“I’m still going with the theory that there’s a secret number to call for cheating spouses.”
“You’re an idiot, Elijah.” I sigh and walk out of the room. “Any hits yet on any of the jewelry that was stolen?” I ask Officer Lee.
“Not yet, Paige. You’ll be the first to know if something comes through.”
“Thanks.” I smile and head to my desk.
“Walker, in my office!” Captain Rivera shouts.
I walk in and shut the door.
“Where is Elijah?” he asks.
“In the conference room, being an idiot.”
“The mayor is up my ass about this Widowmaker killer. Tell me you found something, anything.”
“Not yet, captain.”
“Damn it, Walker. You’re one of the best detectives we have. What is the problem?”
“This guy is good, and his crime scenes are meticulous. He leaves behind nothing.” I can feel my blood pressure rise from frustration.
A knock on the door interrupts us.
“What is it?” Captain Rivera shouts.
The door opens, and Officer Lee pops his head in.
“Paige, we got a hit on a piece of jewelry that was just pawned. It’s a pawn shop in Brooklyn.”
“Brooklyn?” My brows furrowed.
“Yeah. The owner just sent a picture. It’s a diamond ring.”
“Thanks, Lee. I have to go, captain. Are we done here?”
“Yeah, we’re done. You’d better bring me back something we can use to nail this asshole.”
I grab Elijah, and we head to the pawn shop in Brooklyn. Traffic was a bitch, and it took an hour to get there. An hour in the car with Elijah, talking about how he still believes his theory that there’s a “murderer-for-hire” phone number.
“Can I help you?” a stocky, bald guy asks as we step into the shop.
I flash my badge. “I’m Detective Walker, and this is Detective Matthews. Someone pawned a diamond ring that was stolen in a homicide case.”
“Yeah. I got it right here.” He grabbed the ring and held it up.
“Who pawned it?” Elijah asked.
“A homeless guy.”
“What?” My brow furrows.
“The guy was a homeless man. He camps with the others a couple of blocks from here in the alley. You can’t miss him. He’s wearing a long, brown, tattered coat and a knit hat with a hole in the back of it.”
“Thank you,” I say, and Elijah and I leave the store.
We walk a couple of blocks until we find the alley where some homeless people call home. I look around for the homeless man in a tattered brown coat and a knit hat with a hole in it, but I only see one man sitting in front of a garbage can, warming his hands with the roaring fire pouring from it.
