Whispers of a Killer
Page 20
Ben wraps his arms around me from the side, I note, not behind. “New case?”
I nod. “New case.”
***
On the way to the station, I answer my own question. Of course, CAW would know about the shelter. They’re probably watching all things WHISP closer than even our little task force is. Still, something smells funny. True, CAW, Citizens Against WHISPs, would be the first people we’d want to talk to about a crime like this, yet them heading us off at the pass is strange. I have visions of CAW’s preeminent lawyer, Lila Grant, in her tastefully revealing suit in the interrogation room, but when I arrive at the station, I can already tell by Crone’s sullen demeanor that he hasn’t seen anything he liked this morning.
“What took you so long? Up late at a kegger last night?” Crone chuckles at his own joke.
He’s been giving me shit about me and Ben temporarily living with Lincoln, still technically a college student working on his Master’s thesis, while we search for a new apartment. I ignore him and point toward interrogation. “So?”
Crone thumbs over his shoulder toward the conference room. “Apparently, we aren’t treating Mr. McCaffrey as a suspect quite yet.”
“Mr. McCaffrey?”
Crone opens a file. “Rondell James McCaffrey, thirty-three, previously arrested for petty theft at age fifteen for shoplifting, used to work at a Kwik Lube, now currently employed full-time by CAW as a public relations specialist.”
“How does a grease monkey become a public relations specialist?”
“Good question.”
I raise my eyebrows at him. “You didn’t ask him anything?”
Crone shrugs. “He says he’ll only talk to you. Probably wants your autograph for taking out Ray.”
My gut tightens. Yeah, Rachel Chester’s WHISP was trying to kill me and my family, but destroying it broke something in Chester. Having her behind bars because of me was justice, but having her in a psyche ward because of me is something else. “Nah, no one at CAW would want my autograph now that I’ve got a WHISP.” I grab the file from Crone. “Anything you wanna tell me about the crime before I go in there? There’s a body, right?”
Crone’s grubby fingers snatch up another file on his desk. “Yosef Zimmerman, fifty-eight. There’s a Brooklyn address on his driver’s license we’re following up, but it seemed like he was in residence at the WHISP shelter, so he probably had a WHISP. Nothing weird with his murder though, he was just shot.”
“Could he have been the target and the other residents just scattered?”
Crone shrugs again. “We’re searching for surveillance footage from traffic cams and nearby buildings. We’ll probably know more in a few hours.” He grins. “You could just get this guy to confess CAW did it and save us all a lot of time.”
“Wouldn’t that be nice?” I head toward the conference room.
“Go get ‘em, tiger.”
Behind my back, I give Crone the finger. I wonder if he can see my WHISP doing the same.
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