‘Take your time, Mrs Raymond,’ Williams said gently.
Trey’s grandmother leaned over and rested a comforting hand on her daughter’s shoulder. ‘We told the detective we didn’t believe that,’ the old woman informed Williams. ‘But the truth is, that man didn’t care what we had to say. He’s got his own ideas about Dr Roberts, and about Trey. He doesn’t want to know no truth.’
Collecting herself, Trey’s mother added, ‘He accused us of being obstructive and he said if he found we’d deliberately withheld information he’d throw both our “black asses” in jail. Then he left. He said he could find Trey’s dealer buddies himself. Which is gonna be hard, Mr Williams, as my son did not hang around with any of those guys. I mean, none.’
Williams offered his condolences and left, thanking them both for their time and the coffee. ‘If you think of anything that might be helpful or important for me to know, you can call that number on my card, anytime. Day or night,’ he told Trey’s mother.
‘Thank you.’ She shook his hand gratefully. ‘I surely will. And you say hello to Dr Roberts from us.’
Outside on the street, Williams stopped, considering his next move. He was only a few blocks from the corner where all the Westmont dealers hung out. It was one of the few spots where whites were allowed to pass by the local gang enforcers, because it wasn’t in anybody’s interest to shoot potential customers.
Johnson had probably headed straight there himself from the Raymonds’ place, angry and reckless. The man was an out-and-out asshole, but he also had a reputation for being brave, and less likely than most of his colleagues to be intimidated by Westmont’s notoriously violent dealers. Williams looked at his cheap watch. It was over an hour since Johnson had left Denker Avenue. The coast must be clear by now.
Jumping back in his car, Williams did a slow drive-by first, to get the lie of the land. All seemed peaceful enough, although he knew from experience that in places like this violence could erupt out of nowhere in an instant. Pulling over about fifty yards from the corner, he warily made his way over to a trio of young Latino men.
In perfect Spanish – after his abortive to trip to Mexico City looking for Charlotte Clancy all those years ago, he’d decided to learn the language – he asked them if a cop had been here in the last hour, asking questions about Trey. He was met with three blank stares. Handing each man a twenty-dollar bill and a packet of cigarettes he tried again.
‘The cop was very fat, very white and very rude,’ he elaborated, eliciting a smile from one of the trio. ‘Kind of an asshole.’
‘He was here,’ the smiler confirmed. ‘No one spoke to him though. He was talking to those junkies before he left.’ The man nodded towards a small group of homeless
men sprawled out on a sliver of green at the end of the street, opposite the official city park.
‘Thanks,’ said Williams, handing over another twenty. ‘And I’m assuming none of you guys knew Trey?’
The smiler shook his head. ‘We know who he is, though. The kid who got knifed, right? By the zombie?’
‘There’s no such thing as zombies,’ Williams said quietly.
‘Whatever,’ said the smiler. ‘That kid never hung around here.’
‘Was he a user?’ Williams chanced his hand.
‘Like I say, I never saw him.’
‘Dealer?’
‘Not around here. Maybe on the West Side? I heard he had some pretty fancy friends.’
Williams nodded and headed over to the addicts clustered on the verge. Two of them were asleep or passed out, curled up in sleeping bags that were more dirt than fabric. One poor man, a white guy with a big ZZ Top beard, was rocking back and forth on his haunches, muttering something unintelligible to himself and intermittently bursting into possessed laughter. Which only left one young girl, also white and skeletally thin, in a fit state for conversation. Guiltily, Williams slipped her a twenty, knowing exactly what it would be spent on.
Her face lit up. ‘Thanks! Oh my God … thank you!’
From the depths of his pocket, Williams pulled out a slightly battered Snickers bar. ‘Take this too. You need to eat something.’
He asked the girl the same question he’d asked the dealers. She confirmed that Johnson had grilled her and her friends, threatened to arrest them on the spot for possession. ‘But we could kinda tell he was bullshitting. He wasn’t interested in us. Wanted to know about this boy.’
‘Trey Raymond. What did you tell him?’
‘Nothing.’ She opened the Snickers and began to chew the top half-heartedly. ‘Never heard of him. Then again, this ain’t my neighborhood. I came here with my boyfriend.’ She gestured to the bearded rocker. ‘He’s not usually like that,’ she added, with a blush that was so sweet it broke Williams’ heart. She was somebody’s perfect little baby once.
‘No?’
‘Uh-uh,’ she shook her head sadly. ‘It’s this new shit he’s been on. Krok. Do you know it? It’s the worst.’
‘I don’t,’ Williams admitted. ‘He scores it around here?’
Suddenly, belatedly, the girl’s face clouded over with suspicion and fear. ‘Who are you, anyways?’ she asked Williams. ‘Why are you asking all these questions?’