Lena tossed Felix Abbot’s arrest jacket onto the table.
Jeffrey did not sit down. He stood over the jacket, scanning the details. Felix had been arrested twice before, both for possession, both times receiving nothing more than a slap on the wrist. His tattoos were many. His aka was Little Bit. According to his driver’s license, Felix lived in Memminger. Jeffrey recognized the Dew-Lolly address, a shitsville motel that rented by the week. All he needed from this kid was a name. Not even a first name. Jeffrey knew in his gut that finding Daryl would either lead him to a clue or be the clue that broke the case wide open.
Jeffrey looked up. Felix was standing at the other end of the table. His jaw was angled up again, inviting a punch. He had a pimple on his chin. The white, pus-filled head stared at Jeffrey like a rheumy eye.
Jeffrey said, “Sit.”
Felix took his time shuffling around the table. Lena’s hands clamped onto shoulders. She shoved him down into the plastic chair.
“Fuck!” Felix complained.
Jeffrey motioned for her to sit across from Felix. He crossed his arms, glaring down at the kid.
Felix looked up at Jeffrey, then back at Lena. She had her arms crossed, too.
Jeffrey started out small. “You were arrested with some dub sacks.”
“So?” Felix demanded.
“That’s your third arrest for possession. I’ve already made a call to the district attorney. We’re doing this new thing in town where we clamp down on recidivism.”
His shoulder jerked up in a shrug. “So?”
“So, you’re looking at big boy prison for this, not another stint in county lock-up.”
His shoulder jerked again. He probably had uncles in prison. His path would be smoother than most.
Still, Jeffrey waited for a response.
The kid offered a third, “So?”
Lena’s hand whipped out. She gave Felix an open-palmed slap across the face.
“Jesus fuck, lady!” Felix’s hands went to his face. He looked at Jeffrey. “What the fuck, man?”
Jeffrey nodded.
Lena slapped him again.
“What?” Felix shouted. “What do you want?”
Jeffrey said, “You go by the name Little Bit.”
“S—” He rethought his answer. “Is that a crime?”
Jeffrey asked, “Where’d you get the nickname?”
“From my—I don’t know. One of my uncles? I was little. They were all big.”
Big.
“Jesus.” Felix rubbed his cheek. “What is up with you, bitch?”
Jeffrey snapped his fingers for Felix’s attention. “Don’t worry about her. Look at me.”
“What else should I be worried about, dude?” He kept his hand to his face as he told Lena, “You need to stop, okay? It really stings.”
Jeffrey drew in a breath of air. He wanted to shake this little shit until his teeth fell out, but the worst way to get information was to let the suspect know you needed it. He pressed his knuckles into the table and leaned over. “You want me to hit you instead?”
Felix shook his head so hard that his hair flopped to the other side.
Jeffrey glared down at him. Was he wrong about Daryl being their most likely suspect? Was Felix the man who had attacked Beckey Caterino? Who had kicked a hammer between Leslie Truong’s legs so hard that the head had splintered off?
“I need a doctor.” Felix kept rubbing his cheek. His bottom lip had pouted out.
If he was a psychopath, he was a damn good one.
Jeffrey asked, “Where were you two days ago between the hours of five and seven in the morning?”
“Two days?” Felix pushed his hair back into place. “Shit, dude, I don’t know. Asleep in my bed?”
Lena took out her notebook and pen.
Felix looked nervous at the prospect of going on the record.
Jeffrey prompted, “You were asleep two days ago between the hours of five and seven in the morning?”
“Uh, maybe?” He looked at Lena, then Jeffrey. “I don’t know, dude. One day, I woke up in the drunk tank over in Memminger. I don’t know if that was then?”
Jeffrey watched Lena make a dash beside the note to follow up on the possible alibi.
He told Felix, “The director of campus security identified you as a known pot dealer.”
Felix didn’t offer a rebuttal.
Jeffrey asked, “You were at the college yesterday?”
“Yeah, dude.” Felix brushed back his hair again. “I was busting Beni-Hanas outside the library. The security guards, you slip them a five and they look the other way.”
Jeffrey wasn’t surprised Chuck’s men were taking bribes. He looked down at Lena’s notebook. She had made another dash to check the security footage outside the library.
He asked Felix, “Do you ever go into the woods?”
“What?” Felix looked repulsed. “No, man. You can’t skate in the woods. There’s dirt and shit.”
“Does anybody else in your family have nicknames?”
“Yeah, so?” He jerked back at the last minute, expecting another slap. “What the fuck is up with you people? I thought you were going to offer me a deal.”
“A deal for what?”
“Like, I don’t know. My supplier?”
“No deals,” Jeffrey said. “Tell me about the nicknames.”
Felix was confused enough to answer. “My gramps is called Bumpy on account of he bumped off a few guys. I got an uncle called Rip because he can rip a fart. There’s Bubba, Bubba Sausage—”
Jeffrey let him go through the list. He wasn’t surprised it was long. Men gave each other nicknames. He’d been called Slick in high school. His best friend had been called Possum.
Felix said, “My Uncle Axle’s doing a stint at Wheeler, which is kind of funny. Axle-wheels. You get it?”
Jeffrey had gathered from Frank that the Abbotts weren’t into family planning. It was possible that Felix had an uncle who was close to his own age.
He asked, “How long has Axle been inside?”
“Three months? I dunno. You guys can look it up.”
Jeffrey watched Lena make another dash to follow up.
He asked Felix, “Does Axle work on cars?”
“Sure. That’s why they call him that. Dude wasn’t born at Wheeler.”
Jeffrey thought of the Dead Blow kit, the cross-peen hammer. “Does he do bodywork, fix dents and
