“ID,” I repeated. “Oh,” he said. The smile faded into concentration. “I don’t think so.” “Why’s that?” Another pause. Longer this time. His brow creased, like he was genuinely trying to locate the answer. “Lost it,” he said finally. “When?” He looked at the pavement. Then the sky. Then back at me. “A while ago.”
It felt less like he was avoiding the question and more like he couldn’t quite grab hold of it. Like every thought slipped just before it settled. I shifted in my seat, already reaching for the door handle, unsure whether I was being played or wasting my own time. That’s when the radio cut in. “Unit Twelve, possible mugging in progress. Maple and Third. Suspect on foot.”