William Bayer - Blind Side

"His lock wasn't drilled out. Which means it was picked. Or someone had a key."

"Nobody's got a key," I said.

"So, like I said, someone went to a lot of trouble……

Ramos nodded as if he understood. Then they both stared at me. There was an inference in their stare I didn't like: that there'd been no break-in, that I was the one who'd defaced the murals.

I decided right then I didn't like them. I sat down and faced them. "What do you want with me?"

"We're here about the Devereux homicide," Ramos said. I stared at him blankly.

"Pretending you don't know what I'm talking about?" I shook my head.

Scotto squinted at me.

"You don't know Cheryl Devereux?"

"You mean Shadow? Sure, I know her."

Ramos glanced at Scotto with disgust.

"So you're saying you didn't know she was killed? That it, Barnett?"

Suddenly it hit me.

"Oh,no!"

Don't you read the papers, Geoffrey?" Scotto asked.

"What happened to her?"

"She was found the day before yesterday in the trunk of a car at Newark Airport. Car was in the long-term lot. It had been there at least a week."

I felt a tightening in my throat.

"What about Kim?"

"That'd be Kimberly Yates, the roommate, right?"

I nodded.

"Don't know nothing about her," Ramos said. He glanced at my defaced murals.

"Except, of course, assuming that's her-someone thinks she's a cunt."

I stared at him.

"You're really a piece of shit. Anyone ever tell you that?" He rose from his seat. I tightened up, certain he was going to attack me. Actually I was hoping he would. I felt like a fight. But then Scotto stood and made gentling motions with his palms.

"Take it easy, guys! Calm yourselves!" He turned to me.

"Dave was just talking. He didn't mean nothing by it. Don't act so touchy now.

"Kim's all right, then?"

"We have no idea. We're here about Cheryl. Hard to believe you didn't know she was dead."

"Been all over the papers last few days. 'Model Torture Slaying." TV too."

"I've been busy. I haven't been reading the papers."

"That's all right," Scotto said.

"No law says you gotta read them. Now before we start, couple things I gotta say. You don't want to talk to us, you wanna consult a lawyer, say so, that's all you gotta do. But seeing as how you claim you didn't know Cheryl was dead, I can't imagine you not wanting to cooperate."

"Of course I want to cooperate," I said.

"I don't know anything. I hardly knew her. Where'd you get my name?"

"You've been sniffing around where she lived, asking questions."

"The animal super told you that?"

"Never mind who told us. It's true, isn't it?"

"No! It isn't true."

"You're saying you didn't go around there asking questions?"

"I'm saying I asked questions about Kimberly:Yates. I didn't ask about Shadow."

they exchanged a look, then Scotto shook his head. Then, for some reason, I started to apologize. I told them the break-in had upset me and the news about Shadow had been unnerving. While I spoke they both gazed at me, as if to determine whether I was telling the truth. "You say Shadow was found in Newark?"

they looked at each other, then Ramos shrugged.

"Go ahead. Tell him, Sal. Been in all the papers anyway."

Scotto leaned forward.

"Like I said-airport cops found her in the trunk of a rented car. New York plates. The renter used a phony credit card. She was in bad shape. Beaten up. Lots of broken bones, fingers, toes . . . like that. Still not clear exactly how she died. But one thing's clear-she was tortured first." :,Jesus!"

'Been dead at least a week. We know that from the condition of the body. And of course we know from the parking lot just when that car was driven in."

"When?"

"You're asking us when?" I nodded. Ramos seemed amused.

"Tell him, Sal. Tell him when."

"Week ago Sunday. In the afternoon. Which is an interesting point in time. Because, according to what we hear, the next day you were all over her building knocking on doors asking when she and her roommate were seen moving out."

they looked at me then, both of them together-two sets of eyes focused on me at once. And then at last I understood: they suspected me of involvement in the murder.

That did it. I woke up, stopped feeling punchy and sorry for myself. I started talking, as fast as I could, describing everything that had happened, how Kim had been my girlfriend, how she'd told me she and Shadow had a modeling session that Saturday evening, and then how she'd come to me in the middle of the night, saying she was scared, babbling about agents of some "powerful man." Then how, Sunday morning, she had denied her story of the night before, and then had stood me up at Windows on the World. I told them about my inquiries the following day, my discovery that they'd moved, and also what I'd learned from Jess, about the escort service and Mrs. Z.

they didn't seem too interested in that. they were much more interested in a detailed accounting of my movements on Sunday afternoon,

I felt pretty confident as I told them again about the restaurant. I described the waiter and how I'd finally eaten lunch alone. I found my credit card receipt and showed it to them. Then I told them how I'd walked back to my loft, stopping first to take some pictures at the Vietnam Memorial in Battery Park, Finally I mentioned the shot I'd taken of the wino on the corner.

I took them to the window, pointed the wino out. He was still there, ag he'd been all summer, ensconced near the Edgar Allan Poe plaque.

"Go down and ask him," I said. "Pretty sure he'll remember me."

"Guy like that, whatever you ask him, he'll say he remembers it," Scotto said.

Ramos asked to see my photographs.

I went to my files and fetched the proof sheets. I even dug out the shots I'd taken of Shadow. I pointed out that some of the tourists at the Memorial were carrying newspapers, which, if blown up, might show the date. And I pointed out a big public clock in the background that showed the time to be 4:25.

As I told them all this, scurrying about, bringing them the documentation, Ramos studied me while Scotto wrote in his notebook.

". . . so," I said, "depending on what time that car was driven into the parking lot, it should be clear I didn't have anything to do with it."

"We never said you parked the car, Geoffrey. One person could have killed Cheryl, and another ditched her body.

"So I'm not off the hook?"

"Never sai you were on it," Ramos muttered.

"Course we'll be checking out your story with the restaurant and looking close at all the pictures you took. But I got to tell you now, there's one thing bothers me."

"What's that, Dave?" Scotto asked.

"Fact that Barnett here's even got these alibi photographs."

"I never called them that," I said.

"I'm a photographer. I take pictures. 'that's what I do."

"Maybe so," Ramos said.

"Iling is, if we're sure a guy did something, all the alibis in the world don't mean squat." He gave me a hard stare.

"See, most people, they don't have alibis. they aren't out conveniently photographing people carrying dated newspapers with a big clock in the background at A, the same time a car with a body in the trunk is being stashed in a parking lot at But What I want to know is why you think you needed these pictures."

"Now, wait just a minute!" I said.

"No. You wait!" Ramos rose from his chair.

"You wait, and see what happens. 'Cause I got to tell you, there's something weird I feel coming off of you, and it don't smell all that sweet."

"What are you saying?"

"I'm saying how I feel. First I see you striding down the hall holding a copy of Screw. Then you tell me your apartment's been broken in, even though there's a good ten grand's worth of cameras sitting around in here untouched. Then you say the only thing that's different is someone's scrawled 'cunt' on these strange cutups you made of your girlfriend. And all around the place what do I see? More photos of the broad. Everywhere I look, pictures, pictures, pictures, a fair percentage of them in the nude. Now, what does that tell me, Barnett? Maybe that you're"-he snickered-"a sex pervert. Which isn't inconsistent with the pictures you show me of the homicide victim, strutting around here in her nifty black underwear. You think maybe I don't think that's a little strange? I'm not sure I believe a word of it. So let's leave it like this: Cheryl Devereux has been killed and her roommate is missing, and you've been involved with both of them in some kind of kinky way I haven't figured out yet. When I do figure it out I'll be back. Meantime my advice is get yourself a good attorney."