Night Falls

Two

"Son of a bitch." Scott groans as his hand runs through his hair, watching the cab drive off.

He hadn't expected Mitchell to storm out like that. He had no idea what the hell his problem was, but the last thing he needed was an uncooperative witness. If he wanted any chance of finally nailing Shelton, that man was it.

He turns around and heads back to the police station, finding the detective he had seen Mitchell with earlier sitting at his desk drinking coffee.

"Are you the detective working the Hunt murder?" Scott plops himself down in the witness chair next to the desk without invitation.

"Yeah, Kevin Olusola." He reaches out his hand for Scott to shake.

"Scott Hoying." Kevin nods, his hand falling away to flip open a file, flashes of crime scene photos appearing before he lands on a statement page.

"How can I help?"

"Your witness," Scott throws a thumb up towards the door Mitchell had stormed out from just a few minutes ago. "What can you tell me about him?"

Kevin's head dips as he reads the file.
"Mitchell Coby-Michael Grassi, age 25. Works at the Barclays Business Center as an Content Marketing Specialist. Was on his way home when he walked in on the murder. Got fourteen stitches in his hands after being shot at twice by this man." He pulls out a sketch and slides it over to Scott.

Long pencil strokes create a man with a crooked nose, a long, circular jaw and short beard covering the lower half of his face. Without the fine lines of age, he looked exactly like the man Scott saw twenty-four years ago, even without the scar running down his left eye.

"And he's sure this is him?" Scott breaks his gaze away from the graphite eyes staring up at him.

"Seemed pretty sure." Kevin leans back in his seat. "When our guys got there, they figured he was 'bout 100 feet away before he fired at him." He taps his pen against his keyboard.

"Lucky for him, he's quick. The guy put two bullets straight through the headrest."

Scott nods, already knowing of Vine's marksmanship.

"Did you get his address before he left?" Scott steers the conversation back to the entire reason he came back into the station.

"Yeah," Kevin says while thinking, pushing some papers aside before picking up a blue sticky note.

"709 Jefferson Court, apartment 3E." Kevin hands Scott the address.

"Thanks," he folds it up and sticks it into his pocket next to his badge.

A silence falls over them and Scott stands, the conversation clearly over. Kevin stands with him.

"Good luck with him." Kevin shakes his hand.

Scott thanks him, not telling him it's Mitchell who needs the luck.

{*#*}

I sit under the hot spray of the shower, too exhausted to stand, but needing to scrub off the smell of the police station.

My clothes lay discarded on the tile floor, not even making it into the hamper only a few feet away.

Even under the rushing water, I can still hear the man–Sam Hunt was his name–pleading for his life.

My hands run through my soaked hair, cupping my ears and letting my head fall to my knees, my tears mixing with the steaming water.

I only get out when the water runs cold, any hope of getting even an ounce more of warm water vanquished.