Josie pounded on the door. There was no answer. They waited a few minutes, knocked again and waited. They turned when they heard the sound of the stairwell door creaking behind them. Silas Murphy stood there in a black T-shirt and jeans, a white plastic takeout bag in one hand and a set of keys in the other.
Gretchen said, “Silas Murphy.”
He dropped the bag and his keys and took off, banging through the stairwell door. Josie pushed past Gretchen and ran after him. She was faster and in better shape, even though the stitches in her thigh ached with the exertion. As she got to the stairwell, she heard his footsteps pounding down, down, down. Josie tore after him, jumping down as many steps to each landing as she safely could.
As she reached the lobby, she saw the double doors flap closed. She was gaining on him. Bursting outside, she saw him run across the street, his footfalls splashing up water. He slipped into an alley between two buildings—one condemned and the other a mirror image of his apartment house. Josie sprinted after him, running down the alley, catching a flash of his shirt before he turned left, behind the condemned building. Josie emerged into a lot flanked by high concrete walls on two sides. A dumpster lay tipped over in a two-foot puddle of murk where the floodwaters had collected with nowhere to recede to. Silas dashed across the lot toward the dumpster and jumped on top of it. He was going to scale the wall, Josie realized.
“Stop,” she yelled. “Police!”
His sneakers slipped on the surface of the dumpster, and he fell on all fours. Scrambling to his feet, he reached up and tried to grab the top of the wall. It was too high.
“Stop,” Josie said again. “Stop right there! Police!”
He jumped up, trying to reach the edge again as Josie waded through water so grimy, dirty, and greasy that it was black with a rainbow oil slick running across it. There was no time to be concerned about what was soaking through her pants into her skin and her fresh stitches. Hopping onto the dumpster, she rushed at Silas, slamming into him from behind and knocking the wind out of him. He fell forward and she stayed on him, flipping him onto his stomach and applying zip ties to his wrists.
“Get off me,” he wheezed when he caught his breath. “I ain’t done nothing!”
Gretchen appeared from the alley, huffing and pale. Josie jumped down from the dumpster and dragged Silas through the water to where Gretchen stood, leaning against the wall of the building. Josie shoved Silas forward and he stopped, turning back toward her, his dark eyes flashing. “Are you crazy? I didn’t do nothing. Take this shit off me.”
Gretchen said, “If you didn’t do anything, why’d you run?”
He stood in the mouth of the alleyway facing them. “I don’t trust cops, that’s why.”
Josie sighed. “I’ve seen your rap sheet, Mr. Murphy. You ought to know that the quickest way to get in trouble with the cops is to run. I don’t really believe you when you tell me you haven’t done anything.”
Under his breath, he let out a stream of curses. Then he said, “You arresting me then or what?”
Gretchen said, “That depends on whether you answer our questions or not.”
He sneered. “That depends on what the questions are.”
Josie said, “We need to talk to you about Vera Urban.”
“Oh Christ. That? All right, all right. Yeah, I saw that stuff on the news about her kid. But look, I haven’t seen Vera in damn near twenty years. She was on me every day for this and that, owed me a lot of money, and then one day she skipped town without a word.”
“Did you look for her?” Gretchen asked.
“Of course,” he said. “Never found her.”
“You said she owed you money,” Josie said. “What was that for?”
His face changed as he realized his slip. Josie could tell by the way his eyes went up toward the sky that he was trying to come up with a good lie. Josie said, “You don’t have to make anything up. We’re not here about your drug dealing.”
“I don’t deal drugs.”
Josie knew he was lying but, for the moment, it didn’t matter. They needed information from him about the past. “Silas,” she said. “We don’t care about that. We need to know about Vera Urban.”
Gretchen said, “Where were you two mornings ago?”
His gaze snapped toward her. “What?”
“Two mornings ago,” Gretchen repeated. “About seven a.m. Where were you?”
“Why?”
“Why do you think?” Josie asked.
“I don’t know what the hell happened or what you’re trying to pin on me, but I was at home asleep.”
Josie said, “Can anyone corroborate that?”
“Shit,” he said. “My dog, okay? He can corroborate it. Why are you asking me this stuff?”
“Tell us again the last time you saw Vera Urban,” Gretchen said.
“I don’t know. Like, almost twenty years ago. It was—it was the year that the Jays won the state championship.”
Josie and Gretchen exchanged a look. Josie said, “You mean the Denton East Blue Jays?”
“Yeah,” Silas said. “Everyone in the city was following it. You don’t remember?”
Gretchen said, “I’m not from here.”
Silas shook his head. “Well, it was a big deal. We don’t have professional sports teams. People were into it, you know? Anyway, it was around then; that was the last time I saw her.”
“How long had you known Vera?” Josie asked.
“I don’t know. My whole life, practically. We went to school together. She was a few years ahead of me, but we just knew each other, from, like, around.”
Josie said, “Silas, we looked at your rap sheet before we came here. We know you’ve been in and out of prison your entire life for drug offenses. So I’m going to ask you again—and we’re not interested in arresting you—did you supply Vera Urban with drugs?”
“You can’t arrest me,” he said. “This is, like, off the record.”
“We’re not journalists, Silas,” Gretchen told him. “But just as Detective Quinn said, we’re not interested in any drug-related crimes you might have committed decades ago. We just want information from you.”
“Fine,” he said. “I might have helped Vera get some drugs back in the day.” He turned slightly and shook his bound hands. “Will you take these off now?”
Ignoring his plea, Josie asked, “What kinds of drugs?”
“Pills,” he said. “That was all she wanted. It wasn’t even for her, just so you know. Vera wasn’t like that. I mean, not then.”
“Who were the pills for?” Gretchen asked.
“She worked at this hair place, you know? She had all these rich bitch clients. They were taking them like candy. Vera was in tight with them. She liked being a part of their little group, I think. So yeah, I helped her out.”
“That was it?” Josie prodded.
She let the uncomfortable silence play out until Silas became agitated, one of his feet tapping against the broken pavement. “All right, fine,” he said. “One of them liked pot and there was another one who got hooked on cocaine—and I mean hooked. She would do anything.”