He opened the door and waited for her to enter. She did, looking around fearfully. “I’ve never…”
“Been in a police station? I’d say that’s a good thing.”
“Yeah, I guess.”
He took her up to his desk in the squad room, asking her to have a seat. She perched nervously on the edge, plucking at the hem of her worn hoodie.
“All right,” Mike said once he was seated. “Why don’t you tell me who you are for starters?”
“Jamie.”
“Is that your street name or your real one?”
“Does it matter,” she asked with a brief burst of defiance.
“Nope. Okay, Jamie, what happened to your friend?”
“His name’s Daw, I told you that.”
“You did. You said you saw someone throw him off the roof.”
“Yeah, like last Friday, I think.”
“Why did you wait so long to come in?”
She looked down, muttering, “Why do you think? You’re cops. You never believe anything we tell you.”
“Why don’t you let me be the judge of that?” He resisted giving her shoulder a pat, knowing it would probably send her running.