As Wyland patiently waited for Sofia to settle down and stop crying, he carefully studied her. She had beautiful skin for an older woman, with a pale tan over her cheeks, and deep brown, almost puppy dog eyes, which were especially convincing when they were full of tears.
There were creases around her eyes, not quite crow's feet, and lines on her brow, but they only added to the character of her face. She wore mascara, and there was light pink lipstick covering her thin lips. Her nose had a rounded bridge, and she had lightly curly hair, and Wyland thought she was likely of Jewish or Arabian decent. In reality, she was a well rounded mutt, the granddaughter of a Ukrainian Jew, a Peruvian, a Brit and an Italian. The World Wars had mostly obscured her history, as it had for so many of European decent. She had a mysterious, multicultural beauty to her, though.
She wore several gaudy baubles and rings, as many middle aged women did. Whether it was so show off her modest wealth, and make her appear younger, it didn't really work on either count. Most appeared to be silver with various semiprecious stones, such as topaz, turquoise, and faux opals. They were ugly and unnecessary, Wyland thought.
She dabbed at her eyes with a tissue, and Wyland glanced at her ring finger. It was empty, and showed no sign of having felt the touch of metal any time recently.
"Better now?" He asked calmly.
"Yeah, sorry" She sniffed and nodded.
"OK, back to it then. How well did you know this Blaise guy?"
"It's pronounced "Blaze". She corrected his awkward pronunciation with the dutiful and kind nature of an experienced mother.
"Piece of shit thug is what he is... I only met him a few times at Dick's shop. Smokes, Drinks, I'm sure he's doing worse stuff, too. Tattoos and piercings, too. One tattoo on his arm showed a pentagram with a dead goat in the middle. I mean, Jesus, why would you get that tattooed on your arm?! He's been in jail a few times, too, mostly petty stuff as far as I know. DUI or something."
"I know that, Ms. Yarrow. And yes..." He shuffled through his notes. "DUI, and a menacing charge. Not much, really."
"Well, that's what I know about him. They were business partners, I guess. 20 years Dick's younger, but he could do a lot of the stuff Dick couldn't do anymore."
"Dick and him had it out a few times. Blaise wanted to buy Dick's shop, kept trying to get him to retire and sell out his share. Dick wouldn't have it. Last year, they fought, with wrenches, no less. He broke Dick's arm, but Blaise ended up in the hospital. I thought they had worked it out after that. Gotten it out of their system, ya know?"
She paused, staring at nothing in particular.
"I guess they didn't."
"Anyway, he showed up at Dick's retirement party in a ratty old shirt that had a picture of a hand sticking up through a toilet holding a knife, and it read 'metal up your ass."
Wyland smiled. "That's a Metallica shirt. They're very popular, or... at least, they were."
"Anyway, Dick and him got into a big shouting match over it. I mean, there were children there! Blaise is a father, himself! Does he wear that shit around his kids?" Her face had turned a bright pink color.
She paused again, this time for dramatic effect, and to take a breath.
"That's when it happened."
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