After I passed along the information to our forensic techs, they loaded up their gear, including the bagged liquor store receipt, and headed to the crime lab at our district’s precinct. They promised to call me if they found prints, if the prints were viable, and if they belonged to Bryce James. If they answered yes to those three questions, Bryce would be in an interrogation room before the end of the day.
I caught a glimpse of two detectives from our group—John Fitzpatrick, or Fitz for short, and Ben Meier—as I headed toward Tommy. They were conducting knock and talks at apartment buildings with views of the laundromat. I crossed the street and called out to them. “Hold up, guys. Have any luck in this area?”
Fitz pointed at the building directly behind them. “Possibly, but it’s a long shot.”
I raised my brows. “I’m up for the challenge, and a long shot is better than no shot at all. What have you got?”
Ben opened his notepad and read what he had written. “An elderly lady, Lois Pendleton, in apartment 2C said she sits at the window with her coffee and reads every morning.”
That was a good indicator. Elderly people, although sometimes nosy, were usually so bored that they watched out windows and saw everything going on in the neighborhood.
“What did she say?”
“That she saw a man exit the back door of the laundromat, walk down the street, and turn the block. That’s when she lost sight of him.”
I scratched my cheek as I wondered why that event stood out in her mind. “What time did she see him?”
“She said it was eight fifty, and she was certain of it. Apparently, she took note of the time when she warmed up her coffee in the microwave seconds before she sat back down at the window.”
I pulled out my notepad and began entering that information. “A description?”
Ben nodded. “A vague one. Guy wearing a ball cap, sunglasses, and was definitely white.”
“White?”
“That’s what she said.”
That description meant our perp wasn’t Bryce since he was African American. “Okay, what about build?”
“She couldn’t get a perspective of height from the second floor.”
I thought back to what Justin had told me earlier, that they could possibly come up with a height by calculating the distance from the perp’s knee to his toe. “Okay, what about weight? It isn’t like he had on an overcoat.”
“Average, she said. Not heavy or thin, but she did say he wore long sleeves and jammed a pair of black gloves into his front pants pocket as he walked away. That’s how she was able to tell he was Caucasian.”
“What! Why didn’t you lead with that comment?”
“Sorry, Jesse. I just read it off in the sequence she told it to us.”
“Did she say what street he turned on?”
Fitz said she had.
“Okay, walk the exact route he took and see if there are any cameras facing those streets.”
“Walk it for how long?”
I shrugged. “I don’t know. Four blocks should do it. I’m going to meet up with the others and see if they have anything to report. As soon as you’re done with that walk, return to the headquarters. We have plenty to keep us busy there for the rest of the day.”
I thought about the man in the hotel surveillance video and the description from Mrs. Pendleton, and they matched to a T—sunglasses, ball cap, Caucasian. If the liquor store receipt did have fingerprints belonging to Bryce James on it and he could prove with a polygraph test that he wasn’t on that roof, we’d know beyond a shadow of a doubt that the perp was planting evidence to throw us off his trail. The composite sketch from Adam Coceck’s memory of the patron at the bar was due to arrive later, and I hoped it would confirm my suspicions.
I reached Tommy and the other detectives. They had gathered alongside Tommy’s truck.
“Anything from anybody?”
“Nope,” Craig Lee said. “As a matter of fact, it doesn’t seem like we’re very welcome in this neighborhood at all. Maybe the murders of two of our own mean nothing to them.”
I hated to agree with Craig, but I got that same impression from the lack of information offered by the neighborhood residents. I considered it a lucky break that Fitz and Ben had happened upon Mrs. Pendleton and she was as forthcoming as she was.
“Okay, let’s pack it up. Fitz and Ben got a statement from a woman near the laundromat that needs to be shared with everyone.” I pushed back my sleeve and checked the time. “Hopefully, that composite sketch will come in soon, and we can go back to Mrs. Pendleton and ask if it’s the same man she saw. If the sketch looks anything like the description from Mrs. Pendleton, then we’ve likely got our man.”
“How about taking her to the hotel and letting her look at their lobby footage?”
I shook my head. “She’s old, according to Fitz, and probably set in her ways. I don’t want to overwhelm her with too much technology.”
As Tommy drove, I received a call from Lutz—the composite had come in. I was excited to see it and asked if he would be sitting in on our task force meeting. With the new piece of circumstantial evidence, he said he’d join us and hung up.
Scratching my head, I groaned.
“That sounded like uncertainty if I’ve ever heard it. What’s bugging you, Jesse?
“The composite is in.”
“Great news! Is Lutz bringing it to the meeting?”
“I imagine he could send it to my phone, but I think he wants to present a copy to everyone personally.”
“So the problem is?”
“We don’t have a lick of evidence against the guy. No fingerprints, no witness ID from any scene, and nobody saw him with a gun in his hand.”
“But the old lady—”
“Yeah, an elderly woman, probably with less-than-perfect eyesight, sat on the second floor of her apartment and saw a man exit the laundromat. Granted, he didn’t have a basket of wash in his hands, but maybe he went inside to use the bathroom.”
“Her eyesight must be good enough to see him pull off a pair of black gloves from that distance.”
“True, and that in itself is suspicious.” I cracked my neck then rubbed my tense left shoulder. “But it still doesn’t put a weapon in his hand.”
We gathered in the war room at three thirty. Each group had their own information to discuss, but what took center stage was the composite drawing of the man from room 2001 that Lutz shared with Sergeant Everly and us. He passed out a handful of copies, giving one to each and every detective.
No matter what, we knew the case against the unknown suspect was circumstantial at best.
“He’s wearing a ball cap and tinted glasses in the drawing,” Ben said, sounding discouraged. “Half his face is obstructed by that damn cap.”
Lutz sighed. “That’s what the bartender remembered, and it isn’t much different than the actual footage we saw of him in the hotel’s lobby. Adam, the bartender, couldn’t give the artist much, other than that the guy’s hair was definitely light brown and he had a dimpled chin.” Lutz turned to me. “You have Adam’s number, right?”
“I do.” I pulled my notepad from my inner pocket and began flipping pages. “Got it. What do you want me to do?”
“Call him and press for more details. Brown hair and a dimpled chin isn’t enough information to arrest anybody. He talked to the guy for twenty minutes for God’s sake! Maybe during the midafternoon when he’s sober, he’ll remember more about their conversation.”
I excused myself, walked out into the hallway, and made the call. The phone rang six times in my ear, then he answered on the seventh.
“Adam, it’s Detective McCord. We spoke briefly about the guy you waited on in the bar yesterday over the lunch hour. First, I want to thank you for working with the sketch artist this morning. It had to be tough getting up early to do that.”
“Yeah, it was, and I’ll admit I barely remember what you and I talked about. You know how it goes. Old buddies, family members, party atmosphere. Sorry.”
“No sweat, but I need more. Are you sober now?”
“Yeah, but the wedding reception is going to start in a few minutes. What can I do for you, Detective?”
“Think hard about the conversation you had with the man, Adam. Did he mention his name?”
“No, I don’t recall a name.”
“Okay, what did he order to drink?”
“Oh yeah, a Moscow Mule, and then the conversation went to the history of the hotel and how that used to be the signature drink.”
“Uh-huh, go on.” I wrote as quickly as I could.
“He asked if there was a lounge on the roof, and I told him no. Old building and wrong roofline.”
“Right. Anything else?”
“Um, no, I don’t think so. I did comment on his watch, though. I’ve been looking to buy a new one.”
“His watch? Why?”
“It was cool and had everything I could ever need on it. He said it was a Casio G-Shock Rangeman.”
“Okay, that helps. Please call me if there’s anything else you can think of, and enjoy that wedding party. Appreciate it, Adam.”
I clicked off the call and returned to the war room, where I passed along the information.
Everly paced as I repeated my conversation with Adam. “That’s helpful, but the watch isn’t expensive enough to track down people who own one. It’s a cheap watch you can buy online. The questions about the roof are interesting, though.”
Lutz smirked. “Looking for that perfect place to shoot from, I’d imagine.”