“Jack Higgins,” the detective says, offering his hand. “Like the book-writer, only not white.”

Hodges shakes with him and introduces Holly, who gives a little wave and her usual muttered hello before returning her attention to her iPad.

“I think I remember you,” Hodges says. “You used to be at Marlborough Street station, didn’t you? When you were in uniform?”

“A long time ago, when I was young and randy. I remember you, too. You caught the guy who killed those two women in McCarron Park.”

“That was a group effort, Detective Higgins.”

“Make it Jack. Cassie Sheen called. We’ve got your guy in an interview room. His name is Dereece Neville.” Higgins spells the first name. “We were going to turn him loose, anyway. Several people who saw the incident corroborate his story—he was jiving around with the girl, she took offense and ran into the street. Neville saw the truck coming, ran after her, tried to push her out of the way, mostly succeeded. Plus, practically everyone down here knows this kid. He’s a star on the Todhunter basketball team, probably going to get an athletic scholarship to a Division I school. Great grades, honor student.”

“What was Mr. Great Grades doing on the street in the middle of a school day?”

“Ah, they were all out. Heating system at the high school shit the bed again. Third time this winter, and it’s only January. The mayor says everything’s cool down here in the Low, lots of jobs, lots of prosperity, shiny happy people. We’ll see him when he runs for reelection. Riding in that armored SUV of his.”

“Was the Neville kid hurt?”

“Scraped palms and nothing else. According to a lady across the street—she was closest to the scene—he pushed the girl and then, I quote, ‘Went flyin over the top of her like a bigass bird.’”

“Does he understand he’s free to go?”

“He does, and agreed to stay. Wants to know if the girl’s okay. Come on. Have your little chat with him, and then we’ll send him on his way. Unless you see some reason not to.”

Hodges smiles. “I’m just following up for Miss Robinson. Let me ask him a couple of questions, and we’re both out of your hair.”

18

The interview room is small and stifling hot, the overhead heating pipes clanking away. Still, it’s probably the nicest one they’ve got, because there’s a little sofa and no perp table with a cuff-bolt sticking out of it like a steel knuckle. The sofa has been mended with tape in a couple of places, and that makes Hodges think of the man Nancy Alderson says she saw on Hilltop Court, the one with the mended coat.

Dereece Neville is sitting on the sofa. In his chino pants and white button-up shirt, he looks neat and squared away. His goatee and gold neck chain are the only real dashes of style. His school jacket is folded over one arm of the sofa. He stands when Hodges and Higgins come in, and offers a long-fingered hand that looks designed expressly for working with a basketball. The pad of the palm has been painted with orange antiseptic.