She offered him the notebook.
Jeffrey didn’t take it. “You’re the one who was there. Did any of the names stand out?”
“No, not really.” She glanced up, then back down. The guilt was back. “I was going to run all of the names through the database to check for records or outstanding warrants, but …”
He knew he wasn’t going to like what was coming, but said, “Out with it.”
“I know you told me to go to the site and get back here as soon as possible, but—” Lena looked up at him. “I drove to the Home Depot in Memminger.”
Jeffrey sat with the information. She had disobeyed his orders—again—but her instincts were good. Every contractor in the tri-county area relied on the undocumented workers who loitered around the Home Depot. Generally, the contractors picked them up in the early morning hours, worked them to the bone for slave wages, dropped them back off at the Home Depot that night, then went to church on Sunday and complained about how immigrants were ruining the country.
He asked, “And?”
“I don’t speak Spanish, but I figured they would talk to me.” Lena waited for him to motion for her to continue. “At first, they were scared because of my uniform, but then I made it clear I wasn’t going to hassle them, that I was looking for information?”
Her voice had gone up on the last word. She was worried she was in trouble again.
Jeffrey asked, “Did they talk to you?”
“Some of them did.” Lena had turned tentative again.
“Read the room, Lena. I’m not yelling at you.”
“It’s just that half of them said they’d worked on the storage construction site. They get rotated out depending on what’s needed, but they said it was weird because there was a gringo taking money under the table, too.” She paused, waiting for a nod. “They didn’t know his name, but everybody called him BB. And so I pressed, and this one guy said he thought it stood for Big Bit.”
“Big Bit,” Jeffrey repeated. Something about the name was setting off an alarm. “Like a drill bit?”
“I’m not sure,” Lena said. “But it made me think about Felix Abbott, because—”
“Fuck,” Jeffrey sat up so fast his nose ignited. “Felix admitted that he goes by the name Little Bit. There’s gotta be a Big Bit. And maybe Big Bit is Daryl, and maybe Daryl has access to a van. Where’s Felix now? Is he still in holding?”
Lena stood up because he’d stood up. “I checked on my way in. They’re getting him ready to bus to the courthouse. His arraignment is this morning.”
“Go get him. Rip him out of the back of the bus if you have to. Get his arrest jacket from the guard and put him in interrogation. Go.”
Lena banged open the door so hard that the glass shook.
“Frank?” Jeffrey didn’t see him in the squad room. He ran over to the kitchen. “Frank?”
Frank looked up. He was standing over the sink eating a bacon biscuit.
Jeffrey said, “Felix Abbott. Twenty-three. Skateboarder. Pot dealer.”
“Why’s his name coming up again?” Crumbs fell out of Frank’s mouth. “You looking at him for the attacks?”
“Should I be?”
“The family tree is nothin’ but an oily turd-filled toilet, but nah. The younger generation squandered the family criminal enterprises. Typical succession issue. By the time you hit the third generation, they don’t have the work ethic.” Frank coughed out some more crumbs. “I’d look at the kid’s father. One of his—”
Jeffrey stepped away from the scattershot as he coughed again.
“His uncles, I was saying.” Frank spat into the sink. He turned on the faucet to wash it down. “You got five or six families in Memminger you look at when anything hinky goes down. The Abbotts are at the top of the pile. Though good luck keepin’ ’em straight. They all cross-breed like bitches in heat.”
“Tell me about the Abbotts.”
“Shit, lemme see can I remember.” Frank coughed again. “If I’ve got the right shitstains, the grandfather’s in Statesville for a double homicide. Granny tried to cover his tracks and wound up with a nickel in Wentworth. They had six sons, all of ’em bar brawlers and wife beaters with so many kids and step-kids and out-of-wedlock kids nobody can keep count.”
“Any of them named Daryl?”
“Fuck if I know. They’re a Memminger problem. I hear their names and I just laugh.”
“You seem to know a lot about the family.”
“I do a monthly choir practice with a deputy over in Memminger. Guy knows how to sing.”
When cops talked about choir practice, they meant the kind that took place in a bar, not a church. “Any of the Abbots ever work at the college?”
“No way they’d pass the background check.”
“What about the nickname Big Bit? That ever come up?”
“Nah, but there’s a fair amount of imbibing during choir,” Frank admitted. “I can call over to Memminger and do some digging around.”
“Do it. If I can prove Daryl is the gringo going by the name of Big Bit on the Mercer construction site, that puts him in proximity to the fire road that leads to the Truong crime scene.”
“Shit.”
“Shit is right. Get on the phone.” Jeffrey was on his toes, halfway between a fast walk and a run, as he headed toward the interrogation room.
Lena was leading Felix Abbott down the hallway. His hands were cuffed behind his back. His feet were shuffling, though his ankles weren’t chained. Jeffrey could smell the con on him. This wasn’t the first time Felix had been arrested. He had his chest puffed out like a punk daring a cop to take a swing.
Jeffrey felt tempted, but he opened the door to interrogation and waited for the kid to go in. Felix snarled his upper lip as he walked by. Shoulders back. Chest out.
For all his posturing, he looked like a normal twenty-something-year-old. Not too tall, not too skinny. Floppy brown hair, just the way Chuck had described him. Felix was dressed like a skateboarder in board shorts, a zip-up hoodie and faded Ramones T-shirt. The bruise on the side of Felix’s head told Jeffrey that Lena had not been playing around when she’d tackled him off his skateboard.
Felix took in Jeffrey’s damaged nose, asking, “This bitch knock you around, too?”
Jeffrey dug the wadded-up pieces of toilet paper out of his nostrils and tossed them into the trash. The room was small, but typical to most cop shops. A table bolted to the floor. Chairs on either side. A one-way mirror to a tiny viewing room that doubled as a storage closet.
Lena tossed Felix Abbot’s arrest jacket onto the table.
Jeffrey did not sit down. He stood over the jacket, scanning the details. Felix had been arrested twice before, both for possession, both times receiving nothing more than a slap on the wrist. His tattoos were many. His aka was Little Bit. According to his driver’s license, Felix lived in Memminger. Jeffrey recognized the Dew-Lolly address, a shitsville motel that rented by the week. All he needed from this kid was a name. Not even a first name. Jeffrey knew in his gut that finding Daryl would either lead him to a clue or be the clue that broke the case wide open.
Jeffrey looked up. Felix was standing at the other end of the table. His jaw was angled up again, inviting a punch. He had a pimple on his chin. The white, pus-filled head stared at Jeffrey like a rheumy eye.
Jeffrey said, “Sit.”
Felix took his time shuffling around the table. Lena’s hands clamped onto shoulders. She shoved him down into the plastic chair.
“Fuck!” Felix complained.
Jeffrey motioned for her to sit across from Felix. He crossed his arms, glaring down at the kid.
Felix looked up at Jeffrey, then back at Lena. She had her arms crossed, too.
Jeffrey started out small. “You were arrested with some dub sacks.”
“So?” Felix demanded.
“That’s your third arrest for possession. I’ve already made a call to the district attorney. We’re doing this new thing in town w
here we clamp down on recidivism.”
His shoulder jerked up in a shrug. “So?”
“So, you’re looking at big boy prison for this, not another stint in county lock-up.”
His shoulder jerked again. He probably had uncles in prison. His path would be smoother than most.
Still, Jeffrey waited for a response.
The kid offered a third, “So?”
Lena’s hand whipped out. She gave Felix an open-palmed slap across the face.
“Jesus fuck, lady!” Felix’s hands went to his face. He looked at Jeffrey. “What the fuck, man?”
Jeffrey nodded.
Lena slapped him again.
“What?” Felix shouted. “What do you want?”
Jeffrey said, “You go by the name Little Bit.”
“S—” He rethought his answer. “Is that a crime?”
Jeffrey asked, “Where’d you get the nickname?”
“From my—I don’t know. One of my uncles? I was little. They were all big.”
Big.
“Jesus.” Felix rubbed his cheek. “What is up with you, bitch?”
Jeffrey snapped his fingers for Felix’s attention. “Don’t worry about her. Look at me.”
“What else should I be worried about, dude?” He kept his hand to his face as he told Lena, “You need to stop, okay? It really stings.”
Jeffrey drew in a breath of air. He wanted to shake this little shit until his teeth fell out, but the worst way to get information was to let the suspect know you needed it. He pressed his knuckles into the table and leaned over. “You want me to hit you instead?”
Felix shook his head so hard that his hair flopped to the other side.
Jeffrey glared down at him. Was he wrong about Daryl being their most likely suspect? Was Felix the man who had attacked Beckey Caterino? Who had kicked a hammer between Leslie Truong’s legs so hard that the head had splintered off?
“I need a doctor.” Felix kept rubbing his cheek. His bottom lip had pouted out.
If he was a psychopath, he was a damn good one.
Jeffrey asked, “Where were you two days ago between the hours of five and seven in the morning?”
“Two days?” Felix pushed his hair back into place. “Shit, dude, I don’t know. Asleep in my bed?”
Lena took out her notebook and pen.
Felix looked nervous at the prospect of going on the record.
Jeffrey prompted, “You were asleep two days ago between the hours of five and seven in the morning?”
“Uh, maybe?” He looked at Lena, then Jeffrey. “I don’t know, dude. One day, I woke up in the drunk tank over in Memminger. I don’t know if that was then?”
Jeffrey watched Lena make a dash beside the note to follow up on the possible alibi.
He told Felix, “The director of campus security identified you as a known pot dealer.”
Felix didn’t offer a rebuttal.
Jeffrey asked, “You were at the college yesterday?”
“Yeah, dude.” Felix brushed back his hair again. “I was busting Beni-Hanas outside the library. The security guards, you slip them a five and they look the other way.”
Jeffrey wasn’t surprised Chuck’s men were taking bribes. He looked down at Lena’s notebook. She had made another dash to check the security footage outside the library.
He asked Felix, “Do you ever go into the woods?”
“What?” Felix looked repulsed. “No, man. You can’t skate in the woods. There’s dirt and shit.”
“Does anybody else in your family have nicknames?”
“Yeah, so?” He jerked back at the last minute, expecting another slap. “What the fuck is up with you people? I thought you were going to offer me a deal.”
“A deal for what?”
“Like, I don’t know. My supplier?”
“No deals,” Jeffrey said. “Tell me about the nicknames.”
Felix was confused enough to answer. “My gramps is called Bumpy on account of he bumped off a few guys. I got an uncle called Rip because he can rip a fart. There’s Bubba, Bubba Sausage—”
Jeffrey let him go through the list. He wasn’t surprised it was long. Men gave each other nicknames. He’d been called Slick in high school. His best friend had been called Possum.
Felix said, “My Uncle Axle’s doing a stint at Wheeler, which is kind of funny. Axle-wheels. You get it?”
Jeffrey had gathered from Frank that the Abbotts weren’t into family planning. It was possible that Felix had an uncle who was close to his own age.
He asked, “How long has Axle been inside?”
“Three months? I dunno. You guys can look it up.”
Jeffrey watched Lena make another dash to follow up.
He asked Felix, “Does Axle work on cars?”
“Sure. That’s why they call him that. Dude wasn’t born at Wheeler.”
Jeffrey thought of the Dead Blow kit, the cross-peen hammer. “Does he do bodywork, fix dents and scratches?”
“He works on anything, man. Dude’s a motorhead genius. He even knows how to fix skateboards.”
Jeffrey took a mental step back. He only had one chance with this kid. “You two must be close if he’s working on your skateboards.”
“Nah, man, Axle never did shit for me. Can’t stand my guts.”
Jeffrey had started to sweat. He could feel he was close. “Who does Axle fix skateboards for?”
“His son, only the dude isn’t really his son, like, he never adopted him, even after his mom died.” Felix shook his hair out of his eyes. He was clearly more comfortable with this line of questioning, which is exactly what Jeffrey wanted. “My cuz, he’s the one who got me into skating. I been his shadow since forever. Dude was there when I pulled off my first alley-oop.”
My cuz.
Lena had looked up from her notebook.
Felix’s eyes darted her way.
Jeffrey weighed his options. They could do a search for Felix’s uncles, find the one nicknamed Axle who was in Wheeler State Prison, then drive over there and try to sweat the information out of the con.
Or Jeffrey could join Frank on the phones and call around and see if anyone knew about the kid Axle had raised who wasn’t legally his son.
Or Jeffrey could get the answer from this punk little jackass right now.
Again, he circled around the target, asking Felix, “What’s an alley-oop?”
“Dude, it’s awesome. You spin to one side and air to the other, like a fish breaking out of the water.”
“Sounds hard.”
“Oh, no doubt. You can get a gnarly hipper.”
“What’s your cousin’s name?”
Like a switch being flipped, Felix’s demeanor changed. He was no longer in laid-back skater mode. He was a kid from a criminal family who lived in a bad part of town who knew you didn’t rat out your own blood. “Why?”
Jeffrey knelt down, putting himself at Felix’s level. “They call him Big Bit, right? And you’re Little Bit because you’re his shadow?”
Felix’s eyes darted back to Lena, then to Jeffrey, then back again. He was trying to figure out if he had given too much away.
Jeffrey could only guess at the connections he was trying to make. He needed the words from Felix. He lifted his chin at Lena, indicating she should leave.
Lena folded her notebook closed. She clicked her pen. She walked out the door.
Jeffrey took his time standing up. He walked slowly to Lena’s chair in order to give her time to take position behind the one-way mirror.
He sat down. He gripped his hands together on the table.
He tried to keep his options open, saying, “Daryl’s not in any trouble.”
“Shit.” Felix’s foot started tapping against the floor. “Shit-shit-shit-shit.”
Jeffrey took that as confirmation that he was on the right track. He tried to put himself in Felix’s position. He wasn’t going to flip on his cousin. At least not on purpose. “Felix, I’m going to be straight wi
th you. This is about the construction site on Mercer.”
The tapping stopped. “The storage place?”
“The feds are getting involved because of OSHA violations.” Jeffrey felt the lie spreading like a drug through his brain. “Do you know what an OSHA investigation means?”
“They, like, come in when people are hurt on the job because the bosses are cutting corners.”
“That’s right,” Jeffrey said. “OSHA is looking for witnesses against the bosses. They know Big Bit was working on the site. They want to talk to him off the record.”
His hands came up together because of the handcuffs. He picked at the pimple on his chin. “How bad were people hurt?”
“Really bad.” Jeffrey debated which way to push. Would the offer of a fake reward be too obvious? Should he go back to skateboarding?
In the end, Jeffrey chose silence, which was just as hard for him to pull off as it was for Felix to suffer through.
The kid broke first, saying, “I don’t want to jam up my cuz, yo.”
Jeffrey leaned forward. “Are you worried about his rap sheet?”
Felix’s expression gave him the confirmation. His cousin had an arrest jacket, possibly an outstanding warrant or two. That was why Big Bit had been working on the job site for cash like the other undocumented day laborers. He couldn’t risk his social security number going into the system.
Jeffrey said, “I don’t care if he’s been in trouble before. That’s not what this is about.”
“You don’t get it, dude. I told you—I’ve been like his shadow since I was a little grommet.”
Jeffrey gave up on the lie. He went with a more reliable motivator, self-interest. “All right, Felix. How badly do you want a deal? You haven’t been arraigned yet. I could kick the charge on the dub sacks. Hell, I could lose the paperwork. Just give me his name and you could walk out of here right now.”
Felix started digging at the pimple again.
Jeffrey breathed through his broken nose. He could hear a slight whistle. This was going nowhere. He was going to have to make a decision.
He gave the kid one last chance. “Well?”
“Well, what?” Felix had turned angry. “He’s not even my real cousin, okay? My Uncle Ax shacked up with his mom for, like, a minute before she OD’d, and then he was stuck with him. I mean, we’re close, but we’re not technically related. We don’t even have the same last name.”
The Silent Wife: From the No. 1 Sunday Times bestselling author comes a gripping new crime thriller (Will Trent Series, Book 10) Page 38
