Silent Victim - C. E. Lawrence [81]
Butts had already asked him who came into the building around the time of the crime, and so far, he hadn’t come up with much. After all, most of the offices were closed, though he did say people came and went even on the weekends.
“Now, Mr. Rodriguez, can you think of anyone unusual who came into the building in the past twenty-four hours?”
Rodriguez clenched his hands tightly and leaned forward even more, rocking a little in his chair. He was young—maybe late twenties, with an earnest, open manner and a light Puerto Rican accent. He wore a gold wedding ring and a tiny gold cross around his suntanned neck.
“Wait! We did get a UPS delivery around six on Saturday.”
He seemed pleased to have thought of this, and looked at Butts like a schoolboy who has done well. “Is that unusual?” Butts asked.
“Not really. We usually get a few UPS deliveries on weekends—it’s easier to find parking, for one thing. Sometimes they even come twice a day—once in the morning and once in the late afternoon.”
“Was the delivery guy someone you’d seen before?”
He pursued his lips and twisted the gold wedding band around his finger. “No, I don’t think so.”
“Did you get a look at him?”
“No, not really. He wasn’t the usual guy, though—I know that.”
“How come?”
“Most often it’s Jimmy—he’s from Jamaica,” he said, with a glance at Lee.
“Yeah?”
“Jimmy’s black. This was a white guy.”
Butts looked at Lee and raised his left eyebrow just a bit.
“You sure about that?”
“Oh, yeah—definitely.” Again Rodriguez looked pleased with himself, and glanced at them for signs of approval. “Can you describe him at all?”
“Well, it’s kind of hard, because he’s not the kind of guy who would stand out in a crowd. I didn’t really study him or nothin', you know?”
“Height, weight?”
“Average. Maybe five-ten, not built big, but not skinny either. Just average.”
“Can you tell me anything else about him?”
He chewed on his lower lip, his face set in concentration. Finally he shook his head. “Naw, sorry, man. Oh, wait, yeah: he had a real soft voice—that was kind of unusual, I thought.”
“Unusual how?”
“Breathy, like … well, this is silly, but—”
“But what?”
“Well, it kinda reminded me of Marilyn Monroe. I mean, it was definitely a dude, no question about that, but the voice … it was kinda weird, now that I think of it.”
“Do you think you’d recognize it if you heard it again?”
“I don’t know—maybe.”
“Okay, thank you, Mr. Rodriguez—you’ve been very helpful,” Butts said, closing his notebook and standing up.
Rodriguez looked at them. “If there’s anything I can do,” he said, lowering his voice, “anything at all, just let me know, okay?”
“We will,” Lee replied. “Thanks again.”
He leapt up and accompanied them out, shaking both their hands before they headed through the revolving glass doors.
“Man, I wish every interview was like that one,” Butts said when they were outside on the street.
“As the song says, wouldn’t it be nice?” Lee agreed.
“What song’s that?” Butts said, starting to walk down Sixth Avenue toward the subway entrance.
“The Beach Boys.”
“You like that stuff?”
“Some people think Brian Wilson is a genius.” “I don’t know about genius, but I do know those guys sing like girls.” “What’s wrong with that?”
Butts looked at him, frowning. “C’mon, Doc, you pullin’ my leg?”
“I’m just asking.”
Butts stopped walking and pointed to a street vendor selling Middle Eastern specialties. “I’m starving—want a sandwich?”
“Sure.” He followed Butts over to the vendor’s cart, which had a sign that read HALAL FOOD. That was the Islamic version of kosher—it meant there was no pork and the food was prepared according to religious standards, though exactly what those were he wasn’t sure.
The vendor was Middle Eastern, slight, and very dark-skinned, and wore a white smock and a simple white turban. Not all the vendors