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Payne nodded.
“Not to defend Austin in any way,” he said, “but money changes things. Best friends, even family members, will lie to each other over it. Whatever trust they have, it’s quickly broken.” He paused, and added, “And the more money there is, the worse it can get. Camilla Rose accused Mason Morgan of manipulating the old man into rewriting his will, calling it a ‘brazen betrayal,’ and refused to speak to her brother.”
“So,” Harris went on, “Austin could be completely innocent. Or be complicit, especially if he had money invested and it was to his financial advantage to say he believed in the product.”
Payne said, “I don’t think the phrase completely innocent has ever been applicable in Austin’s case.”
“That message they power washed on the coal tower wall,” Dick McCrory said. “You think it means Austin was the actual target? Or both were? Either way, maybe that’s how Austin ‘got lucky.’”
“All we know is, three people are dead,” Payne said, “and now he’s in someone’s crosshairs. I really don’t like the sonofabitch. But keeping him alive is the best way to find out what happened to either Benson or Camilla Rose.”
“Or, if there’s any connection, it may solve both.”
Payne felt another burning needle in his wound and grimaced.
“You sure you’re okay?” Harris said.
“Define okay,” Payne said, turning to leave. “I need to hit the head.”
Harris and McCrory popped to their feet.
“Sit, damn it,” Payne said, motioning with his hand. “Make yoursel
f useful and find that damn Austin.” He paused, then added, “Oh, and find out who’s got tonight’s over-under. I need to place my bet.”
“I already did,” McCrory said. “It’s eleven. One dead. Ten wounded.”
Harris’s cellular telephone began ringing. He glanced at its screen, then answered it.
“Yeah, Hank?”
Harris looked up at Payne a moment later as he said, “Fifteen minutes ago? And you got someone up there to watch the door?”
As Harris put down his phone, he said, “The security guys got a computer alert that a radio frequency identification keycard coded to the Morgan woman’s condo was just used in the elevator. Lobby cameras show Austin getting on.”
“I’ll go.”
He then reached into his pocket and pulled out a dollar bill. He took a pen and sticky notepad from the desk, wrote “Sgt Payne 16” on the paper, and stuck it on the dollar bill.
He handed it to Harris, who then read the over-under wager.
“Betting really high? Such the cynic.”
Payne nodded. “Guilty. Something’s in the air. I feel it. And I’ll let you know what I get out of Austin.”
[ THREE ]
The Rittenhouse Condominiums
Residence 2150
Center City
Philadelphia
Friday, January 6, 7:20 P.M.
John Austin waved the plastic keycard that Camilla Rose had left him in the hospital at the door handle. He heard the lock click open, as the light on the reader glowed green, and with his left hand turned the handle and pushed the door inward.
