Smirk turned to sneer. “Shows what you know.”
“All right. When were you initiated?”
“It’s coming, soon as I get out of this shithole.”
Eve nodded as she continued to skim through the file. “So that’s never—because you’re going from this shithole to another shithole for the rest of your life.”
“You got nothing on me. I walk today.”
Eve plucked the crime scene still of Aimes out of the file. “How well did you know Barry Aimes, also known as Fist?”
“Don’t know who that is.”
“So you weren’t well acquainted before you both, along with Denby Washington, also known as Snapper, entered Lyle Pickering’s apartment with the aid of Dinnie Duff and killed him?”
For an instant shock cut through the empty eyes. Shock, Eve thought, that she’d connected him to the murder.
“Don’t know nothing about no murder. Me and Snapper was playing round ball down the lot when that dude got down.”
“Oh, you were with Mr. Washington,” Peabody said helpfully.
“That’s what I said. Ask, he’ll tell you.”
“We did.” Peabody smiled now. “We’ve already interviewed Mr. Washington. You didn’t mention…” Peabody frowned, leaned over to look at the file. “Right. A Kenneth J
orgenson.”
“That’s right.” A hint of the smirk came back. “Bolt’s there, too. We played some Horse.”
“That’s interesting. Detective Peabody, why don’t we play back the portion of the interview with Washington that relates to Mr. Chesterfield’s whereabouts and activities at the time in question.”
“Sure. Just let me cue that up.”
Peabody engaged the miniscreen.
Eve watched Chesterfield watch Washington give details, brag, and boast. Angry color flooded his face, then ebbed to ghastly white.
“He’s lying.”
“Why would he do that? Why wouldn’t he tell us he was playing basketball with you and Jorgenson?”
“’Cause he’s a liar.”
“So he’s lying about killing Pickering because … he wants to spend his life in prison?”
“I don’t know what he did. He says do me a solid and say how I’m playing round ball with you, so I said how he was.”
“Now you’re saying he wasn’t—that you lied.”
“I did him a solid.”
“Why would he implicate you after you did him a solid?”
“Fucker’s crazy.” Obviously warming to the theme, Chesterfield jabbed a finger at the miniscreen. “Hates me. Always looking to get me in the shit.”
Arranging her face in a considering frown, Eve nodded. “So, he hates you, gets you in the shit, but you do him a solid over a murder? You’re a very compassionate soul, I take it. So compassionate you pumped Lyle Pickering full of a killing dose of illegals to prove yourself worthy to be a Banger. Then stole his shoes. His Lightning high-tops.”
“Those are my high-tops you assholes took from me. I bought them last week.”