It gave Paul inordinate satisfaction to flip his gold badge in Falk’s face, and Rob did the same. “Open the door, Falk. We’re here to ask you some questions.”
“I got nothing to say to someone like you.”
“Who, a detective?” Paul crossed his arms. “It’s okay, Wilbur. If you don’t want to talk to us here, you can come to the station. Talk to us there.”
“With your lawyer,” Rob added with a gleam in his eyes.
“Whaddya want?” Wilbur growled and slammed open the door to step out on the porch. He held a beer can in one hand and used the other to hitch up the sagging jeans over his protruding belly.
“What were you doing this morning around nine thirty?” Paul was prepared to be stymied in his questioning.
“Sleeping.” Wilbur belched. “I woke up when I heard all these goddamned sirens. Buncha crap.”
“Sorry to have interrupted your beauty sleep, but we have a problem with shots being fired into people’s homes. You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you, Wilbur?”
The man’s piggy little eyes narrowed further. “No. I said I was sleepin’. I don’t know nuthin’.”
“I’m sure you don’t,” Rob said. Wilbur sent him a sharp glance, but Rob gave him his pleasant grin. “Do you own a gun, Mr. Falk?”
“Yeah, so what? It’s my second amendment right.”
“Which no one is questioning. What type?”
“I got a couple of hunting rifles and a Glock.”
Paul raised a brow. “What do you need a handgun for?”
Wilbur turned a sneering eye to him. “Whaddya think?” He made a shooting gesture, pointing his finger at Paul. “To shoot things I don’t like.”
Paul took a step forward. “You do any shooting recently, Wilbur?”
“Unfortunately, no.”
“What about notes? You leave any threatening notes around? Try to scare people?”
Confusion rose in Wilbur’s face. “Notes? I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about. I didn’t leave no notes.”
Paul actually believed him. He wasn’t sure Wilbur had the brains to write the notes, even if they were only three words long.
“Where’s Travis? What time did he leave this morning?”
Wilbur coughed and spat, missing Paul’s foot by a couple of inches. His stomach recoiled in disgust.
“I dunno. He’s a big boy. I don’t keep tabs on him.”
“Whose pickup is in the driveway?”
Wilbur scratched his head. “Mine.”
“What kind of car does Travis drive?”
“Bronco.” He took another drink from his beer can.
“Color and year?” Rob asked.
“Green and it’s a 2010. What’re you asking me all this shit for?” He let out a foul-smelling belch, and Paul wrinkled his nose.
“Because we can. And I’m trying to find out who shot two bullets through my front window this morning, that’s why. Good thing no one was hurt.”
“Izzat what happened?” An unholy gleam lit Wilbur’s beady eyes. “Too bad. Sorry to hear that.”
“We’re finished here. For now.”
“Always a pleasure, Officers.”
Rob took two steps toward Wilbur. “That’s Detectives, Mr. Falk. And we’ll be back to talk to Travis.”
They left him on his porch, hitching up his pants again.
“What a charming person,” Rob said as they left Falk. “Definitely not a part of Mister Rogers’ Neighborhood.”
Paul snorted. “I wasn’t sure whether he meant he was sorry someone shot out my windows or that no one was hurt.”
“Yeah, Paulie. That man is not a fan of yours.”
“The feeling’s mutual,” Paul said grimly, his jaw tense. “And I’m not ruling him or his deadbeat son out, especially after what Judy Swanson said.”
“Yeah. We’ll have to check them both for priors when we get back to the station.”
“I need to check on Cliff first, though. Make sure he’s okay.”
Rob shrugged. “He seemed fine, but sure. I don’t blame you. I’d be the same way if it happened at my house.”
They passed Silvia from the forensic team, who was taking measurements and pictures of the skid marks and tire tracks in the middle of the street, as well as Manny searching the street, most likely to see if there were any shell casings to be found.
While Rob went to talk to Manny, Paul went inside. Forensics had been thorough—they’d dug out the bullets and marked out the spaces from the sofa and wall. Cliff had begun to clean up the glass, and Paul found him on his way to the kitchen.
“How’s it going? Are you all right?”
“I’m fine. You don’t have to hover over me.”
Surprised by the sharpness of Cliff’s tone, Paul still pressed on. “I’m not hovering. I’m concerned. There’s a difference.”
Holding on to the broom handle, Cliff faced him, jaw set in a hard line. “Is there? You haven’t told me about the notes you received. Why is that?”
“At first I thought it was a joke. I mean, ‘I see you’ could be anything.”
“When did you get the first one?”
“About a month ago.”
Cliff set the broom aside and leaned against the counter. “You knew for a month and didn’t think it was important to tell me?”
Paul didn’t like the combination of hurt and anger reflected in Cliff’s eyes.
“It didn’t seem important at the time. But now, today, I get the same note, and then shots are fired. So yeah, now I’m worried.”
“And again,” Cliff snapped, “only because you thought it was important enough to tell me. If you didn’t, I’d still be in the dark. That’s not fair. I don’t need protection, Paul. I’m your partner in every way, not just in the bedroom.”
“I know that,” Paul said helplessly. “But I didn’t think—”
“That’s the point you’re not getting. You didn’t think. You reacted.” Cliff braced his hands on the kitchen island. “Can I ask you something?”
This reminded him of when he and Cliff first started seeing each other and he had no idea what to expect from a relationship. They’d been together a year and a half now, and Paul believed he had learned how to be a good partner. One of the main things was to listen. “Yes, of course. You know that.”
“You keep talking about protecting me, and every time you say that, all I think about is Harley.”
Hearing his brother’s name was like a punch to his heart, but somehow he managed not to flinch.
Cliff took his arm to lead him farther into the house and away from Rob and the forensics team still walking around. “Paul, I’m not going to leave you and die. I love you, but you have to stop looking over my shoulder, thinking you have to watch over me and protect me every minute. First of all, you won’t be able to. But also, if all I am to you is a second chance to make sense of Harley’s death, we don’t have much to move forward with from here, do we?”