Light showed from beneath the window shades at Freeman Properties. Billy knocked and waited, being polite.
He got no response, so he pounded on the door. “Freeman. It’s Billy Able. Open up.”
The shade’s slats moved. Freeman jerked the door open. Soft jazz escaped as he stepped outside and pulled the door closed. It bounced open a crack. Billy saw a flash of bare arm and long hair.
“Did you pick up a piece of art at the fund-raiser tonight?” Billy asked.
“I’m getting a restraining order to get you off my back,” Freeman said as he tucked in his shirt.
“Got a question. Did you see Dunsford or the techs remove any business cards from Augie’s place?”
“You’re shittin’ me.”
“It’s important.”
“I’ll give it some thought. Call you later.”
“I need this tonight,” he said.
“I’m catching a flight at six A.M. I’m back tomorrow evening. We’ll discuss it then. Good night.” Freeman turned to go.
He wanted to put Freeman in a hammerlock, but that would really piss him off.
“Listen. The journalist gave Augie a business card with his phone number. If we find the card tonight, I can get to this guy before Dunsford does. I guarantee once Dunsford gets hold of him, he’ll lawyer up and we’ll have nothing.”
Freeman looked back into the room. “Damn it, Able. You’ve got god-awful timing.”
“It’ll take an hour, tops.” He gestured toward the door. “She’ll wait.”
“You can’t go digging around Augie’s apartment; it’s a crime scene. And I’m sure as hell not letting you in there on your own.”
“Then come with me. It’ll take less time.”
The door opened. A leggy redhead holding a pair of heels in her right hand stepped out to stand beside Freeman.
“Let’s all go,” she said. Freeman glared at her. She smiled obligingly. “I’ll make myself comfortable at your place until you’re finished.” She looked at Billy. “Right?”
He stifled a grin. “The lady wants to get comfortable at your place.”
She extended her hand. “I’m Linda Orsburn. Based on what I just overheard, you probably shouldn’t introduce yourself, Detective.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He was shaking the hand of the widow of former state attorney general Chuck Orsburn. She appeared to know a great deal about the law.
“The cops are going to notice if the seal on Augie’s door has been breached,” Freeman said.
He shrugged. “Shit happens. We’ll find the card. You’ll call the main MPD number and tell them you thought you heard water running in the apartment. You had to break the seal to check because of potential damage to the apartments below. If we’re lucky, the message will get lost. Worst case, Dunsford will want an explanation.”
“You don’t ask for much,” Freeman said.
“This guy could skip town. You got a better idea?”
“Son of a bitch, I don’t know.” Freeman shook his head. “Every time I close my eyes, I see Augie’s body.” He fumed, glanced at Linda. “All right. My key works as a passkey to every lock in the building.”
“And while we’re there, we’ll look for the photo,” Billy said.
Linda bent to slip on her heels. “I just love a good detective story.”
The stadium lights still blazed through Augie’s window even though the game was over and the stands were empty. Billy had already been over the room twice, working a grid, checking every conceivable nook where Augie could have slipped a card. In the process he noticed what he’d missed before—the cracked glass on the table between the two lounge chairs, the edge of the desk deeply scarred, all signs the assailant had searched for something, his adrenaline out of control.
Freeman came from the back of the apartment and stepped over the sofa cushions still lying on the floor. “Augie’s bedroom and closets are clean. So are the second and third bedrooms. Not much furniture in those rooms. No one ever came to visit Augie.” He shook his head. “I hate to think about those vintage watches going for five bucks on some street corner. I tried to buy that Rolex Submariner. Augie turned down seven grand.”
“My favorite was the Bulova Accutron with the yellow dots and the gears showing underneath the crystal,” Billy said. “He wore it for good luck anytime the Cards played on TV.”
He opened a desk drawer with hanging files. “I’ve been through every hidey-hole in this room, even his coat pockets. No card, no photo. There’s almost no paperwork in the drawers. He must have scanned everything onto his computer. If he scanned the card, we’re out of luck.”
Freeman checked his watch. “What’s it been, forty minutes?”
“The lady will wait. She thinks this is exciting. You poured her a glass of wine?”
“And put on a movie.”
Billy nodded toward the kitchen. “Check the drawers by the phone, will you?”
They both worked in silence, ignoring the blood spatter on the wall by the refrigerator and Augie’s half-eaten sandwich by the sink. They were there to do a job. Regret would accomplish nothing.
Ten minutes later Freeman slammed a kitchen drawer shut. “There are a couple of store coupons and some take-out menus. No cards. The kitchen’s clean. Maybe Dunsford’s crew took the cards with them.”
Billy went to stand by the island. “The techs weren’t looking for an old business card. Odds are they wouldn’t pick it up.” He did a sweep of the room, looking for anyplace he might have missed. His focus went to the bookcases of hardbacks. “I saved the books for last. Did you notice the bottom two shelves are packed solid with books about civil rights in the sixties and seventies? A copy of Garrett’s book is there.”
“Research for the manuscript,” Freeman said. “Augie was really into it. We even discussed Garrett’s book a couple of times.”
“Did you see the technicians go through the books?” he asked.
“They pulled books down then checked the shelves.”
“Contraband search,” he said.
“They flipped through a few of them, but I didn’t see them remove anything.”
“All right. Let’s get to it,” he said.
Freeman frowned. “I hope Linda likes James Bond movies.”
They both took a shelf, working from opposite ends, fanning through pages, removing dust jackets, shaking the books and then replacing them. It seemed like a futile gesture, but they stayed with it.
After a while Billy glanced up. “By the way, thanks for—”
Freeman raised a hand, his face suddenly angry. “Let’s get something straight. I’ve bought into the premise that you’re looking for Augie’s killer. But I’m not your friend. I was Augie’s friend. So don’t thank me.”
Billy slammed a book shut. “If you believe I’m after Augie’s killer, why did you let me walk into Dunsford’s ambush over those dummy cameras?”
“That was for you and Dunsford to work out. We’re in the middle of a murder investigation. I’m not the one to judge how it’s handled.”
“I planned to sign back on with the department so I could get involved with the investigation. Between the fight and my screwed-up alibi, Dunsford’s got me down as a suspect. If I’d known about the cameras, I could have dealt with it. Now I’m working blind. And what’s with using dummy cameras in your building, anyway?”
“My security experts assured me even the pros can’t tell the difference.”
“And you took their word for it?”
“No one gets to the service elevators without going through the lobby,” Freeman said.
“What about the back entrance?”
“There’s a coded lock. A manager has to open up for the residents and deliveries.”
“Who has the code?”
“Only me, my two managers—”
“And Augie,” Billy said.
Freeman flushed. “He’s the only tenant with the code. He wasn’t always in the best shape to walk through the lobby. At the rent I charged him, Augie deserved a private entrance.”
“He could have taken the killer up the back way to his place unobserved. Or he could have given him the code. The guy could’ve gotten in and out of the building without ever being recorded.”
“I know. You think I don’t feel bad about that?” Freeman said. “Somebody beat my neighbor with a baseball bat while I was sleeping down the hall. That’s why I’m breaking the law to help you search for a damned business card that probably doesn’t exist. I’m putting my faith in you—a damned cop, because I don’t have any faith in Dunsford.”
“I understand why you hate cops. I know what happened to your dad.”
“You think you know. Two men used to come to my dad’s bar and try to push him around. They were FBI agents. Sometimes they brought the cops with them to run off customers at a time when my dad was barely making ends meet. They wanted him to eavesdrop on conversations, report on who was talking to whom. My dad refused.”
Freeman walked to the window, the glow from the stadium lights gone. “My mother worked afternoons and evenings at Goldsmith’s department store for a regular paycheck coming in. With her at work, I had to go to the bar at night. I washed glasses, wiped down tables. One of the agents must have noticed me.
“Grant was his name. He showed up one afternoon. Dad thought I was out back, but I had a hidden nook under the bar where I liked to read in the afternoons. I heard this guy say he’d seen me working in the bar, and he could use that to shut us down unless my dad cooperated. Dad threw him out. A week later a woman from the liquor board tacked a notice on the door that closed the bar.”
Freeman turned away from the window. “That’s what law enforcement has done for me and my family.”
He couldn’t change Freeman’s mind, and sympathy would only make him angrier. “Your family got a rotten deal. I’m sorry. I’ll try to do better for Augie.”
Freeman’s face went stiff. “Sure. Fair enough. Let’s keep looking.”