I rushed into a stall, and just as I knelt down, my breakfast came back up.
CHAPTER 15
Zane
“This is a very nice watch,”the jeweler said, though he probably said that all his customers. “This model is very rare. I’ll have to order the crystal from the factory.”
I nodded. “I understand. I notice the band also has two stains. What about replacing that?”
He rubbed his thumb gently over the face of the watch. “I wouldn’t recommend that. It is much more valuable if the band is original.”
“I was told this is a replica.” I used the polite term for fake.
“I don’t think so.” He produced a magnifier and examined the face for a few seconds. “Eight ticks per second. This is a Rolex movement.” Then out came a small tool and he disconnected the band from the watch, and smiled. “Confirmation. This case has the serial number engraved under the band as they did in those days. This Rolex is authentic and very valuable.”
I nearly choked when he quoted me a ridiculous value for the watch. “Okay. Let’s leave the band and replace the crystal.”
“As you wish,” he said, filling out a paper receipt for the watch. With zero smart watches in sight, he didn’t seem the type who appreciated computers.
“How long will this take?”
“Not long. I can ask the factory to air freight the crystal and I’ll have the timepiece couriered to you as soon as I finish.”
“That would be great.” I handed over my credit card.
I’d just gotten back in my car when Winston called. “Hey, man, I don’t know if it’s good news or bad, but Frank the weasel has a big hole in his timeline.”
Iknewthere was something off with him. “Tell me.”
“The situation is weird. His time card showed only a half-hour lunch for him, and the manager backed him up at first. But get this, when I flashed my creds and trotted out the Martha Stewart line, he folded like a wet paper bag.”
Winston liked to remind his interview subjects that Martha Stewart had originally been charged with insider trading, but hadn’t been convicted or even brought to trial on that. Instead, she was tried and sent to prison for lying to the FBI during her interview. Lying about anything to the FBI was a felony.
“And the answer is?” I prodded.
“Your friend Frank took a two-hour lunch yesterday, not a half hour. Plenty long enough to get back home and break into Peyton’s place.”
“Fuck. I knew that guy was lying.”
“It doesn’t prove he did it, but lying about his lunch break gives us some leverage when we talk to him again. And why did the manager not have a problem with his time card only showing a half-hour break? I tell you, this stinks like Frank is back to his burglary ways and his manager is getting a cut.”
“Yeah, it could be. Jordy dug up that he was suspected in some other burglaries, but those charges were dropped because he was at work at the time.”
“I told you the manager was fishy.”
“I call dibs on worse cop when we talk to the weasel again.” I wanted to be the one pressing him.
“Fine by me,” he noted.
Instead of good cop, bad cop, we ran a heavy interrogation as bad cop, worse cop.
I was relieved that Frank was now back to being our leading suspect for the burglary, which meant I could relax about Peyton, and of course, she could relax as well.
I needed to call her later with the weird good news.
As I pulled out onto the road, another call came in. It was Pete Brennan.
“Hey, man. How’s it feel to be a free man again?” I added as muchlevity to my voice as I could. We all knew he’d been through hell and back while he was held by those Syrian assholes.
