They gave Flack a call and picked the detective up at the precinct. "He doesn't have much of a record, but I know the guy," Flack said from the passenger seat of the Avalanche.
"What's he into?" Charlie asked.
"Drugs. He was picked up when he was seventeen for possession," Flack explained. "He never served hard time, the judge let him off easy."
Charlie kept an image of the man's mugshot in her mind as Mac drove them through the city. She stared out the window, scanning the faces of people as they passed them. She half expected to see Russell Fletcher on any corner, leaning on a magazine stand or heading down into the subway. "Repeat offender?"
Flack shook his head. "No, but he's dirty. Name comes up every so often in other investigations. He's brushed elbows with a number of gangs in the area, but we've never been able to connect him to any crimes. We've never even been able to get enough on him to bring him in for questioning."
"You think he's good for this?" Charlie asked, eyeing a hot dog vendor.
"Anyone's good for murder," Mac pointed out. He slowed the car and pulled up alongside a vacant shop. The doors were flung wide and propped open with bricks. A couple of men were pulling boxes out of a moving truck parked out front.
"There's our boy," Flack said as he nodded to one of the men. He was dressed in jeans and a loose flannel shirt. The sleeves were rolled to his elbows, and a couple inches of dirty grey t-shirt poked out of the collar. He looked up from under the visor of a frayed ball cap when they pulled up. He tipped a nod at Flack, then at the nearest street corner.
"Come on, we'll wait for him there," Flack said. He climbed out of the Avalanche and started heading towards the end of the street.
"When did you start letting suspects call the shots?" Mac asked.
"We've got an understanding," Flask said.
"What if he runs for it?" Charlie glanced back over her shoulder. Russell Fletcher was talking to one of his coworkers. The man laughed and clapped Russell on the back. Charlie thought she saw him flinch before he turned and started heading towards them.
"He won't," Flack said. "If he runs we can arrest and charge him. He's too smart to let that happen. He'll talk to us, just give him a second."
They turned the corner and stood on the sidewalk of a street that dead ended into a narrow lot. Not a minute later Russell turned the corner as well, a pair of work gloves in one hand.
"Afternoon," he said, and flashed a cordial smile. "To what momentous occasion do I owe a visit from not one but two detectives and…" Russell raised his eyebrows at Charlie. "Flack's girlfriend?"
"Detective Parker," Flack corrected.
Russell let out a low whistle. "Three detectives. Hot damn, what'd I do?" The convict shoved his gloves into a back pocket and moved to lean against the wall of the nearest building. He popped his hat off and ran a hand through his dirty brown hair. When he replaced the hat he put in on the back of his head and left the visor tipped up so it was easy to see his face.
Charlie decided that Russell Fletcher's mugshot didn't do the man justice. He looked every inch of his twenty four years, maybe more. There was sweat sliding down one temple and a healthy helping of stubble covering his face. The man had a certain appeal, an easygoing manner that his photo didn't capture.
"Russ Fletcher," he said, putting his hands behind his back. "The boys in blue here call me Fletch, but you can call me whatever you want."
"How about guilty?" Charlie said. She pulled the photo of the victim out of her coat and held it out for Russell. He had no trouble looking at the picture of the dead man. "Did you flirt with him too before you shot him?"
"Well I'm not gay," Fletch said.
"I don't know Fletch, your hands looked pretty small and girly to me," Flack said.
"I compensate with a big—" His eyes flicked to Charlie. "Personality. The ladies love it."
"Enough. How do you know him?" Mac asked.
"I don't." Fletch's face never changed, the easygoing manner never wavering.
"You sure about that?" Charlie pulled out another photo, this one of the window from the warehouse. A set of prints was outlined on the window frame in white fingerprint dust. "We found these in the warehouse where this man was shot and killed, courtesy of your little hands."
"I didn't kill him, I don't even know him," Fletch straightened a little, but his hands stayed out of sight behind his back.
"Why were you at the warehouse?" Flack asked.
"Worked a job there a week ago for the company that owns the place. We moved a couple of crates upstate."
"So you knew about the place," Mac said. "Maybe you decided to use it to make a deal, maybe peddled some drugs and shot our vic when the deal went south."
Fletch tipped his head back against the wall and rested it there. "Oh man, you've got me. Tell me what I did after I shot him."
"Why don't you tell us?"
"I don't know Taylor, sounds like you know me better than I know myself."
"We have evidence and your record, that puts—"
"Me at the scene with a reason to be there. Doesn't put the gun in my hand or give me the motive you need. You can check with my boss, I was there for work. Are we done here?"
"Why the hurry?" Flack asked.
"Standing around talking to cops isn't good for my image," Fletch said.
"Your drug dealing image?"
Fletch's manner cooled a little. "Is there anything else? I've got to get back to work."
Mac's anger was palpable, and Flack had crossed his arms over his chest. Charlie was still, her eyes on Russell. "I hope you didn't kill this guy, Fletch," Flack said to him.
Fletcher stood and pulled his gloves from his pocket. "Yeah, I hope I didn't either. You know where to find me." The convict turned and headed back around the corner, leaving the detectives to mull over what he'd said.
"What are you thinking?" Flack asked on the way back to the lab. He directed his question to no one in particular.
"He's hiding something," Mac said. "He was in that warehouse."
"I'll check with his manager, see if he worked at the warehouse."
"Have you questioned him before?" Charlie asked after a while.
"Lots of times," Flack said.
"Did anything seem different this time around?"
Flack rubbed at his chin, considering the question. "Nothing really. He isn't usually in such a hurry to cut things short."
"I don't think he did it," Charlie said. "It didn't bother him to look at the photo, but it bothered him when you mentioned the drugs. I think he was in on it, but I don't think he did it."
"How do you think he's involved then?" Flack asked.
"He could be a shot caller. He's not a user, he didn't have any needle marks and looked healthy. That makes me think he's not buying the drugs, but it doesn't mean he's not selling them," Charlie said.
"Most dealers use their own product," Flack pointed out.
"This guy isn't average, Flack," Mac said. "Not if he's as involved in the drug scene as you believe him to be. He's only been picked up once since he was seventeen, and everything we have on him now is circumstantial if he's telling the truth about being in the warehouse."
"He might not have pulled the trigger, but he could've easily had someone else do it for him," Charlie said.
"I'll put a tail on him too," Flack said. "Have a guy follow him and see who he spends his time with outside of work."
Mac dropped Flack at the precinct and parked the Avalanche on the first floor of a parking garage. The older detective led the way towards the elevator, but Charlie's steps slowed.
"Uh, Mac, do you mind if we take the stairs?"
He turned to look at Charlie over one shoulder. "You don't like elevators?"
"Something like that," Charlie said.
"It's thirty floors," Mac pointed out.
Charlie gave him a smile, "I'll meet you up there."
Mac's eyes followed Charlie's slim figure as she headed for the stairs, hands tucked down into her coat pockets. He waited for the elevator, wondering what possessed someone to walk up thirty flights of stairs.
As always, all questions, comments, and true stories of adventure are greatly appreciated. Drop me a couple lines, and let me know what you think of the characters so far. :)