Tyner said, “She has cooperated, and it’s reasonable to assume she’s in jeopardy. Can’t you tell us anything?”
Rainer was behind them as he began talking and, although he crossed in front of them as he continued to circle and swoop, he never made eye contact. It was as if he was speaking to himself, thinking out loud, all the gears whirring and clanking.
“Bobby Hilliard was a waiter, worked at the big fancy restaurants, changing jobs all the time. Because he wanted to, not because he ever got into any trouble. His co-workers say he was a charmer, a good talker who knew just how much to pour it on, and a certified genius at remembering people’s special needs. Regulars would request his station when they made reservations, even follow him to new restaurants.
“But-he was a thief.” He waited, as if he expected Tess to jump in here. He was testing her, she realized. He would know that she had been to the Pratt and learned of Bobby’s work history there. She kept still.
“He stole from the library,” Rainer said. “But not from the restaurants, never from the restaurants. He was so honest he would tell another waiter if he saw someone try to pocket a tip, or chase down a customer if he thought he had overtipped by mistake. Then I come to find out the guys in the burglary division questioned him about a couple of break-ins around town.”
“As a suspect?” This was Tyner’s question.
Rainer stopped circling to think about this. “Not officially. In fact, he had alibis for all of ‘em. But the alibis were almost too good, like he was waiting for someone to come around and ask. He was working the night Pitts was hit. And Ensor had a party at his house the night he was burglarized. Anyone could have left the door unlocked. Including Ensor, as he himself pointed out. In fact, according to the uniforms who made the report, he was happy to take the blame and pretty indifferent, all things considered.”
“Was Bobby at the party?” Tess asked.
Rainer had finally worn himself out. He dropped heavily into his chair. “Not as a guest, as a worker. He worked part-time for a catering firm, making extra money on his nights off. The patrons who knew him from the restaurant ended up hiring him for their private gigs. But here’s the thing-his bosses remembered he often went to a lot of trouble to get the nights off to do these parties, even when they were held on Fridays and Saturdays. He couldn’t have made as much working those parties as he would putting in his regular shift. So you tell me why he did it.”
Tess paused, but only to make Rainer feel better. “To gain access to these homes. But did Pitts ever have a party? Did Shawn Hayes? And did everyone who had a party end up being burglarized?”
“Pitts didn’t use the catering service, as far as we can tell,” Rainer admitted. “And while Hayes had a big holiday party, it was a week or two earlier, before Christmas. He had a pretty sophisticated alarm system. It’s my guess that Bobby couldn’t figure out how to get around it. We were working on the supposition that Bobby made a date with Shawn Hayes in order to get in his house.”
“Were working,” Tess echoed, recognizing the importance of the verb tense.
“Well, it led to a kind of dead end, didn’t it? No pun intended. Even if we can clear a bunch of burglary cases and the assault, it doesn’t really tell us why Bobby Hilliard was killed. Which is the way the case gets cleared, after all. His victims are fine upstanding types. The kind of people who holler for the police when any little thing goes wrong, not do-it-yourselfers. Unless-”
“Unless?”
“Unless the way Bobby got to them was the way he got to Shawn Hayes. I don’t know from hate crimes, but if he went after guys who weren’t up front about their… preferences, they could be reluctant to tell us about it, you know? There may be victims out there we don’t even know about, because they’d rather live with the loss than tell anyone how it happened. Bobby Hilliard knew someone was angry at him. He bought a gun the first week of January, and he had it on him when he was killed.”
“I had no idea,” Tess said. “You’ve kept that out of the papers. But I can’t say I blame him for carrying. I’m doing the same.”
“Here?” Rainer asked.
“No, I didn’t want to hassle with bringing a weapon into the police department. It’s locked in the glove compartment of Tyner’s van. I’m keeping it on me at all other times, however. I have a license. It’s legal.”
“It’s legal,” Rainer said, “but that doesn’t make it prudent.” He bit the last word into two harsh syllables, so Tess needed a second to catch what he said. In Rainer’s mouth, Pru Dent sounded like a distant cousin of Carte Blanche. At any rate, she wasn’t going to get drawn into a discussion of the second amendment with Rainer.
“So I guess Arnold Pitts has to move to the top of your suspect list, right? He was intent on finding Bobby Hilliard, he was Bobby Hilliard’s victim. And he clearly attached much value to this bracelet, for whatever reason. Have you been to his house? The guy fetishizes objects. I’d hate to see what would happen to anyone who broke one of his cookie jars.”
“Yeah, I been. Okay, so the guy wants to get this bracelet back. But where did he get something like this, anyway? It’s not what he usually traffics in. And why hire a private detective if he’s just going to follow the guy and cap him?” Rainer asked. “What’s the point?”
“To set up an alibi of sorts,” Tyner offered, but even he didn’t sound convinced. “By making a big show of sending someone to go to the grave site that night, he creates the suggestion that he has no intention of being there.”
“You’ve met Pitts,” Rainer said to Tess. “You’ve seen him.”
“Twice now.”
“How tall would you say he is?”
She held her palm to her collarbone and made a quick calculation. “Five-two?”
“On a good day. And Jim Yeager?”
“Two, maybe three inches taller than I am. I’d put him at six feet, although at least two inches of it was hair.”
“Well, we don’t know who shot Bobby Hilliard for sure, but we know that the other guy in the cape was taller than he was, right? He’s not off the hook, not by a long shot. Quite the opposite, since you showed me all the little gifts you’ve been receiving.”
“There’s no evidence they’re the same, Poe’s Visitor and my creep.”
“Okay, but hold on. For Yeager, we got an eyewitness, a pretty good one, given that she was a block away. She says the guy who stabbed him was almost as tall, if not taller, and unless Pitts was tottering around on stilts, that eliminates him. So, yeah, I got a lot of questions for Arnold Pitts, but I’m afraid he’s going to have some good answers. It’s the other guy I want, Mr. Visitor, and I’m putting that word out. At the very least, he’s an eyewitness to a crime. It’s his civic duty to come forward, but if he doesn’t I’m gonna find him. No more Mr. Nice Guy.”
“How are you going to find him if no one knows who he is?” Tyner asked, curious.
“I’m a cop. It’s what I do. No one can keep a secret, and there’s someone in Baltimore who knows who this guy is, because he told him. Got drunk at a party or showed his wife the cape one night. Even Superman ended up telling Lois Lane who he was. So I’ll find him.”
Tess took out a digital camera, her latest toy. It was helpful to know what the photo was going to look like before you took it, and then to be able to enter the photos into her computer files. Besides, maybe she’d get her own Web site, put up her favorite surveillance shots, charge for downloading the naked ones.
“You gonna immortalize me for your scrapbook?” Rainer asked.
“No, I want to take several photographs of the bracelet, so I can show it to some people around town, see if they can tell me if it’s real or not.”