Chapter Four: Tibo
No Such Number
For some gods-forsaken reason, the uniforms who'd showed up on scene hadn't been content to take his statement. They'd brought him into the station. That was all right, he supposed. He'd just stood frozen while the ambulance guys had loaded Shandi onto a gurney, covered up her lovely little face, and taken her off into the night. Maybe the cops had thought he was in shock or something. Yeah. Right.
He'd nearly reached a meditative state of misery when a large human lumbered in carrying a file and his own coffee in one hand. The other hand he offered to Tibo.
"Detective Owen. Just need to ask you a few questions, Mr. Glent."
Tibo put his coffee on the table and after a glare up at the mountain of human, shook hands. "Sure. Fine."
The detective sat in a chair across from him and went right on the attack. "Any medical conditions I should know about? You on something, Glent? Maybe trolling?"
"Well, aren't you an asshole."
"You're shaking like you're on cave pops or something."
"I'm freezing, exhausted, and freaked out, thanks for your concern."
Owen grunted and opened the file. "So you had a concert last evening at the Myrmidon and you and your band are staying at the Mandarin."
"Yeah." Tibo drew the word out, already defensive, wondering where this was going.
"Mind telling me what you were doing all the way up at 126th Street at two in the morning?"
Tibo leaned forward, sharp teeth bared. "A little girl was killed tonight and you want to turn this into a fucking case of walking while goblin?"
The detective turned scarlet and opened his mouth, probably to say something angry and racist, when the door beside Tibo opened and a familiar, impeccably dressed figure strode in followed closely by Sean, who from his darkly shadowed eyes and tousled hair appeared not to have made it to sleep.
"Mr. Glent, you don't have to answer any questions until I sort things out. Detective, I'm Ivan Marchen, Mr. Glent's attorney." Ivan shook hands with Detective Owen, who did so with bad grace and a sour frown. His perfect, manicured hand landed on Tibo's shoulder. "Are you all right?"
"Nobody's roughed me up yet," Tibo grumbled. No fucking way he was telling Ivan and Sean how glad he was to see them, though really? He wanted to leap up, hug them, and maybe cry. Just a little. "It's okay, Ivan. I'll answer Detective Asshole's questions."
"If he asks anything inappropriate, I will advise you not to answer."
"It's fine, oh wise and glorious counsel." Ivan snorted at him, but Tibo went on. "I'll tell you what I was doing out, Mr. Detective. I get tense and depressed after shows. A couple of drinks and a good long fuck usually fixes it, but last night it wasn't happening. I went for a walk because I needed to walk and wasn't paying attention to how far or what direction. Now, you gonna get to the business of finding out who killed Shandi? Have you even run that plate yet?"
Owen had gone from scarlet to purple. Maybe he'll have a heart attack. Two deaths in one night. Go me. "Yeah we ran the plate. Either your memory sucks or you're playing games, Glent, because that's not even close to a legit license number in any state."
"I don't need any kind of memory. I have a fucking picture."
Tibo rolled his eyes and pulled out his phone. He didn't miss the little twitch from Mr. Detective, like he would pull a weapon in a damn police station. "Guess your street beaters didn't bother with that part. Yeah. Picture of the car. Check the timestamp. This is the fucker who hit Shandi and drove around her to flee the scene."
"I'm gonna need that phone," Owen growled.
"No, detective, you do not." Ivan's voice was soft, but so casually authoritative no one ever said no to him. "Mr. Glent will be happy to email any photos to you. But you have no need to confiscate his phone."
Owen snapped the file shut and stood. "Fine. But there's no such number. I may have further quest—"
"I'm sure." Ivan handed over his business card. "And you may direct them through my office. Thank you, detective. I believe Mr. Glent has been through enough this evening."
With Ivan and Sean flanking him, Tibo walked out on shaking legs. He picked up his pace when he spotted who was waiting for him beyond the front desk and nearly flung himself into his band mates' arms. Yeah, it was a group hug clusterfuck, limbs everywhere, but Tibo didn't care. Gods, it felt good and some of the evening's chill seeped away.
"Ti, you gormless ninny," Rolly murmured into his hair. "Why didn't you tell me you were going out?"
"I was pissed. And stupid." Tibo wasn't going to cry here, in front of cops, but once they were in the car all bets were off. "Are you still mad at me, Rolls?"
"Maybe a bit. Since you scared the shit out of us. Shh. It's all right, Ti."
Eck rubbed his back, glaring at any cop within evil eye distance. "Let's get you out of here. You look terrible."
"Thanks. You always know just what to say, Eck."
He did cry in the car on the way back to the hotel, big, ugly cry sobs. Even with the people he loved around him, his mind refused to stop replaying the terrible moment of that black car slamming around the corner out of nowhere.