CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

 

“I think I’m getting this now,” I said to them.

“About time,” Miranda said.

“You two are moving drugs in this neighborhood, and Kessenger tipped to it. That’s why you had to kill him.”

“That again?” Miranda demanded. She turned her head and glared at Devereaux. “Tell him!”

He didn’t look at me right away, but when he did, he started talking.

“I made a sale that day,” he said. “The customer came to the door. I passed him the statue.”

“That statue?” I asked, pointing to one of the bags Ally was holding.

He nodded, looking miserable.

“Then what?”

“I thought he left,” he said, “but later I saw him come running down from upstairs.”

“And?”

“H-he didn’t have the statue, anymore.” He stopped again.

“Keep going!” Miranda snapped.

“I was curious, so I went up. The door to Kessenger’s place was open, so I went in. I—I found him there, dead, his head bashed in.”

“With the statue?”

“That’s right.”

“And you took it?”

“Yeah,” he said, “I figured if the cops found it, they might find the stuff inside. Or they might figure me for the murder, since I live downstairs and I’m an artist.”

“You put all your sculptures in your closet,” Ally pointed out.

“I knew the cops would talk to everybody in the building,” he said. “When they came in, they didn’t see any statues. That’s what I wanted.”

“But you didn’t put this one in the closet,” I said, pointing to the bag.

“No,” he said, “I didn’t even want it in my apartment, so I washed it off and took it to Miranda.”

“And you put it on display,” I said to her. “Why?”

“Who’d ever suspect a murder weapon was out in the open like that?”

“Why not just destroy it?” I asked.

They looked at each other.

“I get it,” I said. “You might have been able to turn a dime by keeping it.”

“How would they do that?” Ally asked.

“Blackmail’s just a step up from drug dealing.”

“But blackmailing who?” Ally asked.

“That’s the question,” I said, looking back at the couple on the sofa. They hadn’t moved any closer together. They were partners, not a couple. “Who was the customer?”

“I don’t know,” Devereaux said.

“He wasn’t a regular?”

“Well…yeah, but I don’t know his name.”

“Describe him.”

“A big, heavy looking young guy with glasses,” Devereaux said. “Big, but soft-looking. With a backpack. That’s all I know.”

The backpack part matched everybody, these days. But the rest…

“Like a Baby Huey type?” I asked.

He scrunched up his face. “Who’s that?” He looked at Miranda, and she shrugged.

“How did he get in?”

“I buzzed him in.”

“How did you know what he wanted?”

“They show up at the door and buzz. If they have the password I buzz ’em in.”

“Password?” I asked. “Really?”

“It’s the only way I let somebody in,” he said, defensively.

“Do either one of you know how Kessenger found this building?”

“He said it was recommended to him by somebody.”

Oh sure, I thought, by somebody who bought their drugs, here.