friends a lot of, well, knowing. I could tell you but remembering is one thing, but it is more than years.â
Sonora wondered if Winthrop was sincerely unable to communicate, playing it smart, or terrified of police. Sam met her gaze, raised his right shoulder slightly. Big help.
It could never be easy.
Sonora tried again. âSo youâve known Mark several years?â
Winthrop made an obvious effort. âThree. That would be as roommates. Ten as known friends. Longer really.â
For the first time in her life, Sonora missed the sneering streetwise punks who were sometimes irritating, sometimes chilling, but at least able to communicate, often in lyrical, if obscene, rap.
âSo youâve roomed with Mark for the last three years?â
Winthrop nodded vigorously.
He seemed bright enough. She detected a working mind behind the intelligence of the gaze, and a look of panic to go with the sheen of sweat on the forehead. He could have had something to do with Markâs killing, but she didnât think so. Her instinct told her the panic was due to sheer social nervousness, and she supposed that if she talked the way Winthrop did, sheâd be nervous too.
She thought of her brother, going through school with his speech impediment, teased, imitated, retreating every afternoon to his room.
Winthrop cleared his throat loudly. Impossible not to root for him in his intense effort to organize his thoughts into speech. And that was the problem, she decided. Some kind of mental stuttering.
She grimaced, turning it into a smile. âDid Mark date around a lot? Was he pretty popular with girls?â
âNo, but they all, to say, thatâs because you know Sandra. But they would if he wouldnât.â
âSandraâs his girlfriend, right?â
Winthrop nodded.
âDid he date anyone else?â
âWell I donât. Not to my ⦠my own understanding, I couldnât say always know ever. But he, as far as I would know, and I didnât ever see it.â
âHe didnât as far as you know?â
She was beginning to get the hang of talking to this guyâvery like communicating with a two-year-old. Grab the gist, double-check the results, and resist the urge to drop to your knees and beg him to just say it.
She led him through the routine patiently, getting a lead on Markâs favorite bars (three or four, Lynaghâs in particular); favorite restaurants (the Mex place, Casa Galvan, and Jozoâs Cajun); what he studied (social work); and what bothered him (the job market, AIDS, final exams). There were no surprisesâan average male college student in his early twenties.
He loved Sandra, he partied on Friday and Saturday, spent Sunday afternoons playing pickup basketball, and studied week-nights after work. He worked evenings, but had recently been âlet goâ by new management. Nothing major there, just something of a personality clash with the new guy. Winthrop suspected Mark had been fired because the new owners didnât want to pay more than minimum wage. They were letting a lot of the regulars go and putting in new people. Mark hadnât been the only one out the door.
Sonora shifted on the uncomfortable rim of the armchair, wishing sheâd beaten Sam to the couch.
âOkay, Brian, thereâs something I want you to think about. Did Mark get any odd phone callsâanything unusual, maybe someone calling and hanging up?â
âThe phone now thatâs a ⦠its ⦠I might not. Because you never know if heâd say in particular, though he might, you know. He might.â Spittle spewed from lips that were thick, chapped, and dry. Sonora shifted to one side so that Sam was in the direct line of fire.
âAnything youâre sure about? Any calls you took, any calls Mark mentioned?â
âI donât. No. Usually, Mark wouldââ
âMark answered the phone?â
Winthrop nodded. Sonora nodded