“Really. What is it?”
“You know the Philly Inn on Frankford?”
“That old motel?”
“Right. A meth lab blew up in a room on the back side of the place about two o’clock this morning. The blast rocked my house, damn near blowing me out of bed.”
“An alleged meth lab? No fooling?”
“Alleged” my ass, Harris thought. Go ask the HazMat guys what toxic soup of caustic chemicals they had to clear out of there, Bari.
But Harris ignored him and went on: “When I looked out the window, I saw the glow of flames. So, I drove over to see what’d happened.”
“And?”
“And cutting a long story short, a white female got nailed outside the room that went ‘boom.’ She’d been waiting in one of those really fancy Mercedes SUVs. Apparently she’s hurt pretty badly.”
“Damn drugs.”
“Yeah. Then, as the fire department was battling the blaze, a white male, surprising hell out of everyone, came staggering out of the burning motel room. He and the girl were taken to the Temple ER.”
“That’s it?”
“No. When they got the motel room fire put out, inside they found two bodies, white Hispanic males, charred to a crisp.”
“Nice.”
“One of the critters had his throat slit.”
“Ah. Very nice. But wait. The white guy was the doer? Then he torched the place?”
“I don’t know, Al. If he did, it sure as hell backfired on him.”
Bari chuckled. “ ‘ Backfired.’ ”
Harris ignored him again. “Anyway, Al, there’s a lot of very interesting questions, all unanswered. Which is why I want the job.”
There was a perceptible pause as Bari considered what he’d just heard.
Tony Harris imagined Aldo Bari checking the black Casio watch on his fat wrist, looking at its oversize digital readout to see how close it now was to quitting time and wondering if he could dodge this bullet of a complicated case.
Bari’s probably breaking into a sweat trying to decide which desire to go with-play by the rules, or avoid a new job.
After a moment, Bari said, “Gee, I don’t know, Harris.”
Harris could hear real ambivalence in Bari’s tone.
Bari went on hesitantly: “I’d have to get it cleared first. And the Black Buddha won’t be here for another hour. Or more.”
Lieutenant Jason Washington-the highly respected, articulate, superbly tailored, and very black detective who stood six-foot-three and 225 pounds-was known in Homicide, usually behind his back, as the Black Buddha.
Harris shook his head, more in disappointment than disgust. The clock already was ticking on the first forty-eight hours; outside that window, homicides got harder and harder to solve.
“I understand, Al. Look, the call itself probably won’t come in for at least another hour, anyway. I just need someone to wind up the machine-get the paperwork started for a search warrant, run the pair who’re in Temple Hospital for priors, get their backgrounds. You know, the usual. I just want to get moving on this while it’s fresh.”
Aldo Bari now did indeed check his watch. And he thought: With any luck, that call won’t come till after eight, and then it won’t be my problem.
It’ll belong to the next guy up on the Wheel.
Bari cleared his throat and said, “Yeah, sure. Let me get back to you when either the Black Buddha gets here or the call comes in on the job. We’re talking only an hour, right?”
Tony Harris shook his head again.
Jesus! He’s stalling, which means he’s playing by the rules and avoiding the job.
What a chickenshit.
After a moment, he said, “Okay, Al. Just let me know either way, right away, okay?”
“Absolutely,” Bari said a little too eagerly.
Tony Harris shook his head a final time as he looked at the phone and angrily broke off the call with a stab of his thumb.
I won’t hear from him again for a month of Sundays…
To hell with it. And him.
Tony Harris decided to proceed as if he had the job, if only by starting with making notes on the small spiral-top pad he kept in his blazer’s inside pocket.
He put his phone back in its belt clip, then pulled out the pad.
As he looked up and glanced across the parking lot, he saw a familiar face approaching the POLICE LINE yellow tape from the direction of the diner.
“And so the mystery thickens…”
[TWO] The Philly Inn Wednesday, September 9, 6:15 A.M.
Matthew Payne was carrying two foam cups of black coffee and sipping from one’s top. When the uniform from the Fifteenth Police District standing behind the tape saw him coming toward the motel, the uniform started to hold up his hand to stop him. But then Payne pulled back his shirt to flash his badge on his belt. He pointed toward Tony Harris at the back corner of the motel, indicating that that was where he was headed. The blue shirt nodded his understanding. Then, no doubt remembering that Harris had told him to pass Payne, he went so far as to hold up the tape for him to duck under it.
“Hey, Tony,” Payne said as he walked up to Harris.
Harris stood on the sidewalk in front of Room 44, scribbling furiously on his spiral-top pad.
Having written his share of them, Payne recognized what Harris was doing-making notes for a “White Paper.” It was an unofficial memorandum for internal use in Homicide, and since it was unofficial, it would not be available to defense counsel as a “discoverable document.” The White Paper was a report that was less formal and less precise than the “Activities Sheet.” This latter document listed every move that the Homicide detectives made in the case; it was discoverable, which meant it would be made available to the defense counsel of anyone brought to trial in the case. The two documents together would present the details of the case as it developed.
Harris did not respond for a moment as he finished what he was writing.
“Sorry about that. Didn’t want to lose my train of thought.” Then he looked at Matt and smiled warmly. “It’s good to see you, Matt.”
“Thanks, Tony. You, too.” Payne held out the cup with the lid. “Don’t say I never gave you anything. Coffee, black.”
Harris tucked the pad under his right armpit, took the coffee, and sipped from its plastic lid.
“I knew there was a reason why I missed having you around the office,” he said with a smile. Then he squeezed Matt’s shoulder. “It really is good to see you, and not just for the coffee. You look good. Relaxed. That time off has been good for you.”
Payne shrugged, and forced a smile. “I guess.”
“So, not that I’m not glad to see you, but what the hell are you doing here? And you said you had some information on this?”
As Harris sipped his coffee, he saw Matt’s eyes were pained.
“Kind of a long story, Tony. A lot of it I don’t know, and what I do know I don’t fully understand.”
Harris nodded appreciatively. “I probably could say the same about this job.” He looked at Payne and thought he detected some interest. “You want to see it?”
Payne immediately nodded.
“Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, I do, Tony.”
Harris thought, That’s not just morbid interest on his part.
It’s professional.
And maybe something more…
“The guys from the Medical Examiner’s Office are working the scene. It’ll be called in to Homicide anytime now.”
“It’s not your job?”
“No. At least not yet.”
Payne considered that, then asked: “How’d you wind up here?”
“I live over off Ryan. Across from the middle school?”
Payne nodded. “Oh, yeah.”
“When the room went boom, it about blew me out of bed.”
“No shit,” Payne said, then after a long moment: “So, who’s on the Wheel?”
“Bari.”
Payne frowned and shook his head.
Harris thought, And that damn sure was a professional assessment.