doorway with a matchbook in her hand. Cat hadn’t even seen her enter the bedroom.
The tech was excited. “I just found this under the vic’s bed.”
“You mean Angelo DeMarco. He has a name,” Robertson growled. His eyes flashed with fury as he advanced on the young woman and grabbed the matchbook. “I
said
that Special Agent Gonzales and I would personally search his room.”
“I’m sorry, sir. I—I didn’t hear that,” said the crestfallen woman.
“No matter. The damage is done now.”
Damage
, Cat noted. She knew Tess was listening just as hard.
Tess and Cat gathered next to Robertson. The front cover of the matchbook was gray, and the word
turntable
was printed in smeared black letters.
“That’s a club,” Tess said. “For people into vinyl records. You know, the classics.” Cat blinked in surprise that Tess would know such a thing. “J.T. took me there.” Her cheeks reddened and Cat forced away a grin. A real date. That she had not yet heard about.
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