“Why did he call you? Have you done this sort of thing before?” The detective folded her hands over her iPad or whatever, now resting on the table.
The guy didn’t answer. Give Lucky a few minutes and Charlotte’s bat and he’d get some truth.
The detective let the question drop and moved on. “It was a male voice? You’re certain?”
“Yeah. He talked all proper like.”
Did Landry sound proper? Not to Lucky’s ears.
“What did he sound like? Did he have an accent?”
Several moments of silence passed before Jeff said, “He had one of those weird thingies. You know, makes your voice sound like a machine or something.”
Back to square one. The call could’ve been from anyone, man or woman. Lucky’d still place his bet on Owen Landry.
“Why did you trust him? This stranger.” Sooner or later the guy would say something the detective—and Lucky—wanted to hear.
“We done things for him before.”
Oh, really? Lucky perked up. Would the next words out of the guy’s mouth close a few cold cases?
“What kind of things?” If Barfield’s curiosity piqued, she didn’t let it show.
The guy mumbled, hand over his mouth. “Just things. You know,errands.”
“Can you be more specific?” The detective might give a saint a run for the money on patience.
“He wanted us to follow somebody. Drive by his house and stuff. We didn’t even have to talk to the dude. Weird, but hell, we got paid for it.”
“Who is ‘us’? Do you mean your brother Alan?”
“Yeah. Look, is he okay? They took him in an ambulance. That bi… woman really roughed him up.”
Lucky turned to Bo. “If he calls my sister a bitch…”
“Shh…” Bo leaned toward Lucky and murmured, “Trust me. He’s going in a cell. He’ll pay.”
In the interrogation room the detective answered, “As soon as we’re finished here, I’ll find out for you.” Lucky would take on the entire office betting pool that she already knew. “Now, this house your client wanted you to drive by, what’s the address?”
“I can’t remember the house number, but it’s got a red door and shutters on Sweet Gum Court. Over by the new Walmart on the south side.” Ah, how helpful. “New neighborhood. Nice houses.”
Chastain’s house.
The officer tapped on her computer and turned the screen to face the kid. “Is this the man you followed?”
Bottom lip caught between his teeth, Jeff rose up and gazed at the image. Finally, he sank back into his chair. “Yeah, that’s him.”
“Why did your contact want you to follow this man?”Tap, tap, tap,went the detective’s fingers on the iPad.
Jeff shrugged. “Said the guy owed him or something, and he wanted to mess with his head.”
“Where were you on the afternoon of…”
Lucky shook his head.And that, folks, is how a two-bit criminal becomes a murder suspect.
