eyes wide. Her mouth dropped open, and she wrapped her good arm around herself protectively. She seemed to shrink into herself.
"Yes. When was the last time he was in here?" Kallie opened her notebook and stared at the woman, her pen ready to take notes.
"Um… I don't remember? I'd have to look at the ticket. Is he in trouble?" Her fingers traced the edge of her half cast.
"Were you in an accident?" Kallie nodded at the cast.
"Uh, no... I fell. Fell down the stairs at my apartment building. Tried to stop my fall with my arm and that didn't go well." The woman shook her head and winced slightly.
"When did you fall?"
"When? Oh, um… a couple days ago." She glanced behind her. "Is there something I can help you with? I can't release the clothes without the ticket."
Brock leaned forward, crowding the counter on purpose. The woman moved back, her eyes narrowed, and she looked away. Fell down, his ass. More like pushed down or worse, beaten. "How well did you know Mr. Treyson?"
"He had a couple of places on my route. I'd see him from time to time."
"Your route?" Kallie asked for clarification.
"Yeah, I work the pick up laundry service."
Brock stood up giving the woman room before he prompted, "You met him then?"
She nodded. "He's really nice. "
"So, you met the people he lived with?"
Her brows furrowed and she echoed, "People he lived with?"
"Yes, at the places you picked up his laundry."
"No. I mean, yes. I delivered the clean clothes in the afternoon. I didn’t have the delivery route long. But to answer your questions, other people answered the door and took the clothes, but I never really 'met' them, you know?"
"Got it. You no longer do laundry delivery service?"
"No, not for a while now."
"Why's that?"
"She works the front and runs just about everything." Cynthia's head whipped around. A big, barrel-chested man strode from the back of the facility. He wore a wifebeater and low-slung jeans. He pushed his too long hair from his face. He had two full sleeves of tats and from the looks of his shoulders, a lot more ink under the wifebeater. The man loomed over Cynthia. "The woman who used to run the counter service found a job closer to home. Cynthia filled in on the route for me when I wasn't feeling well. Since then, I've been moved to the back, and she's taken over the front.” He extended his hand. There were bruises all over his arm along with scratches, and was that a bite mark on his bicep? "Dawson Jenkins. This is Cynthia White.”
“Dawson and I are engaged." Cynthia added.
Brock's eyes darted to the woman's hand. No ring. He cocked his head at the announcement.
"My hand swelled up after I fell. Had to take it off or risk the possibility of losing a finger." She glanced over at Dawson’s outstretched hand and then darted a quick look at the man.
The guy dropped his hand. "I'm sorry. I didn't catch your names."
"Detectives King and Redman. How well did you know Mr. Treyson?"
The man's brow furrowed.
"Samuel Treyson." Kallie repeated the name when he didn’t speak.
"Is this about his murder?" Dawson snapped his attention to Kallie.
"Murder?" Cynthia's eyes widened, and her hand covered her mouth. She sank back on the leg still propped up on the scooter.
Dawson didn’t look at Cynthia. "He was killed––at the warehouse district. It’s all over the news."
"You didn't answer the question." Kallie stood straight and looked the guy in the eyes. Direct, authoritative, and completely composed.
Dawson gave her a look of disdain and then looked back at Brock. "I knew him."
"How well?"
The man crossed his arms over his chest. He sent a quick glance at Cynthia. "As well as I know the rest of my customers. Do I need to get a lawyer?"
"Do you think you need a lawyer?" Kallie returned.
"Nah, I don't, 'cause I didn't do anything wrong." He tried, but failed, to hold Kallie's stare.
"Maybe not to Treyson." Brock leaned away from the counter and looked directly at Cynthia. "If you need anything, anything at all, you come find me at the Southern precinct." He pulled one of his business cards and handed it to her as he stared at the motherfucker next to her.
"I'm not sure what you mean." The woman looked up at Dawson and smiled, although once again her eyes weren't mirroring the expression, they were... vacant.
Kallie asked for and received both Cynthia and Dawson’s information. They lived in separate apartments of the same