that effect. I don't know why he picked me. I just know he couldn't have possibly been in love with me, because he didn't know me."
Del nodded. "Yeah, yeah, I know that."
I took two deep breaths, hoping to bring down my blood pressure. "You do this to everyone you meet? Pester, annoy, aggravate, frustrate, and just plain piss them off until they finally snap? You did that to Billy Wayne's mom, the poor woman, didn't you?"
He shrugged. "She was bereaved already. Nothing I was going to say could change that, or her opinion that Billy Wayne was in love with you. As for my methods, I use what I got. It's not like I'm going to get what I need for an interview on my good looks."
"Answers, Del. I want answers now, or I'm not going anywhere, so tell me about this informant."
He dabbed at his nose with the tissue. "We get handwritten letters to the editors all the time. Sometimes incoherent raving nonsense, but we read 'em anyway because every once in a while something comes through that turns out to be a brilliant headline, or at the very least, a feature on the homeless situation. We got one this morning. It came to me 'cause I'm working this murder case. The note says he wants the press, not the cops, and to bring Miss Bains with me."
"What's his name?"
"They go by nicknames and this one signed the note, Skip-Jack. You know what a skip-jack is, don't you? It's a tuna that's not fit to eat so it gets tossed back."
"So, besides having a morose sense of humor, did he say what he has for information?"
"Said he can tell us who killed Billy Wayne. So, coffee to go?"
He waited, knowing he had me.
Chapter twelve:
I shouldn't be here. I should be home, tucked into bed with a nice cup of tea to soothe my frayed nerves, instead of sitting in Del Potts' Mini Morris parked next to Mr. Kim's darkened back alley. In spite of the warm summer night, the cold lights from the halogen street lamps washed up against the buildings and disappeared into the black hole where I'd found Billy Wayne. At least Del had gotten coffee at the AM/PM. I blew on my paper cup and watched the street for the homeless man who had asked for a reporter and Lalla Bains.
"What time did he say he was coming?" I asked, feeling the weight of foreboding draining away my enthusiasm. This had all the feel of a set-up, maybe Rodney making another attempt to see me arrested.
"These guys don't usually wear a watch, and he said late and it's now late, so we wait."
"But he did say tonight, right?"
"Right."
Delmar, for the first time since I'd known him, was suspiciously quiet. He was slouched down in his seat, absorbed in his own melancholy thoughts.
I poked him.
He said, "I was thinking. Did you know that in suffocation there's always a thin red line inside the upper lip? I read that in Billy Wayne's autopsy report. The killer got behind him, clamped a hand over his mouth and then reached around and stabbed him. Oh, and he or she, was left-handed and probably five-foot eight or so. That kind of strength takes commando type training. I'm thinking it was a cop."
I remembered Mr. Kim using his left hand to pour my tea. "It's also military training. Grace Kim told me that her dad had been a freedom fighter in Vietnam. Billy Wayne was a former Marine, and hung out behind Mr. Kim's."
"Mr. Kim? Too short."
"Yeah, but why would Billy Wayne pick Mr. Kim's?" Which reminded me to ask, "Did you know Billy Wayne?"
"As a matter of fact I did. We lived in the same neighborhood in Stockton until I was sixteen. That's when my parents divorced and I moved with my dad. Billy Wayne was nice to me. He treated me like a little brother."
I snickered. "In other words, he told you to keep your distance, huh?"
"I wasn't always so hard to take. I got a complex from all that teasing about being so short. Nothing you'd understand since you're a regular blond Viking."
"Thanks for the compliment, Del, but I had my problems in school, too. My mother died when I was eleven, and what with
Del nodded. "Yeah, yeah, I know that."
I took two deep breaths, hoping to bring down my blood pressure. "You do this to everyone you meet? Pester, annoy, aggravate, frustrate, and just plain piss them off until they finally snap? You did that to Billy Wayne's mom, the poor woman, didn't you?"
He shrugged. "She was bereaved already. Nothing I was going to say could change that, or her opinion that Billy Wayne was in love with you. As for my methods, I use what I got. It's not like I'm going to get what I need for an interview on my good looks."
"Answers, Del. I want answers now, or I'm not going anywhere, so tell me about this informant."
He dabbed at his nose with the tissue. "We get handwritten letters to the editors all the time. Sometimes incoherent raving nonsense, but we read 'em anyway because every once in a while something comes through that turns out to be a brilliant headline, or at the very least, a feature on the homeless situation. We got one this morning. It came to me 'cause I'm working this murder case. The note says he wants the press, not the cops, and to bring Miss Bains with me."
"What's his name?"
"They go by nicknames and this one signed the note, Skip-Jack. You know what a skip-jack is, don't you? It's a tuna that's not fit to eat so it gets tossed back."
"So, besides having a morose sense of humor, did he say what he has for information?"
"Said he can tell us who killed Billy Wayne. So, coffee to go?"
He waited, knowing he had me.
Chapter twelve:
I shouldn't be here. I should be home, tucked into bed with a nice cup of tea to soothe my frayed nerves, instead of sitting in Del Potts' Mini Morris parked next to Mr. Kim's darkened back alley. In spite of the warm summer night, the cold lights from the halogen street lamps washed up against the buildings and disappeared into the black hole where I'd found Billy Wayne. At least Del had gotten coffee at the AM/PM. I blew on my paper cup and watched the street for the homeless man who had asked for a reporter and Lalla Bains.
"What time did he say he was coming?" I asked, feeling the weight of foreboding draining away my enthusiasm. This had all the feel of a set-up, maybe Rodney making another attempt to see me arrested.
"These guys don't usually wear a watch, and he said late and it's now late, so we wait."
"But he did say tonight, right?"
"Right."
Delmar, for the first time since I'd known him, was suspiciously quiet. He was slouched down in his seat, absorbed in his own melancholy thoughts.
I poked him.
He said, "I was thinking. Did you know that in suffocation there's always a thin red line inside the upper lip? I read that in Billy Wayne's autopsy report. The killer got behind him, clamped a hand over his mouth and then reached around and stabbed him. Oh, and he or she, was left-handed and probably five-foot eight or so. That kind of strength takes commando type training. I'm thinking it was a cop."
I remembered Mr. Kim using his left hand to pour my tea. "It's also military training. Grace Kim told me that her dad had been a freedom fighter in Vietnam. Billy Wayne was a former Marine, and hung out behind Mr. Kim's."
"Mr. Kim? Too short."
"Yeah, but why would Billy Wayne pick Mr. Kim's?" Which reminded me to ask, "Did you know Billy Wayne?"
"As a matter of fact I did. We lived in the same neighborhood in Stockton until I was sixteen. That's when my parents divorced and I moved with my dad. Billy Wayne was nice to me. He treated me like a little brother."
I snickered. "In other words, he told you to keep your distance, huh?"
"I wasn't always so hard to take. I got a complex from all that teasing about being so short. Nothing you'd understand since you're a regular blond Viking."
"Thanks for the compliment, Del, but I had my problems in school, too. My mother died when I was eleven, and what with
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