Chapter Thirty-Two

THE FORENSIC TESTS have identified the blood on Hunter’s clothing. It is Nana’s.

In the holding cell, Hunter is playing Friday night over and over in his head. He is trying to remember an alibi, some proof of where he was. The receipt for his doughnuts has the time printed on it, but it was hours too late. But what kind of a murderer goes and buys jelly doughnuts four hours after he kills? Probably all of them, thinks Hunter. None of that matters.

There was that one thing last night, though. Hunter remembers the old con man. Some old guy with crooked teeth and a ragged suit. He was tall, actually, huge, four or five inches taller than Hunter. And he leaned down right into Hunter’s face and said something about a hospital and his friend and coffee and could Hunter give him just a couple dollars right now. Hunter asked if the money was for a cab to the hospital, and it was then that the man started crying. This giant, crazy old man with a scruffy face and crooked teeth started crying and repeating Two dollars, two dollars, two dollars, sometimes speaking English and sometimes some other language. More crying. It reminded Hunter of his father.