I knew panic when I saw it, and I’d almost forced the poor bastard out of his comfort zone. I shoved his hand into his chest and gave him a thin smile. “Keep the cash and answer the question. The sooner you do, the sooner I’ll leave.”
“He was dressed in black, I think. It was too dark to tell.” His forehead creased as he rubbed his hands together and took a moment to think. “He had on gloves. I noticed them when he pulled out the knife.”
Good man. “Were you the one who called the police?”
He shook his head. “As soon as the coast was clear, I ran. I spent time in a few other places before I came back.”
“Do you remember anything else?”
“Hell no. I was too busy trying not to piss myself.”
Ah, the humiliating, but always entertaining, golden shower of terror. I couldn’t fault him there, even though I didn’t understand his worry over such a thing as he’d obviously had an accident or two inside his box home.
“I take it you haven’t seen the guy again?”
“Are you kidding?” He laughed, revealing several missing and rotten teeth. “No one wants to come around here now. That’s why I came back. Aside from the garbage collector who comes through once a week, no one’s going to mess with me.”
“Is there anything else you’d care to tell me?”
“No.”
“You’re positive?”
“I’m positive.” He lowered his head, rubbed his thumb over the folded bill in his hand, and muttered under his breath, “Crazy ass bitch. I need a fucking drink.”
And that about summed it up.
Old man would get his drink on, and I’d have to start from square one. I stood and took another look at the area, focusing on the spot where Autumn had been killed. There was an arching spray of darkened brown across the bricks—probably where her throat had been cut—as well as a large, dried up circle of blood on the ground.
I walked over and took a look.
Shit.
Her blood had to have gotten on the murderer. Considering the width of the circle at my feet, she spurted a fountain and the rest dripped down her body. Which begged the question: how in the hell had her killer managed to keep his clothing clean? He couldn’t traipse around covered in blood splatter for the world to see. Did he travel to the location by car? There was no way he could have used public transportation. Bloody attire would have drawn attention.
Then I saw it.
To the human eye, the footprint would have gone unnoticed, but since I’d taken some of Paine’s blood my vision was much stronger. The marking was faint, stamped with blood on concrete. I squinted, turning my head to get the right angle. I could barely make out the label, but when I did it told me several things. The killer could have afforded personal transportation to flee the crime scene. He wouldn’t have an issue when it came to money and visiting as many strip clubs as he liked. Anyone who wore Prada had plenty of dinero to spare.
“What’re you looking for?”
“Not a thing.” I stepped back, glanced at the hobo, and started walking from the alley. The phone in my back pocket buzzed and I pulled it out. As soon as I knew the identity of the caller, I flipped it open. I’d been expecting to hear from him.
“Hey, Goose. What do you have for me?”
Goose had been helping me search for the resting place of Marigold Vesta. I had to find her remains in order to return her to life and end the debt I owed the fallen angel. So far we hadn’t found much—apparently the fallen were protected because their history wasn’t recorded—which meant we had to start with unrelated events and work our way toward our goal. Goose had retrieved what he could using his necromancer research hotline, calling on favors from close associates.