At First Light(Dr. Evan Wilding #1)(79)

It was time to do cop stuff.

She walked back to the house where Tristan Walters sat on the stairs leading up to the deck, watched over by the patrol cop. She studied the kid. His man bun was lank and greasy, his cuticles ragged. On his left wrist, he wore a banged-up fitness tracker, and around his neck hung a plain silver chain with a pendant shaped like a downward-pointing arrow. The kid was as thin as a flagpole. She knew from her brothers how much a young man could eat and wondered if Hank had been feeding him anything more substantial than chicken nuggets and fries from McDonald’s—she’d seen the wrappers balled up among beer bottles when they walked through the kitchen.

Walters was still weeping, but now the tears flowed in a silent, steady stream. His gaze showed the blankness of shock, his skin the color of day-old snow. He looked like a pitcher of glass that was seconds away from shattering. She reminded herself that this kid might be the killer. Never assume anything was Patrick’s motto and hers. But she thought it unlikely. Walters seemed genuinely distressed. More tellingly, there wasn’t a speck of blood visible anywhere on him. And he clearly hadn’t showered recently. She could smell pot and woodsmoke from last night’s party rising from his clothes and hair and grimy skin.

She turned her head and took a few deep breaths, then propped one foot on the splintered wooden step where Walters sat. She wanted to rip him apart, verbally speaking. But acting rough might make him turtle up. It was time to play the good cop.

She’d give it ten minutes, anyway.

Her face was expressionless as she stared down at him.

“You okay?” she asked.

He wiped his eyes on the sleeve of his parka. “Whaddaya think?”

“I know. Foolish question. You want some water?”

His eyes met hers briefly before he looked away. “Yeah.”

Addie nodded at the patrolman, who squeezed past Walters and lumbered up the stairs toward the door that led into the house.

“Look,” she said. “It’s going to get crazy around here real soon. Lots of cops. Crime-scene investigators. The medical examiner. Probably someone from the DA’s office. Just nuts.”

He shrugged. “Okay.”

“Most of them are going to want a piece of you. Do you understand?”

He dragged his eyes up to hers again. “I didn’t do anything.”

“I believe you. But they won’t. They’ll arrest you, haul you in handcuffs down to headquarters. Best thing for you is to tell me right now what you know.”

His lips thinned, and his face went sullen. “I’m not a rat.”

She held her sigh. “Not even against whoever killed your friend?”

Silence. His gaze went away again, lost and distant. She’d give her left pinkie to know what he was thinking.

The cop returned with a glass of water. Walters gulped it down.

“You live here most of the time, Mr. Walters?” she asked.

He set the glass on the stair. “Sometimes, yeah. When Hank wants me to.”

“And the rest of the time?”

He shifted restlessly, picked at the skin on his bare feet. “With my parents up in Rogers Park. I work at my dad’s hardware store.”

“You want me to call your parents for you, Mr. Walters?”

His eyes went wide. “No! No. That wouldn’t be good. My dad—he . . . no.”

“He doesn’t know about Hank? Or maybe he doesn’t know about this whole Viking white supremacist thing you guys got going? Is that it? Does he know about any of it?”

A miserable shake of the head.

“Okay,” she said. “For the moment, no phone calls. But we can’t keep playing pretend, Tristan. Can I call you Tristan? My partner over there, he’s pretty sure you’re good for this.”

“Good for—?” He stared up at her. “For killing Hank? Ah, no way, dude.”

“Then talk me out of it, Tristan,” Addie said. “Give me something.”

He looked up at her, his eyes red and wet. “What do you mean?”

Patrick walked up just then. He moved the water glass to a higher step and planted one boot on the other side of Walters.

“Hi,” he said to Walters.

Walters blinked up at him. “Hi.”

Patrick leaned in. “What she means, Mr. Walters, is why don’t you explain to us why your buddy Hank is lying dead a few feet away from where you’re sitting.”

Walters flinched. “I don’t know, dude. I don’t know. I just came out to—” He stopped abruptly.

“Came out to what?” Patrick asked.

Walters’s eyes flicked around the yard. Confusion drifted into his eyes like slow-rolling fog. “I came out to take a piss and check the dogs while you guys were inside talking to Ruley. But they’re all gone now.”

“The dogs are all gone,” Addie clarified.

“Yeah. The six that were back here. They musta got out somehow. The gate’s closed.”

Patrick rolled his eyes. “And the toilets? Those gone, too?”

“Someone clogged the one in the hall.” Now he sounded like a sullen teenager. “And the other one is off Hank’s bedroom. No one is allowed in there.”

“Why can’t anyone go into Hank’s room?” Addie asked.