Potter and Little had been arrested at their house on Warder Street without incident. They had been arraigned and were now incarcerated in the D.C. Jail, awaiting trial. The trial would not come for another six months. The whereabouts of the missing suspect, Charles White, would continue to be a source of speculation for the local media from time to time. A year and a half later, White’s identity would surface in connection with another murder charge outside of New Orleans. White would eventually be shanked to death, a triangle of Plexiglas to the neck, in the showers of Angola prison. The story would only warrant a paragraph in the Washington Post, as would the violent fates of Potter and Little. As for Joe Wilder, the memorial T-shirts bearing his face had been discarded or used for rags by then. For most metropolitan-area residents, Wilder’s name had been forgotten. “Another statistic.” That’s what hardened Washingtonians called kids like him. One name in thousands on a list.
Strange parked on 9th and locked the Brougham down. He walked by the barber shop, where the cutter named Rodel stood in the doorway, pulling on a Newport.
“How’s it goin’, big man?”
“It’s all good.”
“Looks like you could use a touch-up.”
“I’ll be by.”
He went down the sidewalk and looked up at the logo on the sign hung over his place: Strange Investigations. There were a few dirt streaks on the light box, going across the magnifying glass. He’d have to get Lamar on that today.
Strange was buzzed into his storefront business. Janine was on her computer, her eyes locked on the screen. Ron Lattimer sat behind his desk, a porkpie hat angled cockily on his head. The color of the hat picked up the brown horizontals of his hand-painted tie. Strange stopped by his desk and listened to Lattimer’s musical selection for the day, a familiar-sounding horn against a slamming rhythm section.
“Boss.”
“Ron. This here is Miles, right?”
Lattimer looked up and nodded. “Doo-Bop.”
“See, I’m not all that out of touch.” Strange looked at the paperwork on Lattimer’s desk. “You finishin’ up on that Thirty-five Hundred Crew thing?”
“I’ll be delivering the whole package to the attorneys next week. Major receivables on this one, boss.”
“Nice work.”
“By the way, Sears phoned in. They said your suit’s been altered and you can pick it up any time.”
“Funny.”
“Serious business. The cleaner down the street called, said your suit and shirts are done.”
“Thank you. I got a wedding to go to this weekend. You remember George Hastings, don’t you? His little girl’s.”
“The dress I’m wearing is down there, too, Derek,” said Janine, not taking her eyes off the screen. “Could you pick it up for me?”
“Sure.”
“You don’t mind my saying so,” said Lattimer, “you goin’ to a wedding, you ought to do something about your natural.”
“Yeah,” said Strange, patting his head. “I do need to get correct.”
Strange passed Quinn’s desk, littered with old papers and gum wrappers, and stopped at Janine’s.
“Any messages?”
“No. You’ve got an appointment down at the jail, though.”
“I’m on my way. Just stopped in to check up on y’all.”
“We’re doing fine.”
“You comin’ to the game this afternoon? It’s a playoff game, y’know. Second round.”
Janine’s eyes broke from her screen, and she leaned back in her seat. “I’ll be there if you want me to.”
“I do.”
“I was thinking I’d bring Lionel.”
“Perfect.”
Janine reached into her desk drawer and removed a PayDay bar. She handed it to Strange.
“In case you’re too busy for lunch today.”
Strange looked at the wrapper and the little red heart Janine had drawn above the logo. He glanced over at Ron, busy with his work, and back to Janine. He lowered his voice and said, “Thank you, baby.”
Janine’s eyes smiled. Strange went back to his office and closed the door.
Lamar Williams was behind Strange’s desk, reaching for the wastebasket as Strange walked in. Strange came around and took a seat as Lamar stepped aside. Lamar stood behind the chair, looking over Strange’s shoulder as he logged on to his computer.
“You getting into that People Finder thing?” said Lamar.
“Was just gonna check my e-mails before I go off to an appointment. Why, you want to know how to use the program?”
“I already know a little. Janine and Ron been showin’ me some.”
“You want to know more, I’ll sit with you sometime. You and me’ll get deep into it, you want.”
“I wouldn’t mind.”
Strange swiveled his chair so that he faced Lamar. “You know, Lamar, Ron’s not gonna be here forever. I know this. I mean, good people don’t stay on in a small business like this one, and a fair boss wouldn’t expect them to. I’m gonna need some young man to replace him someday.”
“Ron’s a pro.”
“Yeah, but when he first came here, he was green.”
“He had a college degree, though,” said Lamar. “I’m strugglin’ to get my high school paper.”
“You’ll get it,” said Strange. “And we get you goin’ in night school, you’ll get the other, too. But I’m not gonna lie to you; it’s gonna take a lot of hard work. Years of it, you understand what I’m tellin’ you?”
“Yes.”
“Anyway, I’m here for you, you want to talk about it some more.”
“Thank you.”
“Ain’t no thing. You coming to the game?”
“I’ll be there.”
Lamar walked toward the door, the wastebasket in his hand.
“Lamar.”
“Yeah,” he said, turning.
“The sign out front.”
“I know. I was fixin’ to get the ladder soon as I emptied this here.”
“All right, then.”
“Aiight.”
Strange watched him go. He picked up the PayDay bar he had placed on his desk. He stared at it for a while, and then he shut down his computer and walked out of his office. He stopped in front of Janine’s desk.
“I was wondering,” said Strange, “if Lionel couldn’t just take your car home after the game. I thought, if you wanted to, you and me could go for a little ride.”
“That would be good,” said Janine.
“I’ll see you up at the field,” said Strange.
STRANGE drove down to the D.C. Jail at 1901 D Street in Southeast. He parked on the street and read over the notes he had taken from the news stories he had researched on the Net.
Granville Oliver had recently been arrested and charged in one of the most highly publicized local criminal cases in recent history. He had fallen when Phillip Wood, his top lieutenant, was arrested for murder on an anonymous tip. The murder gun had been found, and Wood was charged accordingly. He had pleaded out and agreed to testify against Oliver on related charges. It was exactly what Oliver had predicted Wood would do when he and Strange had first met.
Oliver had been hit with several federal charges, including the running of a large-scale drug operation and racketeering-related murder. At a recent press conference, broadcast on all the local stations, the attorney general and the U.S. attorney had jointly announced that they would aggressively seek the death penalty in the case. Though the citizens of D.C. had gone to the voting booths and overwhelmingly opposed capital punishment, the Feds were looking to make an example of Granville Oliver and send him to the federal death chamber in Indiana.