AT AROUND EIGHT the next morning, we found Ricky Malcolm jiggling his key into the front door of a shabby apartment house on Mission Street. He made us as cops and tried to take off, so we scuffled with him on the sidewalk and convinced him to come to the Hall.
You’re not under arrest,” I’d said, escorting him to our car. “We just want to hear your side of the story.
Ricky was in “the box” now, glaring at me with his weird, wide-spaced green eyes, tattooed arms crossed over his chest, his face blanched with the nocturnal pallor of a man who hadn’t seen broad daylight in years.
Within the forest of tattoos on Malcolm’s right arm was a red heart with the initials R.M. The heart was impaled on the hook of a crescent moon. Malcolm looked predatory and violent, and now I was wondering if Junie’s story of Michael Campion’s death was true.
Had Campion really died of natural causes
Or had this freak walked in on Michael and Junie - and killed him
Malcolm’s sheet showed three arrests, one conviction, all for possession. I slapped the folder closed.
What can you tell us about Michael Campion?” I asked him.
What I read in the papers,” he said.
The interview went on in this vein for a couple of hours, and since Conklin’s charms had no effect on Ricky Malcolm, I took the lead. I was trying to get him to say anything, even lies that we could use to trip him up later, but Ricky was stubborn or cagey or both. He denied any knowledge of Michael Campion, alive or dead.
I blinked first.
I think I understand what happened, Ricky,” I said. “Your girlfriend was in big trouble, and so you had to help her out. Pretty understandable, I guess.
What are you talking about
The body, Ricky. You remember. When Michael Campion died in Junie’s bed.
Malcolm snorted. “Is she saying that actually happened? And that I had something to do with it
Junie confessed, you understand,” Conklin said. “We know what happened. The kid was dead when you got there. That wasn’t your fault, and we’re not putting that on you.
This is a joke, right?” Malcolm said. “Because I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.
If you’re innocent, help us,” I said. “Where were you on January twenty-first from midnight until eight that morning
Where were you?” he shot back. “You think I remember where I was three months ago? I can tell you this. I wasn’t helping Junie out of a jam with a dead john. You guys really crack me up.” Malcolm sneered. “Don’t you know that Junie’s playing you
Is that right?” I said.
Yeah! She’s romantic, you know? Like a girl in the ‘I Can’t Believe It’s Not Butter’ commercial. Junie wants to believe that she did Michael Campion before he croaked
I heard the tap on the glass I’d been waiting for.
Malcolm was saying to Conklin, “I don’t care what she told you. I didn’t cut anyone. I never dumped any freaking body parts anywhere. Junie just likes the attention, man. You should know by now when a whore is lying to you. Charge me, dude, or I’m outta here.
I opened the door, took the papers from Yuki’s hand. We exchanged grins before I closed the door and said, “Mr. Malcolm, you’re under arrest for tampering with evidence and interfering with a police investigation.
I fanned the search warrants out on the table. “By this time tomorrow, dude, you won’t have a secret in the world.
