“I guess. At least slowing us down. Shouldn’t be hard to find out what was in there, though,” Nick said, still staring at the photos of the crime scene. He absently reached for the cup on his desk, taking a sip before remembering it was coffee.
He turned his head and spit it out into the trash can, coughing and gagging as Hagan laughed at him.
“Motherfucker,” Nick grumbled. He tossed the coffee cup into the trash and glared at his partner again.
“Detective O’Flaherty!” Captain Branson called from his office door. Nick turned in his chair and glanced over his shoulder. The captain waved him over.
“What’s up, sir?” he asked when he got closer.
“The witness from the bookshop?”
“Yes, sir?”
“He’s here. You need to get in on this one.”
“Sure thing.”
Branson handed him a file. It was labeled John Doe.
Nick shook his head; all it contained was the report from the hospital. He made his way to one of the interview rooms and greeted the officer on the door with a pat on the shoulder.
When he entered the room, the blond man met his eyes.
“Hello, Detective.”
“How you doing?” Nick asked as he sat opposite him.
“I would say I’ve been better, but . . . I don’t really know if that’s true,” the man said with a wry laugh.
Nick snorted. “Still got your sense of humor at least.
That’s something.” He opened the file again. It was paltry at best. Useless. “They been cal ing you John Doe?”
“Yeah, it’s . . . it’s a name, I guess.”
“Yeah, I can see that getting old fast. Listen, all the John Does I ever knew were already dead, so how about I call you JD? That work for you?”
He nodded and gave Nick a tired smile. “Yeah. Yeah, that works.”
Nick was silent for a moment, studying the man. He looked even more worn than he had at the crime scene yesterday. Under that, Nick could see the fear. “Has anyone offered you coffee? Something to eat?”
“I had a bagel. Don’t have much appetite.”
“Okay.” Nick put both elbows on the table. “You remember anything new? Anything at al ?”
“No, Detective, I’m sorry. The doctors said I have amnesia caused by the trauma. Physical or mental, they couldn’t say. They also couldn’t say when or if my memory would return. They said amnesia was a very case-by-case type of thing, so . . . it might all come rushing back, or it might come back in pieces. Or it might not at all. Ever.”
“Wow. That’s rough.”
JD laughed bitterly. He twisted his fingers and nodded.
Nick was having a hard time reading him, something he was usually pretty good at. JD’s exhaustion was masking everything else. Nick gave it a minute or so of silence, waiting to see if the man would begin to fidget or talk. But JD merely sat there, watching his hands, occasionally glancing up to meet Nick’s eyes.
Nick finally gave up on that tactic. He tapped the file in front of him. “Even though you don’t remember anything, we’re going to treat you as a witness and put you under protection. Bal istics are telling us there were at least two shooters. One was standing behind you, clipped you in the head.” Nick tapped his own head in the area where JD was bandaged. “Killed at least one of those two victims.”
“Just one?”
“The other bullet hasn’t been recovered yet. We’ll know more soon. But until we get to the bottom of this, you need to be safe. Whoever did this won’t know you can’t ID them when they find out you aren’t dead.”
JD nodded. He glanced up at Nick, his blue eyes piercing.
“You don’t have to dance around it, Detective.”
“Pardon?”
“I know I’m a suspect. It’s okay. You don’t have to mince words.”
Nick met his eyes for several seconds, letting JD see what suspects usually saw: a hardened, intelligent cop who would put them behind bars if they made even the tiniest of slips.
“All right then. You are a suspect. Our only suspect, right now.”Despite his show of bravado, JD blanched. Nick couldn’t help but feel sorry for the guy. Not knowing who he was or what kind of man he was, it had to be terrifying. Add to that the fact that he was facing a potential murder charge? He had to be reeling.
Nick took his notepad and a pen from his pocket and placed it on the table, then slid it toward JD. “I’m going to go arrange for somewhere for you to stay tonight. While I’m gone, try to write down anything about yourself you can think of.”
JD frowned. “Like what? I already told you I don’t remember anything.”
Nick shrugged. “Anything. Anything you’ve noticed.
Your feelings, your thoughts, tattoos or scars, your shoe size, do you have contacts, are you wearing underwear? Anything.”
JD laughed and reached for Nick’s notepad. “Okay.”
Nick smiled and left him there, hoping the exercise would at least keep JD’s mind off his troubles while Nick tried to find somewhere to stick him for the night.
It took him nearly half an hour to arrange for a hotel and an officer for the door. He and Hagan played a quick three out of five roshambo to decide who had to stay with him, and Nick won. Which was good, because he had plans this weekend.
When he returned to the interview room, Captain Branson was standing at the window, watching JD.
“Sir,” Nick said as he approached.
The captain turned. “You’re good with him, O’Flaherty.
That’s the most he’s responded all night.”
“He’s just scared, sir. Anyone would be.”
“Stay on him. Babysit him. Play the good cop. He’s the biggest break we have in this case right now. If he’s comfortable, he’s more likely to remember. And if he’s faking, you’re more likely to figure it out.”
Nick cleared his throat and nodded. “Does that mean you want me to stick with him at the safe house?” he asked, unable to conceal the dread in his voice.
Branson smirked at him and raised an eyebrow. “Isn’t your boyfriend coming to town tonight?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Even I’m not that cruel. Take the weekend. Let Hagan bad cop him for a few days. After that, it’s O’Flaherty to the rescue, understand?”
“Of course, sir.”
Branson slapped him on the back. Nick watched him walk away, breathing out a sigh of relief, then glanced at the officer on the door.