Just then, Coldmoon was interrupted by an unintelligible cry from outside. He looked out the café window to see a young man staggering up the street: filthy, covered in mud and dirt, his clothes torn almost into rags. He was jabbering in distress, evidently drunk or high.
In a flash, Pendergast was up.
“What are you doing?” Coldmoon asked as he readied his fork for a frontal attack on the fried eggs. “He’s just some drunken kid.”
But Pendergast ignored him and went outside. Reluctantly, Coldmoon followed a few moments later. The kid had paused just down the street and was clinging to a lamppost, steadying himself. The few pedestrians about at that early hour ignored him completely. Evidently inebriated people at dawn were not an uncommon sight in Savannah.
Pendergast approached the young man, speaking in a soothing voice, holding out his hand. The kid lurched, turned, and as he did so Pendergast grasped his muddy hand in support. “I’m here to help,” Coldmoon heard him say.
The kid let go of the lamppost, letting Pendergast bear his weight. “I’m here to help,” the agent repeated.
The kid turned his mud-smeared face toward Pendergast, his lips moving, the words indistinct but repeated over and over like a mantra, his eyes widening. And then, as his cracked voice grew louder, Coldmoon understood what he was trying to say: No help, no help, no help, no help no help no help…
34
LET US CAFFEINATE THIS fellow at once,” said Pendergast, steering him back toward the café. “And find out what he has to say.”
“Why?” Coldmoon asked. “He’s just some random student.”
“Random? My dear Coldmoon,” Pendergast said, in a tone somewhere between pity and exasperation, “did you not see the Auburn University tiger paw emblazoned on his shirt? It’s identical to the one the recently deceased was wearing.” He cocked his head at his partner.
Coldmoon could fill in the rest himself. Surely a trained FBI agent would notice such an obvious connection. He found himself coloring. “Sorry. So you think—？”
“I think we may have found the victim’s friend and drinking partner. I believe he is more terrified than he is drunk.”
Coldmoon held open the door while Pendergast eased the youth over to their table.
“Now hold on, all y’all,” said the waitress, glaring at Coldmoon. “We don’t serve drunks or hooligans here.”
“Ma’am,” Pendergast said, slipping his FBI badge out of his suit and flipping it open, “this is official business.”
She didn’t bat an eye. “In that case, the boy needs some coffee.” She swiped a mug from an adjacent table, filled it to the brim from the pot, and placed it before the kid. “He’ll need something in his stomach, too. How about some buttered toast?”
“Thank you.” Pendergast turned back to the new arrival. “You’re safe now. Have some coffee.”
The boy took the mug in both hands, trembling, and sipped, slopping it over the rim.
“Again.”
He took another sip, and another. The waitress brought over a plate of buttered toast.
“Excellent.”
The boy picked up a piece of toast and bit into it hungrily. The coffee and toast seemed to steady him: his eyes looked more focused now, Coldmoon thought; less glazed with shock and fear.
“And now, young man,” Pendergast said, “what is your name?”
He looked at Pendergast with frightened eyes. “Toby.”
“Toby…”
“Manning.”
“I am Special Agent Pendergast. And this is my partner, Special Agent Coldmoon. How do you do?”
Manning did not seem to be able to answer the question.
“He reminds me of Paul Revere’s ride,” the waitress said from behind the counter. “A little light in the belfry.”
Coldmoon gave her a none of your business glance. The waitress frowned and, curling her lip, offered him a moue in return.
“Toby,” Pendergast said, “do you know a fellow named Brock Custis?”
The eyes widened. “How—？”
“Mr. Custis, I regret to say, was found dead earlier this morning.”
“Oh my god…In the cemetery?”
Pendergast looked at him curiously. “No. Did something happen in the cemetery?”
“Um…” He seemed hesitant to talk.
Pendergast lowered his voice to a soothing, honeyed cadence. “You can tell me, Mr. Manning. What happened in the cemetery?”