“Was he tall? Short?”
But Bob just shook his head now.
“Thin? Was he about your size, Bob?”
Bob wasn’t answering now. Just staring down into the coffee.
Kenton exhaled. One long damn night.
“You think old Bob even knows where he is?” Jon asked, scratching his chin.
But just then, Bob looked up. “I want to see C-Cathy—tell ’er to come in. I want to go to a game…”
Kenton’s fist hit the wall. “Probably not.”
Kenton marched into Interrogation, closed the door, and waited.
“Bob.” Monica touched his hand.
He flinched.
“Bob, look at Agent Lake.”
His gaze darted to him.
“The man you saw, the man in the baseball cap…” Her voice was soft and easy. “Was he bigger than Agent Lake?”
Kenton stared back at him, keeping his face expressionless.
“N-no.”
“Good. That’s good.” Her hand withdrew. “Smaller?”
“N-no.” Bob licked his lips. “H-his s-size.”
“Did you see the man’s face?” She paused a beat, letting the guy think, then asked, “Can you tell me—”
“Cap… low… didn’t see…”
Monica cocked her head. “You saw his phone, didn’t you?”
“Yeah.”
“I want you to think about his phone for me, Bob. Think about his hand. You saw him holding the phone, right?”
A quick nod.
“Good. That’s good.” She waited another beat. “What did his hand look like? Was i—”
“White.” He stared at his own hand. “Like… mine.”
So they were looking for a Caucasian, about six foot two, one-eighty to two hundred pounds. A guy who liked to wear a Braves ball cap and liked to drive a truck. But judging by the number of trucks Kenton had seen since arriving in town, a lot of men in this area liked to drive them.
Certainly not the best description, but better than nothing.
They’d already checked all the traffic cameras located in the fire zones, but their perp had been smart. He hadn’t shown up once, probably because the bastard knew exactly where those cameras were placed.
He’s sticking to the back roads and alleys. The guy knows this town.
“I want to go h-home.” Bob’s fist suddenly slammed into the table. “Cathy! I want to go home!”
Monica’s lips tightened. “I know you do.”
Tears leaked from his eyes. “Where’s Cathy?”
Monica shoved back her chair. “Kenton, let’s go outside.”
Bob put his head down and covered his ears. His shoulders shook.
Monica waited until the door closed behind them and then started shaking her head. “He can’t handle any more. We push again, the guy is just going to break.”
Reality had a way of doing that to a man. The longer Bob stayed sober and coherent, the more he realized what the hell had happened to him.
And that Cathy wasn’t coming to take him home.
“I’ve got a call in to the VA. They’ll be here, probably around eight tomorrow. We’ll get his doctor, see about getting him medicated, contact any family he’s got…” She shrugged. “Maybe we’ll be able to get more then.”
Or maybe not.
Kenton sighed. It was closing in on 2:00 A.M. They might as well pack it in. Their witness was sure done.
He rubbed the thick knot of tension in the back of his neck. “We’ll come back after the doc checks him out tomorrow.” After they gave him the care that the guy obviously needed.
Monica reached for Kenton’s arm. Her fingers brushed against him. “We have more now.”
“We just have to make sure this witness stays alive,” Kenton snapped. Not like the last one. I should have done more for Powell.
“He’ll stay under police protection,” Monica assured him. “I’ll make sure that he doesn’t get out of their sight. Nothing will happen to him.”
“Uh, guys…” Jon’s voice was tense. Kenton glanced up and saw the guy hurrying toward them. “I think you’d both better f**king get outside, right now.”
Kenton turned toward him.
Jon stood, eyes slits, jaw locked. “One of the cops just told me that Captain Lawrence is out there talking to some reporters that have been staking out the place.”
“What?” Kenton took off. No, oh, hell, no, this was the last thing they needed right now. He heard the tap of Monica’s high heels as she ran behind him.
He turned a hard right at the corner, shot through the quiet bullpen, and headed fast for the entrance to the station. Christ, he could see the camera outside.
No one had given Lawrence the all-clear to talk to the press, and if that guy so much as mentioned their witness…
Kenton’s hands slammed down hard on the door handle, sending the glass door flying open and the captain—
“We are confident that the witness we currently have in custody will be instrumental in the apprehension of the perpetrator known as Phoenix.” Lawrence’s voice was loud and too confident.
“Shit.” Monica’s whisper from right behind Kenton.
Growling, he hurried to the captain’s side. Did Lawrence have any idea just what he’d done?
“Our witness saw Phoenix. We’ll have his description up and—”
“I’m afraid the interview is over,” Kenton said, amazed that his voice came out cool and halfway calm when rage pumped through his blood so hard and fast. He grabbed Lawrence’s arm, harder than necessary, but so what, and pulled the guy back. Then he stepped in front of him, deliberately using his larger body to block the idiot.
“What are you doing?” Lawrence demanded, voice low. “This is my—”
“Don’t say another word.” Kenton caught Monica’s order to the captain.
Kenton didn’t glance back at them. He stared at the group. A cameraman and a reporter from Channel Five. And the guy on the right—his press badge listed his name as Thomas Jones. He was a reporter for the Charlottesville Times. They all stared at him with eager, hungry expressions on their faces. Like a pack of wolves. “We have no further comment on the Phoenix case tonight.”
“But what about the witness?” The reporter from Channel Five, Elle Shaw, pressed forward.
“What does Phoenix look like? If you’ve got it, then give us his description,” Jones demanded.