Jerome moved away quickly, positioning the case over his vital organs as though it were a shield. He got into Spada’s car on the street side and the car sped off. He knows a lot of things? But he couldn’t know about Jung unless Darby told him. Darby had been watching the marina, living on his boss’s boat. He had to have seen Jung hanging around. It wouldn’t have been difficult to put a name to the face, not with Spada’s means and access. I stared at the order, then stuffed it into a pocket, heading back inside.

“That’s the guy?” Jung asked when I reached him. “The guy who killed Tim?”

“Yeah.”

“Then why aren’t you going after him?”

“I am. But first I need to ID a couple of thugs.”

Chapter 41

Chapter 41

It’s easy to underestimate the number of criminals trolling city streets every day, until you’re forced to pick through hundreds of their mug shots. They go on forever, one hardened face after another; some with tats, some without; some not so bad looking, others with a face only a mother could love. They came in all shapes, sizes, colors, and levels of depravity, running the gamut from petty thieves, who pinched toothpaste and gum from their local CVS, to stone-cold killers, who’d gut their own mothers for a pack of cigarettes and a scratch-off Lotto.

It took me more than two hours to find the thugs; by then, my eyes were shot, my head throbbed, and I was in a dark and dangerous place. Rayvon and Draymond Williams were their names. It turned out they were brothers, and they were just as ugly on the page as they had been in person. By the time I ID’d them, of course, I’d acquired an audience: Jung, Ben, and Weber. Scott hadn’t gone far, either. He’d wagered I’d find the right faces in record time, or die trying. He won another fifty. Marta was still working on the fake nurse and I knew she’d work her till she got something. Marta didn’t like being bullied any more than I did, and Spada’s priggish lawyers had punched every last one of her hot buttons.

“That’s them,” I said, pointing at the photos.

The group leaned in over my shoulders to take a better look.

“Couple of real winners,” Ben groused. “Twins?”

“Draymond’s two years younger,” I said. “His nose is the one I broke.”

“They’re on probation,” Weber said. “That should make things easy.”

“We’ll haul them in, get them in a lineup for a formal ID. By the book,” Ben said. “You’ll need to finger them again.”