“But it had a hood? So how do you know he wore a devil’s mask?”
“Because he pushed the hood off his head, when he looked up at the sky. Remember when I said he was standing, his hands on his hips, as if he was frustrated, angry, or something?”
“Got it,” she muttered, wishing there was more. It didn’t make a whole lot of sense, but when did any of this shit make sense? She wrote down the name of her witness. “Do you have an address? Somewhere you stay?”
“Not for a very long time,” he answered.
“Do you stay at any of the shelters?”
“When I can get a bed. Other than that, I just go from park to park.”
She sighed and sat back. “Was anybody else there around at the time?”
“Nope. Just me.”
“You don’t have any friends you hang out with?”
“I do, but I had a full bottle of booze,” he explained. “Matter of fact, I was supposed to go share it, but I drank it all, after seeing that dumpster last night.” He shook his head. “I knew I wouldn’t be welcome if they found out I’d done that.”
“Well, you also spent the day in the tank.”
“And thank you for that,” he said. “It was nice and dry.”
She sighed. “You know that we could give you a hand to get you dried out.”
“There have been lots of hands over the years.” He sniffled, his eyes turning rheumy with emotions. “Ain’t none of them ever took yet.”
“Doesn’t mean they can’t,” she argued.
“Maybe,” he muttered. “But I’d have to give up the one thing that’s been good to me.”
“You mean, the bottle?” she asked gently.
He nodded. “Yeah, she’s always there for me.”
“But she’s a bitch in the morning,” Kate added, with a note of humor.
He looked at her, and a bright smile flashed on his face. “That she is,” he noted affectionately, “but she’s my bitch.”
And that was about the truth of it. After he was gone, Kate returned to her department. As she walked to the bullpen, she picked up a coffee, wondering how, ever since the team had all come to terms, there was always coffee now.
As she neared her desk, her landline was ringing. She groaned, raced over, and grabbed it. “Detective Kate Morgan here.”
Dr. Smidge was on the other end. “I’ve got your DB from this morning on the table.”
“Already? It must be almost like a holiday down there.”
“Not likely,” he snapped. “A couple things you should probably go over.”
“I’m on my way,” she replied. “Give me half an hour.”
“That’s all right. I got lots of paperwork and plenty to deal with.”
When he hung up the phone, she turned and looked over at Rodney. “That was Dr. Smidge. He’s got this morning’s victim on the table, and he wants me to go over there for some reason.”
At that, Rodney looked up, startled.
“I know. Most of the time he’s kicking us out of there.”