Lonergan stormed out of Griffin’s office in a cloud of invisible steam and glared at Foster from across the room. “Kelley, it’s you and me,” he shouted. “We got Rimmer’s buddy. A lead I dug up.” Kelley’s face fell as he grabbed his jacket. “Meet you in the car,” Lonergan barked. “I’m drivin’。”
Foster turned back to Li. “We finish the footage. Grant’s expediting the Rea autopsy, so we have that in the morning. Hopefully we find something there. That work for you?”
Li was already sitting. “Way ahead of you, partner.”
But after more than an hour, there was nothing else of significance on the footage. Whoever had walked with Peggy carrying that duffel bag had been smart and careful and cunning. That didn’t sound like Joe Rimmer, but he couldn’t be counted out yet.
Foster flipped through her notebook. “I found a family address for Rimmer in Indiana. His parents and a younger brother are there. Maybe he—”
Symansky yelled from across the office. “Foster. Li. Your lucky day. Unis found Rimmer. They’re bringing him in now. I should call Lonergan back in . . . but I’m not gonna. Let him work up a sweat for once.”
Foster looked over at Li, who was smiling from ear to ear. “What?”
“You don’t know this yet,” Li said, “but I’m a bit of a good-luck charm. You’re welcome.”
“Anything else I should know about you?”
“Absolutely, but I’d rather surprise you.”
CHAPTER 31
Rimmer sat nervously across the table from them, his clownish attempts to conceal his identity laughable. The man bun was gone, his greasy hair cut short and dyed white, and he’d shaved his face as smooth as a baby’s bottom. He looked about twelve. But his eyes were still glassy. He obviously hadn’t given up his affinity for herbals.
“Headed to Minneapolis. By train. That’s a new one on us,” Li said, not bothering to hide the sarcasm. “Spur-of-the-moment decision, was it?”
“I have a gig up there, okay?”
“Where exactly?” Foster asked.
“A bar. Small space. But it’s a hot spot. Some cool bands play there.”
Foster picked up her pen, held it over her notebook. “Which bar?”
“And which band?” Li asked. “Because your old one cut you loose.”
“So I go solo. I don’t need those guys. They’re small time, anyway. The point I need to make here is that I did nothing to hurt Peg in any way, all right? I don’t get why I’m here.”
“You lied to us,” Foster said. “Your pickup from Teddy’s can only vouch for you until about ten thirty Sunday night. What’d you do after she left? Where’d you go? And if you don’t have anything to hide, why are we looking at you with dyed hair, a shaved chin, and a train ticket in your pocket?”
Rimmer’s eyes rabbited around the room. He began to bounce in his chair like he had to pee. “Okay, look, I lied about the woman, but I didn’t want you thinking I did something when I didn’t. I know how it looks, me breaking up with Peg, her ending up dead, but you got the wrong guy. I figured I’d head out of town and give you cops a chance to do some work for once and find that out for yourselves.” He looked over at Li, whose face gave nothing away. Foster watched as his Adam’s apple slid up and down on his throat. “No offense,” he added.
“That’s the dumbest move I’ve ever heard of,” Li said.
Rimmer dropped his head to the table, his forehead to the metal top. “I know this looks bad. You don’t think I know it’s bad?” He lifted his head up. “But it’s not me. It looks like it could be me, but I swear, I left that bar and never went back. You got a Bible? Bring it in here. I’ll swear up and down on it all day.”
Li laid a photo array of young women on the table, Mallory Rea’s driver’s license photo included. “You recognize any of these women?”
Rimmer took a look. “I have never laid eyes on any of them in my life.” He gave them the three-fingered scout sign. “Swear to all the gods—Buddha, Jehovah, Raijin—”
“Where did you go after your date left?” Li asked. “And before you lie, know that we’ve got video of you walking out of your place right after she ditched you. Street cameras.” Foster slid Li a look. She knew of no such video.
Rimmer let out a frustrated growl. He was cornered, caught. He bounced more. “Weed. All right? I was selling weed. I’ve got a side hustle, okay? After what’s-her-name left, I got on it. And it wasn’t like I could cop to that, could I? I don’t exactly look like a dispensary, do I?”
“Where were you selling?” Foster asked.
He shook his head emphatically. “No way. Far as I go on that.”
“Would you rather get dinged for the weed or as a possible suspect in a homicide?” Foster asked.
Li leaned forward, whispering across the table. “Be smart. Go for the weed.”
“Another reason I was skipping town. Exactly this. You guys get a sniff of something and latch on like leeches. I figured the train station was safe; I mean, who hangs out at the train station?” He rolled his eyes. “The one time one of you is not somewhere eating a cruller.”
“We’re going to need the name of your weed guy,” Foster said. “And anyone else who can place you.”
“Or?” Rimmer asked, his eyes moving from Li’s to Foster’s.
Foster flipped the page in her notebook. “Your date said you made an interesting comment about her hair. She said you twisted it, caressed it, and remarked that you wished it were red instead of blonde. Red, like Peggy’s. Odd thing to say.”
“Really odd,” Li said.
“I sold a couple of bags to Monk in the cemetery on Irving Park Road,” he blurted out. “Around eleven. Then I went back home. When I heard about the second girl, I knew I’d be the one you guys would be looking for, so I knew I had to bounce. My buddy Blake cut my hair, his girl Caroline helped me dye it, and I made for the station. I figured you guys would be too busy to check, right? Bigger fish and all that?”
Foster slid over a legal pad and pen for Rimmer. “Write down their full names, addresses, and phone numbers, please.”
“Even Monk’s?”
Foster let a beat pass. “Especially Monk’s.”
Li sat stone faced, watching Rimmer sweat and wrestle with his predicament. Rimmer flicked her a look every second or two. “What’s wrong with her?” he asked Foster.
Foster looked over at Li, then turned to smile at Rimmer. “Nothing. Names, addresses, and telephone numbers.”
They needed the rest of the afternoon to confirm it all, but the info checked out—the haircut, the dyeing, even the Sunday-night weed selling. Joe Rimmer was an infant in a man’s body, a weed pusher, a lousy boyfriend, a disappointing lay, but he couldn’t have killed Peggy, and they didn’t yet know enough about Rea to push him on that. As Foster suspected, Li’s mention of the video had been a ruse to get Rimmer talking. He’d also agreed to a DNA swab before they let him go, so at least they had that if they needed to match it to any physical evidence left behind on Rea. It was the best they could do.