Until Dark - Mariah Stewart [15]
“What can you tell me about the man? Was he tall? Short?”
“He’s already told Chief Ford that the man was—” Mrs. Spinelli started before Adam stopped her.
“Let him tell Kendra.”
“Was he as tall as Agent Stark?” Kendra asked.
“Uh-uh. Not near that tall.”
“More like Chief Ford?” Kendra nodded to the door, outside of which the chief lurked. Chief Ford topped the chart at a solid five feet eight or nine.
“No, more like . . .” Max gave it considerable thought. “More like my dad.”
“How tall is your husband, Mrs. Spinelli?”
“Just about six feet,” she told Kendra.
“And what else did you notice about the man, Max?”
“Nothing. I wasn’t close enough to really see him.”
Kendra slid the artist’s sketch out from the file, and pretended to study it. Finally, she said, “Does this look anything like the man you saw that night, Max?”
“I didn’t see him close enough to say,” Max told her. “I told him—the guy who drew that picture—when he was showing me faces. I told him that I didn’t really know what the man looked like up close.”
“Thank you, Max. You’ve been a very big help to me.”
“But I haven’t told you anything. I didn’t really see him.”
“Exactly.” Kendra returned the sketch to the file. “Thank you, Mrs. Spinelli, for your time. And for bringing Max in.”
Adam stood and took two cards from his wallet. One he handed to Max’s mother.
“You ever want a tour of FBI headquarters, Max, you give me a call.” Adam handed the other card to Max.
“Wow. Thanks!” Max took the card and studied it. “Wow, this says you’re a special agent.”
“That’s right, son.”
“Cool.” Max tucked the card into his jacket pocket.
“Thanks again, Mrs. Spinelli.” Adam opened the door for mother and son to leave, then paused and asked, “Max, had you ever seen that van before?”
“I don’t know. Maybe at the Boys Club field. I think it might have been there on Sunday during the soccer tournament. At first I thought it was Mrs. Alcort’s, ’cause it’s sort of the same, but then I remembered that the Alcorts went to Virginia because Jake’s grandmother died.”
“By Sunday, you mean the Sunday before the day you saw Ms. Garvey with the man in front of Fanning’s?”
“Yeah.”
“Did you just see it that one time?”
“That’s the only time I remember.”
“Was Ms. Garvey at that game, Max?” Kendra asked.
“Sure. Ms. Garvey was at all the games. She always brought us snacks and stuff.”
“Kathleen was one of the team mothers,” Mrs. Spinelli explained.
“Thanks, Max. If you think of anything else, would you give me a call at the number on that card?”
“Sure.”
Mother and son passed through the door into the hallway, and Adam closed the door behind them before Chief Ford could enter.
“What do you think?” Adam asked Kendra.
“I think our sketch is a bit of a stretch on someone’s part. Of course, Mrs. Sims may have gotten a better look at your suspect than Max did.”
Adam was shuffling through the file that the chief had given him earlier.
“I don’t see a damned thing in here about the van being at the soccer field on Sunday,” he frowned.
“That’s because it takes a special agent from the FBI to ask all the right questions.”
“All right, all right.” Adam laughed good-naturedly. “So I didn’t tell Max that field agents are special agents.”
The door opened and Chief Ford stepped into the room.
“Was Max able to help you?” he asked.
“He helped,” Kendra told him.
“Good, good. Are you ready for me to bring in Mrs. Sims, Ms. Smith?”
“Is she here?”
“Oh, she’s been here for about twenty minutes or so. I didn’t figure you’d be with Max for so long, so I told her to come in at ten-thirty.”
“Bring her in then.” Adam nodded.
Aretha Sims was a tiny, birdlike woman in her seventies. White-haired and with the small bones of a woman who has shrunken past her prime, her eyes were still lively and her gaze direct. She toddled into the room in her Sunday-best low-heeled shoes and introduced herself in a manner that told both Kendra and Adam that she was a woman who was accustomed to being regarded.
“Please, sit here, next to me.” Adam pulled the chair out for her,