"I'm sorry?"
He returned to digging through the bin. "Just did ask me a question."
She laughed. "You live near here?"
"Simon Says." He found a half sandwich and put it into his shopping bag. "Okay. I'm being fun. Shelter up the street. Or under the bridge. Depending." The hands and neck and calves, which were uncovered by the greasy clothing, were quite muscular.
"Did you seen anybody tall and real thin go into that building a few weeks ago? Or any other time?"
"No." He moved on to another bin.
Sachs and Pulaski trailed. "You sure?" Pulaski asked. "Want another look?"
"No. Simon Says."
Sachs waited.
The man said, "You asked if I saw him going into the building. Nup. Didn't. You didn't ask if I'd seen him period. Which I have. Simon Says."
"Okay, where have you seen him?"
"Now you're cooking with gas. Standing right Jiminy there." He pointed: the far intersection, the direction they were going. "Skinny guy, but eating like a... do sailors eat? No, they swear. Chimneys smoke. He was eating something, munchin' it down. Was gonna hit him up for something. But felt off. Kind of talking to himself. Not that I don't. Ha! Also, eating that way, thought he seemed greedy. Chomp, chomp, chomp. I wouldn't get anything."
"When was this?"
"A while ago."
"How long? A week, a few days?"
"Simon Says."
Sachs tried, "What do you mean by a while ago?"
"Ten, fifteen."
"Days?"
"Minutes. He was just there."
Jesus.
Sachs unbuttoned her jacket and glanced up the street. Pulaski too grew vigilant, looking in the directions she was not.
"He go in any particular way?" she asked.
And don't fucking Simon Says me.
"No, just standing there. I went on looking for stuff, and that was it. Didn't see him again. Could be here, could be there, could be anywhere."
Pulaski was pressing the transmit button on the Motorola mike pinned to his shoulder. He called in a request for backup and, before she could remind him to do so, he said, "Silent roll-up. Suspect may be unaware of our presence. K."
"K," came the staticky response.
Sachs got the homeless man's name, which wasn't Simon, and the shelter he sometimes stayed in. She thanked him and told him it was best to leave. She was tempted to hand him a twenty but if it came down to testifying in court about the presence of the unsub, a defense lawyer would ask if he'd been paid anything by the police.
"You better get back to the shelter. Safer."
"Yes, ma'am. Yes, sir, Officer, sir."