Page 83 of Holmes, Margaret and Poe

“Doesn’t matter,” I said, and I scrolled to the picture of LeslieParks and the bearded man on the Green Monster at Fenway. “What about him? Have you seen him?”

“This is the same man,” he said. “The one with the bad arm.”

“I’m talking about the second man, the one with the beard.”

I blew up the man’s face on the screen.

“It’s possible,” he said. “If he shaved his beard, it is possible he is someone I’ve seen.”

“Where? When? How?”

Shariff raised his eyebrows. “Three, maybe four weeks ago? I am watching the girls play. Nina, my wife, she is sleeping. He comes in a pickup truck with a top. Abdallah is waiting for him. They go to barn. He leaves.”

“What kind of pickup?” Mahoney asked.

He shrugged. “Silver. Maryland plates.”

“You got a good look at him?”

He nodded. “When my daughter kicks the soccer ball, it rolls across the street. He came down Abdallah’s drive to kick it back. So, close enough to see him.”

“How long did he stay?”

“Longer than the man with the bad arm. Maybe two hours. He and Abdallah had coffee out on that front deck.”

I said, “Did you ever see him use a funny-looking phone?”

He frowned. “No. But who knows what they did in that house.”

“We’re trying to figure that out,” Mahoney said. “And we’re going to have to keep you for the night. You’ll get a place to sleep, and I’ll make sure you are released early to go to the hospital to see your daughters and your wife, who we want to talk to as well.”

“Thank you,” he said. “I am not like those men. I swear to you on my father’s grave I am not.”

CHAPTER 73

I SLID INTO BEDbeside Bree at ten past four. I didn’t hear her when she got up at six a.m. My cell phone lit up at twelve minutes to seven.

Sampson was calling. My head felt like a freight train had hit it when I answered.

“There’s been another Dead Hours killing,” he said. “Baseball field on Tenth, not far from you.”

“I know it. I’ll meet you there,” I said and hung up.

I stood in a cold shower for a full three minutes, didn’t bother to shave, then quickly dressed and went downstairs, smelling coffee and bacon. I followed the aromas into the kitchen, where Ali was sitting at the counter talking to Nana Mama.

“What are you doing up already?” my grandmother said when she saw me. “Bree said you came in at four.”

“And now I’m up at” — I glanced at the clock — “seven ten.”

“You’ve got to get enough sleep, Alex. It’s important for your health.”

“Jannie says that all the time,” Ali said. “And she should know.”

I opened a cabinet, found a go-cup, and poured it full of black coffee. I sipped it, glad for the bitterness, which woke me up even more. “I agree with the both of you,” I said, snapping the cover on. “I promise to catch up on my sleep when these cases are over.”

Nana Mama sighed. “Which one has you up this morning?”

“A new Dead Hours victim,” I said, moving past her.

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