by Mark Stone
“You can’t?” I asked, narrowing my eyes at the guy. “What do you mean? You just told me you’ve seen her a few times. All you have to do is tell our artist what she-”
“I know what a sketch artist does,” he shot back. “I’m don’t mean I can’t talk to him. I’m saying I can’t go down to that police station.” He shook his head hard. “That’s where my dad worked, right?” Wes swallowed hard. “It’s where he-where he died.”
I took a deep breath. While I still wasn’t sure of the events that led to Wes’ father’s death, I could see that the boy was visibly shaken by it, even after all these years. While this was a pressing issue, an emergency by anyone’s definition, I didn’t want to open old wounds or press down on any bruises if I didn’t have to.
“You’ve met her too?” I asked, looking from Wes to Dirk, the guy Wes had just shot down.
“Yeah,” he said. “I mean, like once or twice. But I didn’t spend near as time with her as Wes did.”
“Come on, dude,” Wes said, shooting Dirk a hard glance that I immediately took note of.
“What?” the guy asked. ‘It’s the truth. You’re the one who sat up with her all night talking and stuff.” Dirk looked over at me, making a face and shrugging.
“There was no stuff!” Wes answered quickly. Turning to me he repeated. “There was no stuff, I promise. She’s just a cool girl. That’s all. I mean, Hector is my best friend. I wouldn’t make a move on his woman. She’s just easy to talk to.”
“So easy to talk to that you don’t know her last name?” I asked, my eyebrows dancing upward.
Wes sighed heavily and looked at the ground.
“You,” I said, looking over at Dirk. “Go see that officer.” I pointed to a cop on the other side of the parking lot, one who had come to help deal with the crime scene. Then I pointed to my walkie. “I’m about to tell him to take you to see our sketch artist.”
“Okay,” Dirk moped, sticking his hands into his pocket and marching over toward the other officer like he was a scolded child who’d just been sent to the principal’s office.
“What about me?” Wes asked, looking at me sheepishly.
“Come on,” I said, motioning for him to follow me to my car. “You and I are going to take a ride.”
