The 6:20 Man

“Black guy, around six one, bald, athletic build, in his forties. Dressed like you guys, and he said he was driving a coffee-and-cigarette motor pool piece of crap, at least in so many words. Because NYPD hadn’t bought new cars in ten years, at least that’s what he said. He also told me he lived in Trenton, New Jersey.” He looked between the two men. “Don’t you know him? How many homicide detectives are there in the city?”

“Manhattan South Homicide, where we’re from, has ten of them, down from twenty-six in 2001. And you’re looking at two of them.”

“He had a badge that looked real. And he talked like a cop. He was the one who told me that Sara hadn’t killed herself. That she was murdered.”

“He said that?” exclaimed Ekman. “On Saturday?”

“Yeah. And he knew all about my background in the Army.”

“Exactly what about the crime did he know?” asked Ekman.

Devine told them everything, including the straight-line ligature versus the inverted. But he didn’t tell them about the similar case in the Army that he had mentioned to Hancock. “He said that proved it was a murder and not a suicide.”

Shoemaker gave his partner a nervous glance, one that showed he was no longer fully in control of the situation. His partner seemed to read this like a cue card.

“Okay, let’s move on for now. Where were you between those times?” asked Ekman.

“At home in bed until four. Then I was doing my workout at the high school next to where I live. Then I showered, dressed, and took the six twenty train just like always. Must be cameras in the station to show me coming in. Not that many people are there at that hour.”

Shoemaker said, “You could have killed her that night, taken the train home, and come back into town on the six twenty.”

“But again, the train station may have cameras, and the office building has a security guard.”

“You didn’t have to take the train,” Ekman pointed out. “And the guard makes rounds.”

“But you need a security card to get in the building. There’s a record of coming and going because of that.”

And it shows me coming and me going at the critical time in question, so why are you jerking my chain on all this other crap?wondered Devine.

“We’re checking all that,” said Shoemaker. “It’s taking a little time to pull the records.”

And I won’t be happy with what you find.

“You get up at four a.m. to work out?” said Ekman.

“Doesn’t everybody?”

“Anybody corroborate this?”

“No. I slept alone and I worked out alone. Nobody else around.”

“No roommates?”

“Yeah. Three. But they were asleep at that hour, like most normal people. They can’t alibi me.”

“How do you know?” asked Ekman.

“Because I asked them if they could when this Hancock guy showed up and seemed to be trying to pin all this on me. But they couldn’t. And I wouldn’t ask them to lie.”

Shoemaker studied him so closely that Devine was sure the man was going to read him his rights and cuff him. “What a nice guy you are,” he said, but there didn’t seem to be much acid behind it. The big cop just looked truly confused.

“If you saw this Hancock again, would you recognize him?” asked Ekman.

“Hell yes I would. I don’t like getting played. And why pick on me in the first place? That’s what I don’t get.”

“Well, maybe there’s something special about you, Devine, at least when it comes to Sara Ewes,” said Shoemaker.

Devine didn’t like any bit of that remark.