Page 34 of 1st Shock
"How do we know this?"
I eye Matt with my foolish-boy look. By now, he's worked with us long enough to know my sister has amazing contacts. Hackers, FBI and CIA agents, judges. You name it, Charlie knows someone in the field. She's built a career on her connections and knows exactly how to leverage them.
Chances are the information we have on Devante Bales is courtesy of Teeg, hacker extraordinaire, at the Justice Team.
"Right," Matt says. "PhD? What subject?"
I check my notes again. "Justice, Law & Criminology. School of Public Affairs."
Being a former cop, one with a bachelor’s in Criminal Justice, Matt understands the lure of studying criminal behavior.
"So, he's in a grad program in D.C.. Let's assume he wants to be a federal agent."
"Or a lawmaker."
"Politics?" Matt mulls that over for a few seconds, rolling his bottom lip out before offering a solid nod. "Yeah. I'll buy that."
"If we find him, we can ask. Along with why he visited Mickey Wilson right before us the other day."
I flip to the driver's license photo of Devante, a clean-cut bi-racial man with round glasses that give him a studious look. His hazel eyes, more green than brown, capture my attention. This kid's face belongs on a magazine cover. It might be The Economist versus GQ, but this was a fine looking man.
And, God knew, plenty of serial killers had been handsome. Gorgeous even. Those looks helped lure innocent women to places they had no business going.
At best, Devante is studying serial killers.
At worst, heisa serial killer.
A copycat gleaning information from Mickey, who excels at every characteristic of the most loathsome humans.
"Let's hope he's doing research," Matt says, apparently reading my mind.
We spend the rest of the ride in silence and I close my eyes. There's no headrest in the vintage car, but I do my best to slouch and tip my head back. I need to meditate for a few minutes and get my mind right. In general, I’m not built for investigative work. It drains my energy. But I can't look at Emily every day and do nothing when this case might have something to do with her.
I owe it to her.
And Avery.
Matt pulls into a parking garage down the street from the address on the copy of the license. According to his schedule, another gift I’m assuming came from Teeg, Devante works in the tutoring center on campus on Saturdays at eleven until three. It's barely nine-thirty. We've timed this well.
We park and walk the block to the apartment. There's a buzzer at the outer door and a speaker about to fall out of its enclosure. Matt shoves the piece back into place, only to have it stubbornly pop out again. Hopefully, it's not a sign of how this meeting will go.
His mouth tips down at the corners and just as I think he's about to press the buzzer, he looks at me. "How do you want to do this?"
"Let's skip good cop, bad cop. At least at first. If he's not cooperative, I'll be the former. You can play the understanding male, rolling your eyes at me and earning his trust. That work?"
He shrugs and pokes the buzzer. "Sure."
"Hello?" A groggy and deep male voice calls from the speaker.
"Yeah, hey, Devante," Matt says, all cool and casual. "I'm Matt Stephens. An investigator working a murder case involving Mickey Wilson. I know you saw him the other day. I could use your help. Got a sec?"
The speaker goes silent, but this is D.C. and a blaring car horn won't be denied its moment to make my ears bleed. I whirl around to give the driver a nasty glare and find two cars at a standstill due to a double-parked cab.
This is why I don't live in the city. Too much noise and drama.
"Idiot," Matt mutters.
A loudzzzppp-zzzpppfollowed by the thunk of the disengaging door lock spurts adrenaline into my bloodstream. Devante has granted us access. Here we go...
