Triptych (Will Trent #1) - Karin Slaughter Page 0,92
of his face. Blood was trickling into his collar.
Will looked back at the building, then at Michael. “You okay?”
“She hit me. Can you believe that? What is she, twelve?” He shook his head, more shocked than angry. “I was following her up the stairs and before I knew it, she bolted. I went after her, grabbed her leg, and the little thing turned around and whapped me across the face with her fist.” He slung out his own fist to illustrate. “Good thing she punched me like a girl, huh?” Will had never understood that phrase. He’d only ever had one woman punch him, and Angie always put her shoulder into it.
Michael was staring back up at the building. A curtain twitched, and he said, “That’s her place. Third floor up.”
“Is her mother home?”
“Shit,” he said, his tone asking if Will was actually that stupid. Michael touched the gash on his cheek then looked at the blood on the tips of his fingers. “I guess her fingernail caught me or something. Does it look bad?”
“Not too bad,” Will lied. He took out his handkerchief and offered it to Michael. “Do you want to go get her or something?”
“What? Throw the cuffs on her and get my picture on the nightly news for roughing up a child? No thank you. Besides, she wouldn’t talk to us now if her hair was on fire.” He sat on the curb with a groan. Will didn’t know what else to do but join him.
Michael laughed again. “Christ, she got me.” He looked at the dots of blood on the handkerchief. “I should’ve let you handle her. Maybe she would have responded to a softer touch.” He realized what he’d said. “Hey, no offense—”
“Don’t worry about it.”
“Still,” Michael said, folding the handkerchief in two, then pressing it to his cheek again. He said, “I didn’t know people still carried these.”
“Old habit,” Will admitted. Ms. Flannery had made all the boys in the state home carry handkerchiefs in their pockets. Will had never questioned the practice, just assumed that it was something normal boys did.
Michael asked, “You get anything from her brother?”
“Cedric’s not talking.”
“You think he knows anything?”
Will did, but for some reason he felt the need to lie. “No. He doesn’t know anything.”
“You sure?”
“Positive,” Will said. “He’s got a big mouth. He would’ve talked.”
“You’re lucky he didn’t kick you in the balls or something.” Michael folded the handkerchief again and started to hand it back to Will. “Sorry,” he said, taking it back. “I’ll get my wife to clean this for you.”
“That’s okay.” Will took the cloth, feeling uncomfortable at the prospect of Michael Ormewood’s wife doing his laundry.
“Man,” Michael said, resting his elbows on his knees, dropping his head. “I gotta say, the girl reminds me a lot of Cynthia. Got that same fire in her eyes, you know?”
“That so?” Will asked, thinking Michael was painting a very different picture of the neighbor than the one he had offered before.
“Cyn was a good kid, don’t get me wrong about that. It’s just she had that rebellious streak, too. Your parents divorced?”
Will was caught off-guard by the question. His face must have shown it.
“None of my business, right?” Michael rubbed the back of his neck, looking up at the building again. “My father died when I was about her age. Maybe that’s why I kind of took care of her.”
Will wasn’t sure which girl the man was talking about now.
“I was just thinking that you get a little rebellious streak when you’re a teenager and that it gets worse if your parents split up at the same time. You start to push things, right? Trying to test the limits, see how far you can go before they pull you back. My mom yanked me back by the collar—we’re talking Wile E. Coyote yanked. She was always looking out for me, always using the heavy hand. Kids today, their parents don’t do that. They don’t want to be the bad guy.”
Will guessed, “Cynthia was a little wilder than Phil knew?”
“Maybe a little wilder than I knew,” he admitted. “Or than I wanted to know.”
“That sounds like an honest mistake.”
Michael smiled at Will. “There was this girl I knew back in high school. God, she was gorgeous. Wouldn’t give me the time of day. My cousin hooked her. He was just this scrawny-ass kid, didn’t have a hair anywhere on his body except for his head.” Michael glanced at him. “You know the type I’m talking about?”