If I had to lean on these guys, Markey would take the softer touch.
“Good afternoon,” I said.
They nodded.
Bandoni had told me that interviewing witnesses and suspects was like inviting people to a potluck dinner. You tell them the theme of the dinner, put out a few condiments, then see what they bring to the table.
I held up my badge. “I’m Detective Parnell with the Denver PD’s Major Crimes Unit. My partner here is Clyde. The two of you are Noah Asher’s students?”
Two nods. Rivero’s scowl didn’t change, but a crease appeared between Markey’s eyes, which now showed a faint spark of alarm. He gripped the edge of the table. “What’s this about?”
“I’m sorry to tell you that Noah Asher was found dead early yesterday morning.”
Neither man moved, but they were both suddenly far away, tuned into their own thoughts. Markey went white and then red. Rivero’s scowl smoothed away, like a car dropping into neutral, a powerful engine momentarily disconnected.
I let them sit with the news.
Markey broke the silence first. “What—what happened? Was it, like, a car accident?”
Rivero reconnected, foot hard on the gas. “She’s from Homicide, you dumb shit.” He grabbed his pencil and snapped it in two, then hurled himself out of the chair and onto his feet. “The fuck. Fuckity fuck.”
Clyde stiffened beside me, his eyes on the possible threat.
“Have a seat, Mr. Martinez.”
Rivero kicked the chair but then yanked it back to the table and sat.
I pulled out my notepad. Then I placed my phone on the table and tapped record.
“You guys mind if I record this?”
“Knock yourself out,” Rivero said.
Markey shrugged, then nodded.
I started with the dispassionate particulars of their lives. Full name, address and phone number, how long they’d known Noah, what they did for a living. Rivero worked construction. Markey was finishing up his MFA and was applying for teaching positions. He tutored high-school students to pay the bills.
I noticed Markey’s fingernails were chewed to the quick.
I rounded the corner into where they’d been two nights ago. Rivero said he’d been drinking with friends at one of their houses. Four guys, talking it up in the backyard. Markey had met a woman for happy hour, then gone home to work on job applications. He’d had a pizza delivered around 9:00 p.m. I noted the name and address of the friend, the bar, the pizza-delivery place.
I asked about Noah’s former students, the ones he’d let go. No conflicts that Rivero or Markey knew about. Noah was a good teacher, great at helping his students network with other writers, illustrators, and letterers.
“He mention anyone being angry with him?” I asked.
Rivero snorted. “Noah was like a Labrador. He liked people. They liked him. Guys, anyway. He was a total fag around women.”
“Noah was gay?”
“Not like that. What I mean is, he wasn’t much of a man when it came to women. You know what I’m saying?”
“Talk like I’m slow,” I said.
“He was a social dork.” His cave eyes shone with unexpected light. “We hung out every now and then. Mostly in dive bars.”
“The choice of dives yours or his?”
He shrugged. “Both. Me for the cheap beer. Noah ’cause he figured the women’d be easier. You know, desperate for any guy to buy them a drink. He used the dives to practice his spiel. And it was pretty good. He’d make little ink sketches of the women. On their forearms. Backs. Breasts if he got really lucky. A lot of times he did caricatures, but sometimes he’d put them in superhero costumes. They loved it. Only he could never close.”
“Why do you think that is?”
“The truth?” He looked sincere. “No woman wants to sleep with a Labrador. Girls like huskies. Rottweilers. They dig the pit bulls, man.”
“Like you?”
He bared his teeth. “Hear me roar.”
“That your take on Noah, Markey?”
“Labrador.” His expression carried an odd satisfaction. Maybe he liked the idea that his teacher wasn’t good at everything. “Pretty much.”
“You ever try to pick up women with him?”
Markey coughed. “Me?”
Rivero laughed. “Now with Markey, there, we’re talking shih tzu. Soft and silky. Ooh, Markey, come sit in my lap.”
Markey flushed red again. “Dive bars aren’t my scene.”
“What is your scene?”
“I like places that have some class.”
Rivero threw back his head and laughed. “How’s that working for you, lapdog?”
“Like you’d know quality if it bit your ass, Rivero.” Venom pooled in Markey’s voice. The lapdog, apparently, had teeth. “C-l-a-s-s. And I’m not talking shop class.”
“Fuck you, Markey.”
No love lost between these two. I wondered how Noah had handled it.
I pulled out the drawing of Noah’s Milkshake Lady and placed it on the table between them. “Either of you recognize this woman?”
The men shot daggers at each other for a few seconds, then looked at the drawing. Markey shook his head. Rivero took a little longer, but then he shook his head as well.
“So he hasn’t drawn her before?” I asked.
“I’ve never seen her.” Markey fingered the edge of the blank sheet of drawing paper, rolling the corner in and out.
“It’s his style,” Rivero said. “I’ll swear to that. And it looks like his SJW thing. But, nah. I never seen her.”
I feigned ignorance. “What’s SJW?”
“Social justice warrior,” Markey said, brushing back a sweep of hair. “People who make themselves important by taking up some cause.”
“Noah wasn’t sincere?” This didn’t jibe with what Dana had said.
Markey shrugged. He raised his index finger toward his mouth, stared at the ragged nail, then carefully lowered his hand.
“What kind of causes did Noah promote?” I asked.
“Bleeding-heart shit.” He picked at his cuticle. “Homeless people. Minorities. Climate change.”
“And women,” Rivero said. He leaned in and narrowed his eyes at Markey. “Did you forget
