The other man had been adding the packets of sugar into his coffee and stirring it, but at the mention of stolen gear, he set the cup back down on the table with a shaky hand. “I don’t know anything about that.”
“I’m not suggesting that you do. But my understanding is that, right before you quit your job as a firefighter, you’d considered taking a set of turnout gear.”
Ortiz sat up straighter. “I returned that gear and apologized to the chief. It was never something I wanted to do.”
“I believe that, and so does Chief Menendez. We know there was someone else at the station that day. A man that we suspect may have asked you to take the turnout gear. What can you tell me about him?”
Ortiz stared at the table for several moments before taking a sip of his coffee. “I was splitting the cost of renting an apartment with this other guy. He figured out about my kleptomania when I kept showing up at home with things I’d taken from the station.” His eyes echoed the sadness and regret he’d likely always struggle to let go of. “He told me that if I didn’t get him a set of turnout gear, then he’d go to the chief and tell him about my illness.”
“You didn’t want to lose your job.”
The other man shook his head. “And I couldn’t afford for him to move out and leave me with the full cost of rent. I figured no one would miss it, he’d stop asking, and that would be the end of it.” He wrapped both hands around the cup. “You have to understand, I wasn’t doing well back then. I know now that it would only have been the beginning. He would’ve kept asking me to take things. Getting caught meant the end of my dream career, but I’m glad it happened that way. I never would’ve gotten the help I needed if it hadn’t.”
Clint could tell the guy was genuine, but it was also clear that he was leaving the name of his roommate out on purpose. Combine that omission with the way he was picking at the edge of his paper cup, and he was clearly getting uncomfortable.
Paris took a drink of his own coffee and leaned forward in a way that made his questions seem more conversational. “The man we’re looking for now shot a firefighter, and he’s still threatening others. We need to find him and stop him before he hurts anyone else. There are some parallels between our suspect and your old roommate. It would be a huge help if you could give me his name. If it’s not him, then we’ll rule him out and be on our way. But if it is, you could be saving lives.”
“Look, I want to help you. Trust me, I do. But I need your promise that you won’t say a word about me to him. I don’t want him to know I’m involved, whether he’s your guy or not.”
“You have my word. Your name will never come up.” Paris stretched out his hand.
Ortiz studied him a moment before clasping the detective’s hand and giving it a shake. “His name was Rick Castor. I’m going to warn you, though, I’m not so sure that’shis real name. I once heard an acquaintance of his call him Jake. I never knew for sure either way.”
“That’s a huge help, Domingo, thank you. Could you describe Rick for me?”
Ortiz leaned back into his chair for the first time since he’d set foot in the interrogation room. Clint could only assume that being able to help Detective Paris had finally put him at ease.
“He was about my height—five eight. Brown hair, brown eyes. Really, he was just your average guy. No tattoos or scars that I ever noticed.”
“Do you happen to know where he is now?”
Ortiz shook his head. “No. He’d moved out of the apartment completely by the time I got back there that same night. I ended up having to move myself within a month. I haven’t seen him since that night at the fire station.”
“All right. Thanks again, Mr. Ortiz. I truly appreciate your time. If you’ll give me just a moment, I’ll find Officer Carrington and have him take you home.”
Ortiz was escorted out of the station, and Detective Paris thanked Dr. Gerard for his expertise. The detective turned to Clint. “I’m going to have IT do a search for Rick Castor and cross-reference that name with the list of call-outs that Chief Menendez gave us. See if we can’t get a hit.”
“That sounds like a good plan.” Clint checked his watch. It was nearly one o’clock. He really wanted to get over to the hospital and check on Leslie. Besides, if she was even half as hungry as he was, they both needed to get something to eat. “I’d like to stick close to Leslie this afternoon. Between going to the warehouse and speaking with Ortiz, we may be dangerously close to disturbing the wasp’s nest.”
“Agreed. I spoke with Chief Dolman earlier. You’veworked a lot of extra hours lately. Don’t worry about coming back to the station until tomorrow.”
Knowing that he wouldn’t have to leave Leslie’s side for the rest of the day made him feel a whole lot better. They may have gotten a slew of potential information about the shooter today, and hopefully it will eventually lead to an ID and an arrest. With any luck, they could wrap this up soon.
For now, though, Leslie was still in danger. For all they knew, the shooter could be right under their noses.
Clint had just dropped something off at his desk and was writing something down on his calendar when a shadow fell over his desk. He looked up to find Officer Mari Smith with a tense look on her face.
“I’m sorry to interrupt. We just got a call into dispatch. One of Leslie Granger’s neighbors heard a commotion out on the street in front of her house and called it in. A patrol responded immediately from a block over. When they arrived, they found someone had taken a baseball bat to Leslie’s car window and left something inside.”
Detective Paris’s jaw tightened. “I’m heading over there now.”
“Leslie’s at the hospital visiting Bracken. I’ll pick her up, and we’ll be there as soon as possible.”
Worry tightened around Clint’s chest like a vice. He couldn’t believe this guy smashed Leslie’s car in broad daylight. He was either getting bolder or becoming desperate.
Neither was a good thing.
Chapter Nineteen
