“How good a look did she get?”
Del flipped another page, shot me the bird and continued his recitation. “As I was saying, one with dark brown or black hair, thin, tall; definitely male.” Del made air quotation marks, “Gangly,” then went back to reading from the pad. “Not long after him, another one left, she can’t say boy or girl—just long blond hair and, emaciated. Her word again.”
Another flip of his notepad. “Last one she swears was a girl, but every neighbor says they haven’t seen anything without balls enter the vic’s house in the four years he’s lived there. We’ll assume they include his ball-busting wife. Just young boys other than that.”
“The girl?” I prompted. Del’s snickers and sneers were about to get on my nerves. Especially since the idea of young boys being anywhere near Alvarado made me think of Peter—whose hair, at ten at night, would have appeared dark brown. Though gangly he wasn’t. I said as much to the group.
The only reason Luis and I were at the scene was to coordinate notes and descriptions that had come up in our own investigation. With deep regret, I had to share my next thought.
“My suspect has a brother. Gangly, dark hair, six one or two. Nicholas Cotton. Age sixteen.” I jotted down the address.
Betraying Peter was easier than I would’ve thought.
“Lots of gangly boys with dark hair,” Marco pointed out with a frown. His way of asking why I zeroed in on the brother.
“Brother was involved with Alvarado. Intimately.” I hesitated. “And just spoke about him in the past tense.”
“The girl,” Del continued, scratching his nose with his middle finger while smirking at me, “Millicent says had a skirt clear up to her backside and a bra. Oh yeah, a golf hat.”
I didn’t rise to Del’s baiting finger. For whatever reason, he didn’t like me. By his “Richie Rich” comment, I had a feeling my wealth was his particular bone-picking. “Is that a look now? Golf hats?” I asked with a lift of my lip in distaste.
“You tell us. We heard you turned faggot,” Del said. The blood drained from my face. My head whipped to Luis. “That in fashion, Glass?”
“Next time I bang your sister, I’ll ask,” I ground out, stepping up to Del and peering down. Even my three inch height advantage didn’t intimidate him.
“You need me to turn around, fairy?”
“Del, knock it off,” Marco said with a quiet sigh, staring off in the opposite direction of me.
“Fairy?” I said to Luis, jerking my thumb at Del. “Is he for real? Richie Rich and fairy?” I glanced at my watch again and shook it. “How do I get back to the 21st century?”
“Click your heels three times, Dorothy,” Del said. I wasn’t expecting him to get better at insulting me, so I was rendered speechless for a moment.
The heat of humiliation warmed my cheeks as my friend and partner said nothing in my defense. “You want to be my first gay experience, asshole? Turn around, because I’ll click my heels right up your ass until you scream ‘there’s no place like home’, bitch.” I advanced on Del, fists clenched, fully intent on knocking him out. Before either of us could come to blows, Luis had the collar of my shirt, pulling me backwards, and Marco’s arm shot out to block Del.
“Just keep your faggot ass away from me,” Del screamed, bashing his chest up against Marco’s hand.
Walking backwards—or more yanked backwards by Luis—I shouted back, “First it’s your ass I have to watch. Now it’s mine? You sure I’m the faggot?”
“Enough!” Luis yelled, pulling me to face him. How someone in his shape managed to toss me around like a rag doll, I’d never know.
“What the fuck, Luis? You’re supposed to have my back. Fuck you!”
“This ain’t grade school, Glass. I ain’t your boyfriend standing up for your honor. You bring that shit to work, you handle the fallout.”
“How the fuck did I bring it here?” I screamed, spraying spit in an unblinking Luis’s face.
Calmly, Luis stared me down, “Five seconds to figure it out.”
I needed ten. “Shitfuck. The interview.” Of course—they had watched the recorded interview with Alvarado and my dad. “Goddammit.”
“Shitstorm just started, kid. Del’s got a loud mouth, and he don’t like you.”
“Fuck that. I’m more pissed that asshole stole our case!”
“No one stole shit. We’re still working the trafficking angle.”
“Our fucking suspect is dead.”