a month, my team and Biggar and his partner, who was named Miles Manley. We broke it when Big and Manley, as the pair were called, came up with a witness in the target victim’s neighborhood who remembered seeing a white man on the day of the shooting and could describe his car, a black Corvette with red leather interior. The car matched the vehicle used by the second victim’s next-door neighbor. He confessed after a lengthy interrogation conducted alternately by Biggar and me.
“It’s always something small like that,” Biggar said while leaning back behind his desk. “That’s what I loved best about it. Not knowing where that little break was going to come from.”
“I know what you mean.”
“So you miss it?”
“Yeah. But I’ll get it back. I’m starting to now.”
“You mean the feeling, not the job.”
“Right. How about you, you still missing it?”
“I’m making more money than I need here but, yeah, I miss the juice. The job gave me the juice and I don’t get it shuffling rent-a-cops around and setting up cameras. Be careful what you do, Harry. You might end up successful like me and then you sit around remembering the old days, thinking they were a lot better than they were.”
“I’ll be careful, Big.”
Biggar nodded, pleased that he had dispensed his dose of advice for the day.
“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to, Harry, but I’m guessing this guy in the chair is Lawton Cross, huh?”
I hesitated but decided it didn’t matter.
“Yeah, it’s him. I’m working something else and it crossed his path. I went to see him and he said some stuff. I just want to make sure. You know.”
“Good luck with it. I remember his wife, saw her a couple times at things. She was a nice lady.”
I nodded. I knew what he was saying, that he hoped Cross wasn’t being victimized by his wife.
“People can change,” I said. “I’m going to find out.”
Andre Biggar came in a few minutes later carrying a toolbox, a laptop computer and the camera clock in a box. He took me to school on electronic surveillance. The clock was rigged and ready. All I needed to do was mount it on a wall and plug it in. When I adjusted the time, I would activate the surveillance by pushing the dial all the way in. To switch out the memory card I just had to remove the backing of the clock and pop the card out of the camera. Easy.
“Okay, so once I take the card out, how do I look at what I’ve got?”
Andre nodded and showed me how to plug the memory card into the side of the laptop computer. He then went through the keyboard commands that would bring up the surveillance recording on the computer’s screen.
“It’s simple. Just take care of the equipment and bring it all back. We’ve got a lot of bread invested in it.”
I didn’t want to tell him that it wasn’t simple enough for me. I seized on the financial side of the equation as a way of avoiding revealing my technical shortcomings.
“Tell you what,” I said. “I think I’ll leave your laptop here and just come back with the memory card when I want to look at it. I don’t want to risk all your equipment. I like to travel light, anyway.”
“Whatever suits you. But the beauty of this setup is the immediacy. You can pull the card and watch it in your car right outside the guy’s house if you want. Why come all the way back here?”
“I don’t think there’s that kind of urgency. I’ll leave the laptop and bring you back the card, okay?”
“Whatever.”
Andre put the clock back in its cushioned box, then shook my hand and left the office, taking the laptop with him but leaving me the toolbox along with the clock. I looked at Burnett. It was time to go.
“He looks like he’s more than helping you.”
“Andre’s the heart of this place.”
He gestured toward the wall of framed memorabilia.
“I bring the clients in, impress them, sign them up. Andre’s the one who gets it done. He figures out the needs and gets it done.”
I nodded and stood up.
“You want to charge me something for this?” I said, holding up the box with the clock in it.