George Pelecanos - Hell To Pay

“My sympathies,” said Hawkins, the grin disappearing at the mention of the boy. “I got two of my own.”

“You went to the funeral home for Lorenze’s wake,” said Quinn.

“That’s right.”

“You were friends with him?”

“A long time ago.”

“What made y’all stop being friends?” said Strange.

“Geography,” said Hawkins. “Ambition.”

“Geography?”

“I haven’t lived anywhere near the old neighborhood for the past ten years.”

“Don’t get back there much, huh?”

“Oh, I do. I drive over to the house I grew up in, like, once a month. Park outside of it at night sometimes and look through the windows. They got a new family in there now.”

“Why would you do that?”

“To look at the ghosts.”

Strange didn’t feel the need to comment. He often went by his mother’s house at night, parked on the street, and did the same thing. He didn’t consider Hawkins’s actions to be odd at all.

“You ever run into Lorenze Wilder on those trips?” said Quinn.

“Sure, I saw him now and again. He was still living in his mother’s house; I guess it was paid for with life insurance after her death. He never did get a steady job I knew of. He was one of those… I don’t like to speak ill of the dead. But it was plain Lorenze was never gonna make it.”

“How about Ed Diggs?” said Strange.

“I saw him around the way, too. He was living with his grandmother last time I ran into him. Ed was the same way.”

“Any other reason why you might have gone back?”

“What do you mean?”

“We’re looking for someone who might have wanted to hunt down Lorenze,” said Strange. “Maybe for a drug debt or somethin’ like that.”

“I wouldn’t know about that.”

“So, you’d go back to the neighborhood once a month for what, exactly?” said Quinn. “Couldn’t be to just park outside your house.”

“I went back to remember, Mr…”

“Quinn.”

“I’d see some of those guys still in the neighborhood, the ones who were already at that dead end, who weren’t even lookin’ to get through it anymore, and it just served to remind me.”

“Of what?”

“Of why I’m down on my knees here every day. See, I don’t just work here. I own this concession. I got four of these around the Beltway and a couple downtown.”

“You must be doin’ all right,” said Strange.

“Got a house on a couple acres out in Damascus, a wife I love, and a couple of beautiful kids. There’s a Harley in my garage and a Porsche Boxster, too. It’s not the Carrera, but I’m workin’ on that. So yeah, I’ve done all right.”

“You read about the murders,” said Strange, “and you knew Lorenze. Any ideas?”

“I think you’re talkin’ to the wrong man. You want to know if Lorenze died because of a street beef, you need to be talking to Ed. They were still as tight as any two men could be, way I understand it. But Ed’s not the type to talk to the police, or even to someone got a toy badge, tryin’ to look like they’re police.”

“Okay,” said Strange.

“Couldn’t resist,” said Hawkins. “You need to be flashing that license quick, so no one can look at it too close.”

“Normally I do. Get back to Diggs.”

“All I’m saying is, if there’s any information to be got, Ed’s the one to talk to. But you’re gonna have to be creative.” Hawkins looked them both over. “Y’all got a couple of pairs of shoulders on you. Use ’em.”

“You say he still stays with his grandmother?”

“Far as I know.”

Strange shook Hawkins’s hand. “Thanks for your time.”

Crossing the lot to the Caprice, Quinn said, “Just goes to show you, you can’t judge a man by his appearance.”

“You tellin’ me that?”

“Oh, so now you’re gonna tell me you didn’t look at that guy and think, Shoe-shine Boy.”

“Didn’t see the word ‘boy’ flashin’ through my head at any time, if that’s what you mean.”

“You know what I’m sayin’. Man shines shoes for a living and he’s got a Porsche in his garage.”

“It’s not a Carrera, though.”

“He’s workin’ on that,” said Quinn.

Strange removed his keys from his pocket and tossed them to Quinn. “You drive. I need to make some calls.”

“Right.”

Quinn hit the Beltway and headed back toward the city. Strange phoned Lamar, got no answer, and left another message. He found the number for Ed Diggs on his list and phoned the house. Quinn heard him talking to a woman on the other end of the line; he could tell it was an older woman from the patient tone of Strange’s voice.

“Any luck?” said Quinn, as Strange hit “end.”

“His grandmother says he’s on his way out the door. I figure he’s still home, still wearin’ his pajamas, and now she’s gonna tell him to get his shit together and get himself out the house.” Strange looked at the needle on the speedometer. “You can get there quicker, we might still catch him in.”

“I’m already doin’ seventy-five. Wouldn’t want us to get pulled over. You might go showing that toy badge of yours to a real police officer, get us into a world of hurt.”

“Funny. C’mon, Terry, speed it up. Car’s got a three-fifty square block under the hood, and you’re drivin’ it like a Geo and shit.”

“You want me to drive it like a race car, I will.”

“Pin it,” said Strange.

LUCILLE Carter lived on a number street off North Dakota Avenue in Manor Park, in a detached bungalow fronted by a series of small roller-coaster hills that stopped at a stone retaining wall before they reached the sidewalk. There were plenty of cars parked along the curb on this workday. This, along with the condition of the raked lawns and the updated paint on the modest houses, indicated to Strange that the residents were mainly retirees holding on to their properties and sheltering their extended families.

Strange and Quinn went up the concrete steps to the porch of Lucille Carter’s house. Strange knocked on the front door, and it soon opened. Carter, short, bespectacled, narrow in the hips, and not yet completely gray, stood in the frame. She knew who they were. Her eyes were unsmiling and her body language told them that she wasn’t about to let them in. As agreed, Quinn stepped back and let Strange take the lead.

“Derek Strange. This is my partner Terry Quinn.” Strange opened his badge case and closed it just as quickly. “Like I explained to you on the phone, we’re investigating the Lorenze Wilder homicide. We need to speak with your grandson Edward.”

“He already talked to the police.”

“I told you we needed to speak with him again.”

“And I told you , Mr. Strange, that he was on his way out. As I am about to be, shortly.”

“Any idea where we can catch up with him?”

“He went out to his job-”

“He doesn’t have a job, Miss Carter.”

“He went out to his job search . If you had let me finish-”

“All due respect, I don’t have the time or the inclination to let you finish. You told Edward that we were on our way over here, and now he’s gone. So let me make this easy for you and tell you how it’s gonna be. Me and my partner here are gonna be back in an hour with a subpoena. Edward’s not in, we’ll come back the hour after that. Same thing the hour after that. We have to, we’ll be here on the hour around the clock. Now, what do you suppose your good neighbors gonna think of that?”

“This is harassment.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Would you like me to call your supervisors?”

“I can’t stop you.” Strange looked at his watch. “We’ll see you in about sixty minutes, then. Thank you for your time.”