‘Did he say why?’
‘He didn’t. I just figured he was going somewhere where his stuff might be, you know, at risk.’
Jessica looked at the battered and stained bag. She couldn’t imagine it or its contents warranting any heightened measures of security. But one man’s treasure, right? ‘Did he say where he was going?’
‘No.’
‘Did he say when he might be coming back for this?’
‘No. He didn’t say.’
‘Did he ever ask you to watch his things before?’
Boyce shrugged. ‘Can’t say that he did. I mean, not a whole lot of people trust people out here, you know? Danny and me were tight and all, so I guess he thought his stuff was safe with me.’
‘Did you open the bag since he gave it to you?’
‘What? No, man. It ain’t my stuff. I got no business going in there.’
Jessica didn’t fully buy into the code of the street, but for some reason she believed Thomas Boyce.
‘We’re going to need to take this with us,’ she said.
‘Yeah,’ Boyce said. ‘Sure. I mean, I figured.’
He handed the bag to Jessica, who took it with a gloved hand, held it by the end of one of the straps.
‘Do you remember what Danny said to you?’ Byrne asked. ‘The very last thing he said?’
Boyce thought about this for a few moments. ‘When he was walking away, up Tenth Street, he turned and yelled something to me. I was a little high at the time, and I remember it was kind of weird. But that was Danny, you know. He was always on about the devil this, the devil that.’
‘The devil?’
‘Yeah. He was a believer.’
‘He believed in the devil?’
‘Well, you believe in God, you believe in the devil, right?’
‘What about you, Mr Boyce?’ Byrne asked. ‘Do you believe in the devil?’
Boyce laughed, but it was a nervous sound. ‘Shit, man. I got plenty of my own demons, right? I don’t need someone else’s, church or no.’
‘We may need to talk to you again,’ Jessica said. ‘Where can we get hold of you?’
‘Have your people call my people. We’ll do lunch.’ Boyce shook his head. ‘I’m homeless, man.’
‘Do you stay at shelters a lot?’
‘When there’s a bed. There ain’t always a bed. Plus, them places are dangerous. You might want to mention that to the mayor the next time you see him.’
Jessica knew that a lot of homeless men did not like going to shelters, which they considered, rightfully so, to be risky. Especially the city-operated shelters. Not to mention that most shelters wanted their men to get into some kind of recovery program. The combination of these two things made most homeless men prefer to be out on the street. But some nights, code-blue nights — when the temperatures dropped below freezing — there wasn’t much choice.
‘I’ll tell him next time we play tennis,’ Jessica said. Boyce smiled. It wasn’t pretty. She handed the man her notebook and pen. ‘Write down the places you stay.’
Boyce hesitated, then took the pad and pen. ‘Sometimes I stay at St Francis Inn,’ he said.
Jessica knew the place. Located in Kensington, it was run by Franciscans on a fully volunteer basis. They also operated a thrift store and an urban center.
Boyce wrote down the name and general addresses of three shelters in North Philly. Jessica looked at the list. Surprisingly, the man’s penmanship was legible, almost elegant.
While Jessica put her notebook away, Byrne took out his camera phone.
‘Mr Boyce,’ Byrne said.
Boyce turned to face Byrne. Byrne took the man’s picture.
‘Oh, now, that’s got to be some kind of violation of my civil rights,’ Boyce said.
Jessica took out a business card, handed it to him. ‘Have your attorney contact me. In the meantime, if you think of something else, or you remember what Danny said to you on the last day you saw him, please give me a call.’
Boyce took the card, looked into Jessica’s eyes. He fashioned what he probably figured was a charming expression. ‘Do you think there might be like a reward or something?’
Jessica was suddenly downwind from Thomas Boyce. She wanted to move on. ‘There may be something in it for you. But that offer is only good for a few days.’
This, of course, was not true. There was no statute of limitations on homicide, and a tip that came in ten or twenty years after a murder would be followed up on. Boyce did not need to know this.
The man perked at the possibility of a cash stipend. ‘I’ll ask around. I have an erudite and learned circle of acquaintances. You never know.’
‘You never know,’ Jessica echoed.
With that, Thomas L. Boyce picked up his plastic swag bag, backed away from Jessica and Byrne a few paces — just to make sure it was okay to leave — then turned and walked up the alley.
‘You meet the most interesting people on this job,’ Jessica said.
When Boyce was gone, Jessica and Byrne returned to the car. The line into St John’s had disappeared, reduced to just a few men in the small courtyard. The rest were now inside.
Jessica unzipped the knapsack, and gently deposited the contents onto the hood of the Taurus. What she and Byrne saw were the sad remnants of a discarded life — a dirty pair of Levi’s, a ball of sweaters and T-shirts. It all had that monkey-house smell of body odor and disinfectant. There was a gray-bristle toothbrush with a broken handle, a small bar of soap wrapped in a paper towel, a few pamphlets for local shelters and free clinics. What they did not find was a reason that put Daniel Palumbo in the basement of that church. While Jessica went through the pockets of the Levi’s — all empty — she glanced at Byrne. He was standing at the back of the car, his distant stare in place. Of course, with Byrne, it was probably an inward glance.
Byrne took out his phone, dialed, put it on speaker. Soon there was a click.
‘Hey, Kevin,’ Bontrager said over the speaker.
‘Where are you, Josh?’ Byrne asked.
‘I’m over at St Adelaide’s. We’re just wrapping up.’
‘You’ve searched the whole place?’
‘Everywhere.’
‘Did you go up in that bell tower?’
‘Yeah,’ Bontrager said. ‘Nothing up there.’
‘Could you check it again?’
Pause. No detective liked to be told they had not done a thorough job, but Josh Bontrager held Byrne in such high esteem, he wasn’t about to question why. ‘Okay,’ he said. ‘What am I looking for?’
‘Not sure,’ Byrne said.
‘On my way.’
Through the tinny speaker on the cell phone they could hear Josh Bontrager walking across the small church, up the steps. They heard the creak of the door as he pushed it open. ‘Okay,’ he said. ‘I’m in the bell tower.’
‘What do you see?’
Another pause. ‘There’s really nothing here. There’s some straw and sticks on the floor. I’m thinking it was an old bird’s nest.’
‘Anything else?’
‘Nothing I can see. Sorry.’
Byrne closed his eyes for a moment. He opened them. ‘Are there any gang tags on the walls, any carvings?’
‘No tags,’ Bontrager said. ‘Let me check for carvings.’
Another minute or so passed.
‘No. Nothing I can see anyway. The walls are pretty dirty. Nothing recent. Do you want CSU to take a bunch of photos up here?’
‘Not yet. What about loose stones?’ Byrne asked. ‘Are any of the stones loose?’
‘Let me check,’ Bontrager said. ‘I’m going to put the phone down for a second.’
They heard him put it down, heard him moving around the small space. After a full minute he came back on. ‘No loose stones.’
Byrne walked a few paces, turned back. ‘Check right near the top. Check the stones along the soffit.’
‘I’m going to have to climb on the sill,’ Bontrager said. ‘If you hear a scream fading into the distance, that’s me falling out the window.’
Both Jessica and Byrne smiled at this.
They once again heard Bontrager put down the phone, heard the sounds of exertion as he climbed on the sill. There was another thirty seconds of virtual silence. Then: