Payne, about to turn and go back up the stairs, noticed on top of the desk, next to piles that he figured had to have been dumped from a drawer or two, that there was a ruby-red crushed velvet pouch with a string closure. He stepped closer and saw that it was imprinted with WINNER’S PRECIOUS JEWELS
The pouch was flat, and he took an ink pen from his pocket to pull back the opening and check inside. It was empty.
—
After checking the top floor, which also had been ransacked, Payne found that Jolene Hooper was still talking to Harris. She stopped as Payne approached.
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“Just more of the same up and down,” Payne said to Harris.
“Told ya,” she said, then looked back at Harris. “They said that robbery happened yesterday morning, and Tyrone ran it. Said a man got killed. But I told them that I know that ain’t right.”
“You told them what’s not right?” Harris said.
She looked at Harris with a sudden renewed strength, and said, “It ain’t right ’cause my boy would never do that. And I know he didn’t do it ’cause he was right here at home. With me. Had, uh, he had one of his girlfriends with him down there. She can tell you, too.”
Nice try, Payne thought. But we’ve seen the evidence.
You’re lying to cover his ass, and the girlfriend will lie, too.
“Where is Carmelita?” Payne said.
“Who’s that?”
“Tyrone’s girlfriend,” Payne said.
She shrugged. “Don’t know that one.”
“Ma’am,” Harris said, “I caution you that it’s considered obstruction of justice to make false statements to a police officer.”
“What’s that mean?”
“Lying to the law is illegal,” Payne said, as he walked toward the front door.
“I ain’t lying! No way my boy was there.”
Payne saw Harris pulling out his smartphone.
“Let me show you something,” Harris said. “I’d like to hear your thoughts on this video. It was taken off the casino cameras . . .”
As Payne went out the door, he thought, Waste of time, Tony. I can already hear her saying, “Who knows when that was taken? He likes gambling. That could be long ago and they changed the date . . .”
—
Matt Payne stood on the trash-strewn sidewalk. He looked at a scrawny white goat that had just bleated at him from behind the chain-link fence while he waited for Tony Harris to come out of the row house. Mentally debating what their next steps should be—Going home is sounding like a real winner—he then glanced at his watch and was somewhat surprised to see it was just about three o’clock in the morning.
Feels more like it should be at least dawn.
His cell phone then rang, which did not surprise him. He didn’t bother looking at the screen as he pulled it from his pocket.
He answered it: “Public Enemy Number One, how can I help you?”
Payne heard a chuckle at the other end, then, “Hey, it’s Hank Nasuti. I heard you were still out on a job.”
“Jobs—plural—actually. But, then, it is Saturday night, so no doubt more on their way. What’s up, Hank?”
“We got the doer in the LOVE and Franklin parks killings.”