“Look familiar?” he said.
It did. The face was similar, but not exactly the same, as the old man we’d seen on the security tape at the parking garage the night Darcy Vickers was murdered.
He looked about the same age, maybe seventy, but unlike the last time, this guy had a mustache and glasses. Two white shocks of curly hair showed under the ball cap as well. The last guy had been mostly bald.
“Those are prosthetics,” I said, at the same moment I realized it.
Valente nodded. “Some kind of mask, right? Jesus. That could explain a lot.”
“I don’t think he cares if we know it, either,” I added. “He obviously had a bead on that camera, the way he looked right into it. Maybe he even wanted us to see him.”
That could cut both ways, I thought. It might have meant he was confident for a reason, and we were never going to see past that disguise enough to pin him down.
Or, maybe he was starting to feel cocky—maybe a little too cocky for his own good—and we’d just turned a corner on this thing.
I looked up at Overbey. “Can you piece together his movements?” I said. “Try and figure out where he went from here? Or where he came from?”
“I’ll do what I can,” Overbey said. “Our service area only goes as far as Q Street. But you could pull from the city as well.”
“On it,” Valente said, tapping a number into his phone.
“Hey, Detective Cross?”
Someone else was there now. I turned around to see a uniformed cop trying to get my attention.
“What is it?” I said.
“You’ve got a visitor, detective.”
“A what?” That didn’t make sense. This was a closed crime scene.
The cop shrugged. “He said you called and asked him to come right down. He’s waiting over there.”
I looked up the street the way the cop pointed. There, in his usual hoodie and cargos, was Ron Guidice.
“What the hell’s that douche bag doing here?” Valente said. “You want me to get rid of him for you?”
“No,” I said. “I’ll take care of it. In fact, it’s going to be my pleasure.”
Somehow, Guidice had found his way into my crime scene. I was going to be sure to help him find his way out.
CHAPTER
56
I’VE GOT NO QUALMS TAKING A REPORTER BY THE COLLAR AND WALKING THEM back, if they’re compromising a scene. I’ve never actually had to arrest one before. But there’s a first time for everything.
“Hey! Guidice!” I said, heading right for him. “You’ve got to go.”
He stepped off the brick sidewalk to stand between a couple of parked cars as I came closer.
“Detective Cross, are you high?” he said, loud enough to be overheard.
“Very funny,” I said. I had no doubt this little head game was for my benefit. Guidice was too smart not to know he was trespassing on the scene at this point. But I was also determined not to get sucked into his bullshit.
“You’ve got five seconds to get back on the other side of those barriers.” I pointed to the top of the block, where a crowd had gathered. Some of them were even carrying protest signs—KEEP GEORGETOWN SAFE, WHAT THE HELL, MPD? I’m sure Guidice was loving those.
His eyes narrowed, and his pupils danced back and forth, taking me in.