Free Hold Still by Lisa Regan Page B

mismatched living room set that looked about as old as Jocelyn. The only thing modern was the fifty-two-inch flat-screen television that sat atop a rutted coffee table.
    “Anyone else here?” Kevin asked, standing near the front door.
    Larry nodded. “My mom’s upstairs sleeping. My friend is here.” Larry motioned down the hall to what looked like the kitchen. “Angel!” he shouted. “Police is here.”
    The man who emerged from the kitchen carrying a plate piled high with spaghetti was huge. His frame swallowed the kitchen doorway. Jocelyn estimated his age to be mid to late twenties. His jowly cheeks hung down over his neck. Rolls of fat strained against his red sweatshirt. He was exactly as Anita had described him. Kevin and Jocelyn exchanged a furtive look. Jocelyn could practically hear Kevin’s thoughts.
    It can’t be this easy.
    Angel nodded at them and sat on the couch, eating his dinner as if they weren’t even there. “This is Angel,” Larry said.
    “Angel got a last name?” Kevin asked, flipping his notebook open.
    “Donovan,” Larry said. He sat on the love seat and began channel surfing with the remote control. “Angel don’t talk,” he added.
    “Why’s that?” Jocelyn asked.
    “Got shot in the throat a few years back.”
    As if on cue, Angel stopped eating and pulled his collar down, revealing a large lump of mangled scar tissue at the center of his throat. Jocelyn caught Angel’s eyes. They were brown and flat. There was nothing there. “How many years ago?” she asked.
    Angel held up a hand and wiggled all his fingers. “Five,” he mouthed.
    “Mr. Warner, Mr. Donovan, we’d like you to come down to the Division to answer a few questions.”
    “About what?” Larry asked. His posture was wide-open, relaxed.
    “About a woman being treated at Einstein for some pretty nasty wounds,” Kevin said.
    “Don’t know nothin’ about a woman in the hospital,” Larry said. Angel nodded in agreement.
    “You know a woman named Anita Grant?” Jocelyn asked.
    “Nope.”
    “How about Nitaluv79?”
    It was a split-second flicker in his eyes that gave him away. Jocelyn could tell he was trying to decide how much to tell them—how much trouble he was really in. He leaned forward. Angel finished up his dinner, setting his empty plate on the coffee table, and leaned back, watching with total disinterest.
    “You said this about a woman?” Larry said finally.
    “Why don’t you come down to the Division, and we’ll talk about it there,” Jocelyn suggested.
    Larry had been picked up enough times to know how the game worked. He didn’t put up a fight. Instead, he stood and turned the television off. “Let me get my shoes,” he said.
    Kevin followed Larry upstairs as the man retrieved his shoes. Jocelyn looked at Angel. “You too, Mr. Donovan.”
    Wordlessly, Angel stood and walked over to her. He towered over her, the broad expanse of his chest blotting out the rest of the room. Jocelyn stood erect and looked up into his eyes. He stood close to her, but he wasn’t trying to intimidate her, she realized. He was merely waiting for further instructions.
    Larry returned to the living room with Kevin trailing behind him. Jocelyn glanced at Donovan again and pointed to the door. “Let’s go.”

TWELVE
    October 6th
    Back at the Division, Jocelyn and Kevin put the two men in separate interrogation rooms and headed upstairs to their desks. Jocelyn tried Vaughn on his cell phone again, but he didn’t answer. As they started up the steps to the Detective Division, Jocelyn was struck by how preternaturally quiet the stairwell was—normally, the voices of detectives at their desks or on the phone could be heard trailing down the steps. A small sapling of dread sprouted in Jocelyn’s stomach. What if the Division had been inundated with calls after she and Kevin left? What if there hadn’t been enough detectives to respond to calls? Ahearn would have their asses if he knew they’d been out