Page 41 of The Grave Artist
She then called Williamson to update him on the disturbing developments. He was out at a meeting with other DHS officials, but Destiny Baker, his assistant, promised to relay the information to her boss.
Carmen disconnected and turned to Heron. “That teenager. We need to talk to her.”
“Right,” he said firmly, his face grim. He seemed as deeply troubled by the attack as she was. Maybe he felt guilty, but Carmen thought it was more.
Battling together in the trenches does that, forging connections that might not otherwise exist. And forging them fast. She suspected this was what had happened between the two men.
Carmen called Liam Grange and found that when the teenager’s family learned of the attack, they immediately returned home to Brentwood, fearful for their safety.
Heron considered this news. “I know you like to interview wits in person, but we don’t have time to drive over to their house.”
She said absently, her mind still on Tandy and his condition, “‘Wit.’ Instead of ‘witnesses.’ You’re turning into a cop, Heron.”
He offered a wistful smile.
Carmen placed a call to the number Grange had given her. A woman’s smoky voice answered, and after a few minutes of setting the ground rules, which included the nonnegotiable condition that her daughter would never testify in court, the girl joined her mother on the line.
“Hello, Sylvie. You’re on speaker. I’m here with my associate.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“You can call me Carmen.”
A pause. “Okay. How’s that guy? You know, the one who got stabbed?”
“He’s alive. In the hospital and they’re operating on him now.”
“Okay. Good. Cool.”
“Now, we’re ninety percent sure the man you saw was the one who stabbed him.”
“Shit.”
“Syl.” From the mother.
No response from the daughter. She had been tangentially involved in a knife attack. Carmen guessed the teen would have no time for parental corrections.
“Can you describe him, Sylvie?”
“He was White andold—maybe, like, thirties.”
Despite everything, Heron and Carmen shared a brief smile at this.
“But he was still kinda hot.”
“Syl!”
Everyone ignored the mother. Carmen continued, “What was his hair color?”
“Dark, I think. And he was big but not fat. He wore a suit, like all the men. My dad calls it charcoal gray. And his tie, I kept looking at his tie. It was purple. Like the wizards wore inHarry Potter. You know, to signal each other they were wizards.”
“What happened when he talked to you?”
“He saw me and walked up, all friendly. And I thought it was weird because, you know, my grandpa—it was his funeral—he wasreallyold, and we knew he was going to die. But everybody was still real sad looking. Kind of like what you do, you know. At a funeral you’re supposed to look all sad, even if you don’t really care. But he wasn’t sad at all. He looked happy.”
Carmen had her tablet out and made a note. “And what did he say?”
“Just a couple words. Like, ‘Hey there. How you doing?’ That kind of thing. Then he freaked. I think because those cop cars, I meanpolicecars, showed up and he just turned around and walked away. Fast.”
