‘Marco? Well, you must be.’ Vince rested the palm of his hand on the wall near the waiter’s head, effectively blocking him from running thanks to the dumpster on his other side.
The kid shrank back. ‘I’m not Marco.’
‘Apron says otherwise.’
‘Um… not mine. Borrowed.’
‘Your colleagues inside have been most helpful, Marco,’ Vince said. ‘Ran through the events of the evening David Weaver, Bradley Pickering, and their families were here for the final time together.’
‘I wasn’t working.’
There was panic in the kid’s eyes. Someone had threatened him. Or blackmailed him.
‘Yes you were. Mike’s confirmed it.’
Marco expressed his feelings about that in a string of expletives. Even one Vince had never heard.
‘Feel better? Good. Look, I’m not here to arrest you. Not this time. And we can keep th
