Howtown: A Henry Rios Novel (Henry Rios Mysteries Book 3) by Michael Nava

Author:Michael Nava [Nava, Michael]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Publisher: Persigo Press
Published: 2019-07-01T00:00:00+00:00

On my way out of the office, I stopped by the receptionist’s desk to check for phone messages and found a folder that had been delivered earlier in the evening. Tearing it open, I found a Xeroxed copy of a log with a note scrawled on a slip of paper attached to it. The note, from Rossi, said it was a copy of the evidence locker log showing the time that Morrow had booked the film. The log showed that he’d booked the film at 10:45. I thought back to his testimony and calculated that this meant he would have driven back to the police station, filed his report for the search warrant and booked the film within two hours of the search. That didn’t seem unusually long, considering the paperwork that must have been involved. Disappointed, I folded the paper and slipped it into my coat pocket.

There was also a phone message, from Josh. Calling him back from the hotel gave me something to look forward to as I headed out the door.

As I walked down the Parkway toward the hotel a black man wearing a dirty red kerchief around his head, eyes downcast, stumbled toward me, stopped and asked for a quarter. He looked younger than I, and it was clear from his ruined physique that he’d been a big man once. Now his skin hung from him like a dirty, oversized coat. His shoulders stooped as if they’d been broken and he stank of the rankest alcohol.

“What’s your name?” I asked him.

Startled, he glanced up at me. “James. James Harrison.”

“Nice night, isn’t it, James.”

“Homeless people don’t have no nice nights,” he replied.

“The Bible says the meek will inherit the earth.”

“Shit, ain’t gonna be worth having when rich people done with it.”

“Yeah, you’re probably right,” I said, reaching for my wallet to give him a dollar. All I had were tens and twenties. Somehow, turning him down because I didn’t have change seemed wrong so I gave him a ten.

He looked at the bill and asked, “What’s your name?”

“Henry,” I replied.

“Got a brother named Henry.”

I smiled. “Where’s he?”

“Folsom.” With that, he nodded and headed down the street toward the neon sign. I went off in the other direction.

Entering the hotel, I found another message from Josh and a second message from Ben Vega, asking me to call him. Too tired to speculate on why the young cop might have called, I tucked both messages into my pocket and headed toward the elevators with nothing more ambitious on my mind than a hot shower and a sitcom. As I pressed the elevator button, a hand clamped my shoulder. I shook it off and turned around.

“Josh, what the hell are you doing here?”

He wore khaki shorts and a blue button-down shirt, open to expose the crystal he’d taken to wearing on a leather loop around his neck.

“Waiting for you,” he said wearily. “I’ve been here since nine but they wouldn’t let me up into your room. I tried to call.”

“I know.

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