enthusiastic about the possibility of developing property in Diamondback.”
“How many buildings have you bought so far?”
“Eight or ten,” Worthy said. He gestured toward the wall again. “Those marked with the red crosses there, plus several others.”
“Did Harrod find those buildings for you?”
“ Find them? What do you mean?”
“I take it he served as a scout. When he saw a building that looked abandoned…”
“No, no,” Chase said. “We told him which buildings to photograph. Buildings we already knew were abandoned.”
“Why’d you want pictures of them?”
“Well, for various reasons. Our investors will often want to see the buildings we hope to acquire. It’s much easier to show them photographs than to accompany them all over Diamondback. And, of course, our architects need photographs for their development studies. Some of these buildings are beyond renovation.”
“Who are your architects?”
“A firm called Design Associates. Here in Diamondback.”
“Black men,” Chase said.
“This is a black project,” Worthy said. “That doesn’t make it racist, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
“Did Harrod take these gas-station pictures, too?”
“Yes,” Worthy said. “That’s another project.”
“An allied project,” Chase said.
“How long was he working for you?”
“Since we started.”
“About a year?”
“More or less.”
“Know anything about his personal life?”
“Not much. His mother lives alone in a building off The Stem. Charlie was living with a girl named Elizabeth Benjamin, over on Kruger Street. She’s been up here once or twice. In fact, she called him while he was here today.”
“What was he doing here?”
“We gave him a list of some buildings we wanted photographed.”
“What time was this?”
“He got here about eleven or so, stayed maybe a half hour.”
“What about the girl?” Hawes said. “Is she a hooker?”
Worthy hesitated. “I couldn’t say for sure. She’s very cheap-looking, but that doesn’t mean much nowadays.”
“What’d you pay Harrod for taking these pictures?”
“We paid him by the hour.”
“How much?”
“Three dollars. Plus expenses.”
“Expenses?”
“For the film. And for developing and printing it. And for the enlargements you see here on the wall. Charlie did all that himself. He was very good.”
“But you say he worked only part time.”
“Yes.”
“How much would you say he earned in a week?”
“On the average? Fifty dollars.”
“How’d he manage to drive a Cadillac and wear hand-tailored suits on fifty bucks a week?” Hawes asked. “I have no idea,” Worthy said.
Maybe Elizabeth Benjamin had some ideas.
Maybe Detective Oliver Weeks, in his desire to pin something on Worthy and Chase, had rushed back to the Eight-Three and was at this very moment searching through his files and calling the Identification Section, instead of being where he should have been, which was at 1512 Kruger, in Apartment 6A, shaking down the joint and finding out what Elizabeth knew about Harrod’s source of income.
She was coming out of the apartment as Hawes approached the sixth-floor landing. She was wearing the clothes he had seen her in earlier, her high-stepping street clothes, and she was carrying two matched valises, one of which she put down on the floor. She pulled the door shut behind her, and was reaching for the valise when Hawes stepped onto the landing and said, “Going someplace, Liz?”
“Yeah,” she said. “Clear the hell out of this city.”
“Not yet,” he said. “We’ve got something to talk about.”
“Like what?”
“Like a dead man named Charlie Harrod.”
“Reason I’m getting out of this city,” Elizabeth said, “is because I don’t want nobody talking about a dead girl named me. Now you mind getting out of my way, please?”
“Unlock the door, Liz,” Hawes said. “We’re going back inside.”
Elizabeth sighed, put down both
“How many buildings have you bought so far?”
“Eight or ten,” Worthy said. He gestured toward the wall again. “Those marked with the red crosses there, plus several others.”
“Did Harrod find those buildings for you?”
“ Find them? What do you mean?”
“I take it he served as a scout. When he saw a building that looked abandoned…”
“No, no,” Chase said. “We told him which buildings to photograph. Buildings we already knew were abandoned.”
“Why’d you want pictures of them?”
“Well, for various reasons. Our investors will often want to see the buildings we hope to acquire. It’s much easier to show them photographs than to accompany them all over Diamondback. And, of course, our architects need photographs for their development studies. Some of these buildings are beyond renovation.”
“Who are your architects?”
“A firm called Design Associates. Here in Diamondback.”
“Black men,” Chase said.
“This is a black project,” Worthy said. “That doesn’t make it racist, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
“Did Harrod take these gas-station pictures, too?”
“Yes,” Worthy said. “That’s another project.”
“An allied project,” Chase said.
“How long was he working for you?”
“Since we started.”
“About a year?”
“More or less.”
“Know anything about his personal life?”
“Not much. His mother lives alone in a building off The Stem. Charlie was living with a girl named Elizabeth Benjamin, over on Kruger Street. She’s been up here once or twice. In fact, she called him while he was here today.”
“What was he doing here?”
“We gave him a list of some buildings we wanted photographed.”
“What time was this?”
“He got here about eleven or so, stayed maybe a half hour.”
“What about the girl?” Hawes said. “Is she a hooker?”
Worthy hesitated. “I couldn’t say for sure. She’s very cheap-looking, but that doesn’t mean much nowadays.”
“What’d you pay Harrod for taking these pictures?”
“We paid him by the hour.”
“How much?”
“Three dollars. Plus expenses.”
“Expenses?”
“For the film. And for developing and printing it. And for the enlargements you see here on the wall. Charlie did all that himself. He was very good.”
“But you say he worked only part time.”
“Yes.”
“How much would you say he earned in a week?”
“On the average? Fifty dollars.”
“How’d he manage to drive a Cadillac and wear hand-tailored suits on fifty bucks a week?” Hawes asked. “I have no idea,” Worthy said.
Maybe Elizabeth Benjamin had some ideas.
Maybe Detective Oliver Weeks, in his desire to pin something on Worthy and Chase, had rushed back to the Eight-Three and was at this very moment searching through his files and calling the Identification Section, instead of being where he should have been, which was at 1512 Kruger, in Apartment 6A, shaking down the joint and finding out what Elizabeth knew about Harrod’s source of income.
She was coming out of the apartment as Hawes approached the sixth-floor landing. She was wearing the clothes he had seen her in earlier, her high-stepping street clothes, and she was carrying two matched valises, one of which she put down on the floor. She pulled the door shut behind her, and was reaching for the valise when Hawes stepped onto the landing and said, “Going someplace, Liz?”
“Yeah,” she said. “Clear the hell out of this city.”
“Not yet,” he said. “We’ve got something to talk about.”
“Like what?”
“Like a dead man named Charlie Harrod.”
“Reason I’m getting out of this city,” Elizabeth said, “is because I don’t want nobody talking about a dead girl named me. Now you mind getting out of my way, please?”
“Unlock the door, Liz,” Hawes said. “We’re going back inside.”
Elizabeth sighed, put down both
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