“Well, that sucks,” he said.
“Walk us through your movements yesterday,” I told him. “Up until dinnertime.”
He backed up a step and raised his hands. “Hold on a minute. You think I had something to do with that? No way.”
“We’re merely following leads,” Winston said calmly.
“Bullshit. You’re trying to pin this on me. Just because I?—”
“Stop right there,” I told him. “If you didn’t do anything, you have nothing to worry about.”
Winston pulled out a notepad. “Since you live on the same floor, maybe you saw something.”
It was a common way to get information about when a suspect was actually in the vicinity.
“Did you see anyone suspicious?” I asked. “Maybe someone you didn’t recognize?”
“I was here all day. I worked overtime and didn’t get home until like eight, eight-thirty.”
That put him outside the window of the burglary.
“All day?” Winston asked.
“Yeah.”
Winston sprung the surprise on him. “Your fingerprints were found inside the dwelling.”
“Hold on,” Frankie complained. “That doesn’t mean anything. I live next door, and I’ve been over there for dinner.”
“With Peyton?” I asked. I didn’t like that idea, given his rap sheet.
“No. The Hartfords invited me over a few times.”
Winston made a note. “What about lunch yesterday? Did you take a break?” Maybe there was a hole in his timeline.
“Sure,” Frankie said, looking at me. “My lunch break was only a half hour. That isn’t enough time to get home and back here.” He jutted his chin out. “And he knows I didn’t go home. Just check my time card. Ask my shift supervisor. I worked all day.”
Winston made another note. “It’s a shame you can’t help us. Has there been anyone else around that looked suspicious to you?”
Frankie scratched his chin. “Just you.” He pointed at me.
Winston made another note.
Our sole suspect looked Winston in the eye. “Are we done? Can I get back to work now?”
“We’re done.”
I offered my hand for a shake. “Thank you for your help, Frank.”
He looked at it and stepped back like I had typhoid. “Yeah, right.” He shook his head. “You guys are all alike. Now leave me alone. I’ve kept my nose clean.” He walked off in a huff.
“He sure has a chip on his shoulder,” I noted as we walked back to our cars.
Winston checked our distance from Frankie. “It’s a typical response from somebody who’s been in the system.” As former FBI, he’d probably run into it a lot. “He’s a weasel, but he hates you in particular. Why is that?”
I leveled with Winston. “I had lunch with Peyton yesterday, and he saw us.”
“Let me guess… He wanted to be in your place.”
