Not a blink. I clipped my pen to my notebook, tucked them back in my pocket and gave it a pat. “We’ll be back when we get a moment. If you need to go to the jacks, you can give the door a bang and hope someone hears. See you around.”

On the way out Richie whipped Conor’s cup off the table, catching the bottom delicately between thumb and fingertip. I pointed at it and told Conor, “Two of our favorite things: prints and DNA. Thanks, fella. You saved us a load of time and hassle, right there.” Then I gave him a wink and a thumbs-up, and slammed the door behind us.

*

In the observation room, Richie asked, “Was that all right, me getting us out of there? I just thought … I mean, we’d hit a wall, like. And I figured it was easier for me to pull the plug without losing face, yeah?”

He was rubbing one foot off the opposite ankle and looking apprehensive. I pulled an evidence bag out of the cabinet and tossed it to him. “You did fine. You’re right: time to regroup. Any thoughts?”

He dropped the cup into the evidence bag and looked around for a pen; I passed him mine. “Yeah. Know something? He’s ringing a bell. The face.”

“You’ve been looking at him for a long time, it’s late, you’re shattered. Sure your mind’s not playing tricks?”

Richie squatted beside the table to label the bag. “Yeah, I’m sure. I’ve seen him before. I’m wondering was it back when I was in Vice, maybe.”

The observation room is on the same thermostat as the interview room. I tugged my tie looser. “He’s not in the system.”

“I know. I’d remember if I’d arrested him. But you know yourself: some guy catches your eye and you can tell he’s up to something, but there’s nothing you can pin on him, so you just hang on to that face and wait till it shows up again. I’m wondering …” He shook his head, dissatisfied.

“Put it on the back burner. It’ll come to you. When it does, let me know; we need to ID this guy, and soon. Anything else?”

Richie initialed the bag, ready to hand in to the evidence room, and gave my pen back. “Yeah. Winding him up won’t get us anywhere, not with this fella. We had him pissed off there, all right, but the angrier he gets, the quieter he gets. We need another angle.”

I said, “We do. The distraction stuff was good—nicely done there—but it’s taken us as far as it can. And intimidation won’t work, either. I was wrong about one thing: he’s not afraid of us.”

Richie shook his head. “Nah. He’s on guard, all right, big time, but scared … Nah. And the thing is, he should be. I’d still say he’s a virgin; he’s not acting like he knows the drill. This whole thing should have him crapping his kacks by now. Why doesn’t it?”