Already he knew what kind of a guy this uncle was. Anybody who didn’t eat pickles on his burger was wrong. He watched as the uncle squashed down the burger, picked it up, and gently took a bite. No big bite for him. No, it was all little tiny nibbles. And why was that? Burgers were meant to be chewed with gusto. Anything less was sacrilegious.
He sat here, eating his fries, as he watched the uncle. Realizing the fries needed salt, he grabbed the salt and gave a liberal shaking of it over his fries and then tasted them. Much better. By the time he finished his fries, the other guy had finally finished his burger.
He looked down at the other half of his burger still on his plate and decided he’d take it back with him. He got up and walked to the counter with it in his hand, and the same girl at the counter gave him a small container. He quickly transferred the last half of his burger to it, thanked her, and walked back outside.
As he passed the uncle, he studied his trench coat that had once been a high-end piece but was now older and had dragged the ground for too many years. He had big shoes that looked to be a little too big, and his pants, instead of fitting nicely at the top, scrunched over. So secondhand clothes all the way. He tried to look nice, but he was down on his luck and had been for a long time.
That’s all right; he understood that too. As long as this uncle stayed out of his fucking way, it was all good.
As he walked past, he said, “Hey, Ken.”
The man froze, then spun to see who’d called out to him. But he was too slow.
Standing at the corner of the restaurant, he watched as Ken nervously wolfed down the rest of his food. Then he sat back down outside with his Coke and waited until Ken finished his meal and got up and left. But he didn’t go the way he’d come. He headed up the block.
He waited until Ken disappeared out of sight, before he rose and followed.
The city wasn’t big enough for both of them. But he needed to know if Ken had Leonard first.
Chapter 13
Saturday, Wee Hours of the Morning
“Hey, we’ve gota new one,” Rodney said into her phone.
Kate groaned and rubbed the sleep from her eyes. “What time is it?” She sat up in bed, realizing she was still half dressed.
“It’s four-thirty.”
“Great,” she said. “When do we ever get a full night’s sleep?”
“Not tonight, that’s for sure,” he said, “I’ll meet you at Drake and Howe again.”
“Shit, another one there in that same area?” She closed her eyes at the thought. “Please tell me that it’s not a kid.”
“It’s not a kid.” And he hung up on her.
She still didn’t have time for a shower, so she hopped into the rest of her clothes, picked up her harness, buckled in her weapon, grabbed her jacket to cover it up, and wished she had time to even make coffee, but she didn’t, which considering she had yet to get to a grocery store it wouldn’t have made any difference. She walked out of her apartment, locking it behind her, hopped into her vehicle, and headed to the location. Parking was easy at this time of the night—early morning really—but she made sure that her vehicle could remain easily in her line of sight, as she inspected the crime scene. She stepped out to see street cops putting yellow tape around the area to keep the growing crowd back. Where had they all come from at this hour?
When she walked over, she noted Rodney standing by the body; he lifted a hand in greeting. At his side, she looked down. “Homeless man?”
“I don’t think so,” he said. “What would make you think that?”
“Clothes are too big. Boots are too long. Coat doesn’t fit either.” She added, “Looks like he hasn’t shaved in a couple days.”
“But the clothes are well-made,” he said. “They are pretty high-end.”
“Yeah, he used to afford them, but now he can’t. So either these are somebody else’s clothes or from a secondhand shop.”
“Okay,” he said. “I didn’t even see that the pants were too big.”
“And they hang down too long. The back of the pants scuffed along the sidewalk.” She walked around the victim, looked at him, and asked, “Strangled?”
“Looks like it. No bullet wounds, no bleeding, and no blood splatter anywhere.”
“Coroner?”
“On his way.”