‘About the young woman that died in Manatee Park,’ says Rick, getting out his phone and showing the picture of the dead woman to Mikey. ‘We think you might have known her.’
‘I . . . oh Jeez, it’s just, it’s not . . .’ Mikey looks pained, like he might vomit. He runs his hand through his hair, tugging on the top.
It looks even messier now, thinks Philip. It’s the sort of look his daughters would call ‘bedhead’。 Personally he thinks the boy should damp it with some water and give it a good comb. ‘We’ve got an eyewitness who puts her in your car a few nights ago, son.’
Mikey looks down. He shakes his head. ‘This can’t be happening. It can’t. I just . . .’
‘Tell us what happened,’ says Rick.
‘Are you the cops? Have you come to—’
‘These are good people,’ says Miss Betty, putting down her glass of sweet tea and fixing Mikey with a steely gaze. ‘They help keep this neighbourhood safe. So you’re going to tell them everything you know, and you’re going to tell the truth, otherwise I’ll cut you out of my will and then you’ll be stuck driving that godawful car forever.’
‘Yes, Gram.’
‘Good. So speak. Tell them.’
Mikey hugs himself tighter and looks away from the picture on the phone that Rick is holding up. ‘I know – knew – her. I mean, we’d only known each other a few weeks, but I . . .’ He shakes his head. His eyes are watery. ‘We were kind of dating.’
‘Kind of?’
‘We talked, and hooked up, you know, and we just kind of vibed.’
‘You vibed?’ Philip shakes his head at the absurdity of the word. ‘What the hell is that?’
Mikey looks uncertain. ‘How’d you mean?’
‘He means, could you tell us about her,’ says Rick, shooting Philip a look that says ‘steady’。
Philip drowns his irritation with a gulp of sweet tea. He should be leading the questioning. This is his investigation. Rick shouldn’t be telling him to back off. He takes another gulp. The ice has almost melted, so the tea is more diluted now. It’s spoiled it really. Philip puts it down on the side table. The bang as it hits the coaster is louder than he’d intended. Mikey flinches from the sound. Miss Betty raises an eyebrow.
‘Her name’s Kristen Altman and she’s a croupier at the Flying Mustang Casino over in Conaldo Plains.’
Interesting, thinks Philip. Conaldo Plains is another district of The Homestead, Ocean Mist’s neighbour to the south. It’s a bigger neighbourhood and home to a big square with several casinos, a theatre and some fancy eating places that The Homestead residents have nicknamed Little Vegas. ‘How did the pair of you meet?’
‘In a place called Showtime Grill over in Little Vegas. I needed a drink in someplace more lively than here, and she had just gotten off shift. We were drinking the same bourbon. We got talking and . . .’ He shrugs. ‘Vibed.’
Philip can see Rick watching him; his expression a warning to take it slow. Philip ignores him. He’s the senior-ranking officer here. He’ll ask whatever questions he damn well likes. ‘The night she died, did you see her?’
Mikey looks down at his shoes. ‘I was meant to, but she never showed. We agreed to meet at the Wild Ridge Pavilion just after midnight. She was working until eleven thirty, so when she wasn’t there on time I thought her shift must have dragged over. But I waited until 1 a.m., and then, when she wasn’t answering my calls and messages, I decided to go home.’ He shakes his head. ‘I was real mad at her for not showing up. I feel bad about that now.’
‘Do you have anyone who can vouch for your whereabouts that night?’ Philip asks, although he can already guess the answer.