Page 35 of 1st Shock
Once inside, I glance at Matt. "That was easy."
"I kept it casual. Plus, some intellectuals like talking about themselves. I took a shot he might want to brag about his prison visit."
The elevator, one of those old rickety deals with the sliding inner gate, carries us to the fourth floor where we knock on door 410.
Devante opens said door, round glasses in place, his cheeks spotted with fine facial hair that, if given a month, still wouldn't become a beard. His white T-shirt is beyond wrinkled, the basketball shorts not much better. In the two images—driver's license and student ID—I've seen of him, he wore an Oxford shirt, the collar pressed and stiff. His current clothing along with his initial groggy greeting via the buzzer leads me to believe we’ve woken him up.
"Hi." Matt extends his hand and the two men shake. "I'm Matt Stephens from Schock Investigations. This is Meg Schock. A forensic sculptor."
I nod and extend my hand. Devante's palm is warm, his grip firm but not obnoxious or prolonged. Manners. His parents taught him well.
"A sculptor. That's cool." His gaze shoots to Matt then me. "You're working a case?"
"Yes," I say. "It's a cold case. We believe it's a serial killer."
His mouth opens, forming a perfect O. "Whoa."
He steps back, pulling the door open.
Boom.
We're in.
Intellectuals. Such an interesting group.
The apartment is small and neat with a galley kitchen, breakfast bar and an open area containing a plaid loveseat. A battered coffee table holds a single photography book. A rocking chair completes the seating. Along the wall in the corner is a tall oriental screen. I spot the edge of a blanket peeking out and suspect the screen hides a bed that pulls from the wall.
Studio apartment.
He waves to the loveseat and Matt and I drop into it. The cushion sinks under Matt's heavier weight and my body lists. I don't want to be conducting this interview while getting cozy, so I lean to my right, countering gravity.
Devante takes the chair, sets his phone on the table between us and holds his hands wide.
"How can I help?"
I take the lead. "I understand you visited Mickey Wilson the other day."
"Yes. I'm working on a research paper for my doctorate."
Research paper.
I lift my eyebrows, pretending to be at least partially surprised. "What are you studying?"
The corner of his mouth lifts. "Ms. Schock, I'm gonna guess you know the answer. Why else would you be here?"
Touché.
As much as I don't want to, I like this guy. If he's a serial killer, he's a charming one. Even I, with my hardened senses, recognize his appeal.
From my messenger bag, I retrieve the folder with Charlie's notes, set it on my lap and flip it open. "Okay. Since you've busted me, we'll get right to it. We're working a cold case. Two in fact. Mickey has claimed responsibility for both murders, but we have doubts. We're hoping you might be able to tell us something regarding these cases." I roll one hand. "Since you're working on a research paper with a serial killer. Maybe he's shared things with you."
Devante rises and moves to a rectangular dining table against the wall. Beside it are three plastic stackable drawers with a printer on top. The table, probably a hand-me-down or a garage sale find given the nicks on the legs, is doubling as a desk.
"I'm happy to help in any way," he says. "I have my notes from my meetings with Mickey right here."
Meetings. As in plural.
Matt slides me a sideways glance. "So, you've been there before?"
