CHAPTER
17
THE SMOKE-AND-COFFEE CAR was parked out in front of Devine’s place, and Detective Hancock had the driver’s door open. He was sitting sideways in the seat with his feet on the pavement. He looked up as Devine walked into view.
Hancock stood. As he did, his jacket swung open, revealing a gun in a belt clip holster.
“You prefer the Glock to the Sig?” asked Devine as he drew nearer.
Hancock glanced down in surprise. “You can tell just from the butt of the gun?”
“I can tell from a lot of things.”
“Army stuff coming through again, huh?”
“Army green pours through every pore I have. What’s up?”
Hancock focused on his face. “Whoa, what the hell happened there?”
“Playing pickup basketball at the high school over there and fell flat on my face trying to do stuff I don’t have the skill to do against kids half my age and a lot better than I’ll ever be. Looks worse than it is.”
“Right. Leave that shit to the youngsters. I have some follow-ups. Got a minute?”
“And if I said I’d rather get some shut-eye?” said Devine.
“Won’t take long. Let’s take a walk. You good with that? Nice night.”
Devine started walking and Hancock fell in beside him.
“How’s the investigation coming? Have you found out why she killed herself?”
“She didn’t kill herself. That’s why I’m here with more questions.”
Devine stopped walking; so did Hancock.
“Come again?”
“She didn’t take her own life. This is now a homicide investigation.”
Devine held on to that game-changing word for an eternal moment. “Homicide, as opposed to suicide?”
“This is not for official distribution, you understand,” said Hancock.
“So why tell me?”
“I hope being straight with you will make you straight with me, that’s why.”
“I have been straight with you.”
“Don’t think so.”
“But you guys said suicide,” countered Devine.
“That was the prelim. Things have changed. Homicide can be made to look like suicide, especially for victims who were found hanging.”
“I know,” said Devine, looking off now.
“How?” said Hancock quickly. “How do you know?”