She raised an eyebrow. “He had a new supplier?”
“No. He said he didn’t need the drug no more.” His hand moved again.
“We both know he was a junkie. And we both know he could never have given it up cold turkey.” She hesitated, saw a budgie dive-bombing her head and ducked. Bird shit splattered across the door just inches from her ear. “I don’t think your bird likes me, Max.”
He made no comment, but the look in his brown eyes suggested she wasn’t on his list of favorite people either. It wasn’t exactly a surprise. She’d hauled his ass downtown more than a dozen times over the years.
It was more than that, though. She crossed her arms and regarded him steadily. There was something going on here, something she couldn’t quite define. But it had something to do with the shapechanger whose presence fairly itched at her skin.
“You know Harry’s dead, don’t you?” she said, keeping her voice conversational. “He was victim number three of a serial killer.”
Max jumped, and for the first time she saw fear, true fear, leap into his eyes. He hadn’t known about Harry.
And the murder scared the shit out of him.
He knew the killer, she thought, watching the glittering beads of sweat roll down his cheeks. Or at the very least, knew who Harry was with the night he was murdered.
Dodging the dive-bombing budgie, she walked to the desk. Placing her palms on its surface, she leaned across it until her nose was only inches from his.
This close, he smelled of sweat and fear and sex.
“Tell me who Harry was
with the night he died, Max.”
He licked his lips, tongue lizard-like in his agitation. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I told you, I haven’t seen Harry in over a week.”
God, this close his breath literally reeked. He’d obviously been overdoing the garlic and onions again. “But you know someone who has seen him since then, don’t you?”
He didn’t deny it. He merely sat and sweated some more.
“I want to know who, Max.”
“I can’t.” The denial came out a strangled whisper.
She leaned back a little, more to get a dose of fresh air than anything else. “I’m not the beat police anymore, you know. I’m SIU. I don’t have to follow the rules. I can beat your fat ass to a pulp and no one would ever question me.”
He moved his hand again. She unclipped her stun gun and shoved it under his nose. “I’d really love for you to go for the weapon under your desk.”
He raised his hands and leaned back in his chair, and she frowned. Something about this felt wrong. Despite the fact that he dealt in death for a living, there was no way in hell Max would get mixed up in something like the serial killings. It just wasn’t his style.
So why wouldn’t he talk? The budgie, maybe?
“That your girlfriend up there, Max? Why don’t you invite her down for a chat?”
His gaze jumped to the ceiling, and his growing look of horror was one she didn’t understand.
“What do you mean?” he whispered.
“I mean that mean-looking blue bird who keeps trying to shit all over me. She the jealous type, perhaps? Or doesn’t she know about the sidelines you have going?”
“Yes. I mean, no.” Max hesitated, licking his lips. “She’s not my girlfriend.”
But they were involved at a basic level, at least. Why else would he smell of sex?
“The sooner you tell me what you know, the sooner you and your girlfriend can get back to business.”
His cheeks reddened slightly, and he looked like a kid caught lying to a teacher. “I can’t tell you anything, Officer.”