I need,” he said. He pulled out his cell phone, scrolled the list of stored numbers, and called the one he’d entered as SGT PAYNE.
Wonder what the odds are of Xpress being alive when they get there?
[TWO]
Homicide Unit Interview Room II The Roundhouse Eighth and Race Streets, Philadelphia Sunday, November 1, 1:11 P.M.
“I want my reward,” Shauna Mays repeated to Sergeant M. M. Payne.
“Yes, you’ve said that. And I’ve told you we need some questions answered about Kendrik’s death.”
Payne felt his cell phone vibrating. He carefully pulled it from his pants pocket. He glanced at its screen but did not recognize the caller ID number, so he let the caller get routed into voice mail.
“And I want these damn handcuffs off,” she said. “I ain’t done nothing wrong.”
Interview Room II was small, ten by twelve feet, and held only a single bare metal table and two metal chairs, all pushed up against one wall. The chair that Shauna Mays sat in was bolted to the floor. One end of a pair of handcuffs was clipped around a bar on the seatback, the other cuff around her left wrist. On the opposite wall was a four-foot-square one-way mirror.
The room was harshly lit, and it was cold. Shauna Mays, her arms and legs crossed, shivered in her dirty, loose-hanging T-shirt and torn black jeans. Payne was not sure if the cause was the clothing or her obvious lack of a recent bath, but she gave off a musty odor that reeked of filth. He tried not to come too close to her.
There was a handheld digital audio recorder on the table between them. But the real recording equipment, audio and video, was behind the one-way mirror, in the small viewing room. Tony Harris, watching the interview with Jason Washington, was running the camera.
It had taken no time at all to bring in Shauna Mays—Third and Arch was only four blocks from the Roundhouse—particularly after Mayor Jerry Carlucci let loose with his famous temper when he saw her and her dead son on the bank of TV monitors in the Executive Command Center.
After saying “Oh, shit!” his very next breath had been: “Get that damn uniform to arrest her right damn now on suspicion of murder and bring her here for questioning! I damn well just said that those responsible for any death will be prosecuted to the fullest—and goddamn it, that’s what’s going to happen!”
Matt Payne now looked down at the gaunt and badly bruised woman, and took pity.
Someone’s really slapped her around, especially in the face. And her hand, which she must have tried to use for protection.
She could barely stand on her own two feet while they were rolling her fingers for prints and checking her hands for gunpowder residue.
The only person she’s a danger to is herself. . . .
He said, “I’ll remove the cuff, but one thing goes wrong and it goes back on.”
She nodded.
Taking out his handcuff key, Payne asked, “Who hit you?”
“Who you think? Kendrik.”
He nodded.
“Can I get you something to eat or drink?” he asked as he removed the cuff.
“Maybe a soda?”
Payne looked to the one-way mirror. He couldn’t see anyone—except, of course, the reflections of himself and Shauna Mays—but he knew that on the other side of the glass they’d see him looking, and that they’d bring the drink from the small refrigerator that was kept stocked in the unit.
A moment later there was a knock on the door, and when Payne unlocked and opened it a crack, a massive black paw of a hand reached in with a screw-top plastic bottle of grape-flavored soda and a snack-size bag of Tastykake.
“Thanks, Jason,” he said, taking them, and then closing and locking the door.
Payne placed both on the table before Shauna Mays. As she reached for them, her bruised hand trembled.
He said, “Would you like me to open them?”
She nodded.
She ate the whole bag of Tastykake in about three mouthfuls, washing it down with half the soda in two swallows. Then she loudly belched.
She looked at Payne but said nothing.
Payne pulled from his pocket a small notepad and pen, then reached over to the recorder and pushed its red button to begin recording.
He glanced at his wristwatch and said, “Today is Sunday, November first. Time is one-twenty P.M. This interview is being held in the Philadelphia Police Department Homicide Unit, and conducted by me, Sergeant M. M. Payne, badge number 471.”
He looked at Shauna Mays, who seemed to be mesmerized by what Payne had just