Oh, shit. But what did I expect? That this critter was going to leave a trail for me?
“But that sometimes happens,” the lady from Kodak went on. “People sometimes don’t activate the program until they have problems with the camera.”
Am I going to get lucky?
“You don’t have a phone number of Times Square Photo, by any chance, do you?”
She gave it to him.
“Thank you very much,” Sergeant Payne said. “I really appreciate your cooperation.”
The two people at Times Square Photo with whom Sergeant Payne spoke on his cellular were not nearly so cooperative. The first person, a male, spoke only a few words of English, and the second, a female he finally managed to get on the line, had only a few more words of English than did her male colleague.
These were sufficient, however, to make Sergeant Payne understand that she couldn’t do nothing like consult her records of sale for just anybody, that she was trying to run a business, for Christ’s sake, and at that moment she had customers she had to take care of. For Christ’s sake.
“Did you understand me when I said this is Sergeant Payne of the Homicide Unit of the Philadelphia police department? ”
“No shit? Good for you. Good luck. Have a nice day.”
And at that point she hung up.
“Sonofabitch!” Matt said, then, to Olivia, “Sorry.”
“I have heard the expression before,” Detective Lassiter said.
Matt held the key that automatically dialed the office of Amelia S. Payne, M.D. He was informed that Dr. Payne was with a patient.
“This is Sergeant Payne. This is official police business. Get her on the phone, please.”
Dr. Payne came on the line thirty seconds later.
“Matt, this had better really be police business.”
“It is. I’m working a murder.”
“Not the one where the cops stood around outside her apartment shooting the breeze while the girl was murdered and raped?”
“I didn’t know you listened to Philadelphia Phil, Amy.”
“My secretary does. And it’s Phil’s Philly.”
“That’s not exactly the way it happened, Amy.”
“Of course not,” she said, sarcastically.
“Are you scrapping with Peter again, or is there some other reason you’re being such a bitch?”
“What do you want, Matthew?”
“The doer left his digital camera at the scene. With pictures of the act. Chief Lowenstein wants you to look at them.”
“Just Chief Lowenstein?”
“Me, too, Amy, okay?”
“Okay. Bring them by. I’ll take a look.”
“I’m about to print them. I’ll be there in thirty, thirty-five minutes.”