Hold Me Closer, Necromancer - Lish McBride [88]
Dunaway rubbed absently at his neck. He looked tired. “You don’t know if that would have helped. That might have made you a missing person, too.”
Ramon shrugged. Maybe. Then again, maybe not.
“Anything else?”
“He talked on the phone for a bit before he left,” Ramon said, “but I don’t know who with.”
Dunaway asked him more questions, none of which he could answer. After a while, the detective closed his notebook and looked out the window. He tapped his pen against the cover slowly, and Ramon could almost see the thoughts circling above his head. Finally, the pen stopped.
“You know, we found some video of the attack on Sam.” Ramon stared at his soda.
“From the night Brooke was killed.”
His eyebrows shot up, and he pushed away his drink. “Yeah?”
Dunaway stared him right in the eye. “I’ve looked at those tapes over and over.” He paused to see if Ramon would respond. When he didn’t, the detective continued. “Some weird things on those tapes. Weird things all over this case.”
Ramon looked down at his hands. “Tapes?”
“A few of the local shops had surveillance cameras set up. Some of the footage is grainy, but most isn’t too bad. Good enough for me to see a guy stopping a car with his fist.” As if to illustrate this, Dunaway held up his own fist, staring at the knuckles.
Ramon felt his mouth go dry. “Drugs?”
“Drugs don’t help you stop cars,” the detective said softly, almost to himself. He put his fist down. “Then there’s Sam’s injury. I’ve slowed the tape, zoomed in, run it through filters. Never see a weapon. Just the guy’s hand.”
“Huh.”
“Strange things are piling up: the murder, the attack, and now Sam’s disappearance. And you know what?”
Ramon shook his head. He didn’t want to know what.
“All those strange things keep coming back to you three.”
When Ramon didn’t respond, the detective got up to leave, leaning over the plastic table and offering his hand. Ramon hesitated out of surprise. No cop had ever offered him a handshake. He took the officer’s hand and shook it.
“I don’t know what trouble you boys are in or what’s going on yet, but I’m going to find out. Just be careful, all right?”
Ramon nodded.
Dunaway released his hand. “I’ll try to keep you in the loop if I can.”
Ramon nodded again, grateful.
Dunaway slipped his notebook into his pocket and headed for the parking lot.
Dread settled in Ramon’s stomach as he watched the detective drive away. For the hundredth time, he wished he knew what to do. He squeezed his eyes shut and thought. He didn’t know what had happened to Sam, but he didn’t think he was dead. No, Douglas seemed like the kind of guy to leave the body as a message. But Ramon couldn’t hang around anymore, waiting for things to work out. He had to find a way to do something. He drank his soda, ignored the ending of his break time, and furiously sifted for ideas. He needed a plan. A fragment of his conversation with Dunaway floated to the top. Sam had talked on the phone.
Bingo.
Ramon threw away his cup and went into the back. He pulled on his zip-up hoodie and reached for his spare board, since his usual ride was sitting in an evidence locker somewhere, after its debut as a weapon. He missed that board. If anything, he had to find Sammy so he could buy Ramon a new ride.
“Where are you going?” A touch of panic lit Frank’s face.
Ramon grabbed Frank’s shoulders. “I gotta go.”
“But it’s the middle of your shift,” he said. “You have seniority. You can’t just go.” Frank began to look a little wild around the eyes.
Ramon picked up his spatula and handed it over to Frank. “It’s time, man.”
Frank stared at the shiny metal spatula in his hand. “I haven’t been trained.”
“Frank, a drunk monkey could do this job.” He clapped him on the arm. “You’re ready.”
“No! I can’t!”
Someday, when Ramon had the time, he was going to find out where Frank got his lack of confidence from, if only so he could help raise the boy right. For now, all he could do