Fractured by Wendy Byrne Page B

hand.
    He smiled and headed her way. She never could guess his age, but suspected he was much younger than he appeared. Life on the streets played out in his appearance as well as in the lack of agility with which he moved.
    â€œThanks, Detective Sanchez.” He took a good long sip before he spoke again. The simple pleasure that coffee brought him broke onto his face. “Haven’t seen you in a while.” He held the cup in gloves with the fingers cut off. As usual, he’d concocted a rag-tag mix of Salvation Army clothing store finds to keep him warm.
    She didn’t know his story but assumed that one day he might tell her. Judging by the fact that he constantly smelled of liquor, she suspected alcoholism was a big part of why he was in this situation.
    â€œBeen busy. You know what they say, a cop’s work is never done.”
    â€œI thought they say that about mothers.”
    She smiled and considered the unlikely comparison. “Mothers, cops, same thing.”
    He nodded. “True enough.” He took another long sip, which made her glad she’d bought the extra-large size. “You need something, Detective?”
    â€œActually, I was hoping you might have seen something.” She drew in a deep breath. “A man was killed in my apartment the other day.”
    â€œI heard something about that.” His gaze shifted first one way then the other before settling back to her.
    â€œCops talk to you?”
    â€œOh, heck no. They think we’re nothing but a bunch of drunks.” He laughed so hard at his joke he started to cough. “I guess they’re right about that.”
    â€œI know you don’t usually hang around past seven or so at night, but I was wondering if you saw anything unusual around my place the last couple of days.”
    He rubbed his stubbly face. “Now that you mention it, I saw a truck. At first I thought you were moving out.” He winked. “But I knew you wouldn’t do that without letting me know.”
    â€œAbsolutely.” Shaky, she took a sip of coffee to help settle her nerves. “Could you tell what they were moving?”
    â€œLooked like household stuff, furniture, that kind of thing.”
    â€œWhat day was that?”
    â€œNot sure. I lose track of days on the streets.” He shrugged.
    â€œSure. I get that. Before the moving truck, did you see anything else? Any visitors?” At this point, she hadn’t learned anything she didn’t already know. Lou and Cynthia moved out while she was at work.
    â€œNot that cop guy you were hanging with. I haven’t seen him for a while.” He gave her a smile. “If you two broke up, it might be time to make my move. I might not be as good-looking as him, but I bet he can’t dance like me.”
    She laughed. “You’re probably right about that.”
    â€œBut I did see a couple of other guys. One looked like a punk, the other looked like a cop.”
    â€œWas the cop wearing a uniform?”
    Leo shook his head. “Nope. But he drove what looked like an unmarked cop car and had on a suit. He sure did smell like a cop, even from a block away.”
    â€œDid he ring the bell or just look around?” She needed some kind of thread to pull this together.
    â€œNope. He went inside. I think he talked to the renter you had on the first floor. You know, the one with the moving truck.”
    A weird slither worked its way down her back. “What did the cop look like? Anybody on CPD that you know?”
    â€œThis guy wasn’t CPD.” He shook his head. “The guy was about fifty, with graying hair at the temples.”
    What was Malone doing talking to Lou a couple of days before her father ended up dead in her apartment?

Chapter Seven
    â€œYou okay, Ms. Detective?” Leo tugged at the sleeve of her coat.
    â€œOh, yeah, sure,” she mumbled, not really sure about anything or anybody right now. It seemed like