Hurley walks over, pulls the tacks out of the cover, and peels the vinyl off the wall. He used double-sided adhesive tape, so some of the wall paint tears off with it. He sets the broken vinyl and covers near the turntable.

“So what’s the story here?” I ask Hurley.

“Like I told you the other day, secondhand dealers and pawn shops have to log in whatever they buy off the street, including information about who they bought it from. I was looking through the database we have and noticed that young Mr. Wendland here purchased stereo equipment on the same day you reported the burglary.”

Stinky Wendland turns his head away from us, toward the ground, looking like he wants to spit.

“Did you get a name?”

“Yes, and no record. I’m sure it was a fake ID.”

“His identification looked good to me, Detective,” Wendland says.

“Yeah, they always do,” Hurley returns.

Wendland turns back to the ground.

Hurley motions for me to step away from the counter. Talk privately.

“Just a matter of procedure: you know anybody by the name of Graham Biddy?” Hurley asks me.

Damn. I thought it would be the dude Ray gave up, Givens. Maybe this Biddy just sold my property for him, or maybe they worked together.

“Fuck no. Nor did I give him permission to break into my home, kill my cousin, steal my property, then sell some of the shit here.”

“You beat me to it,” Hurley says.

“I know the line of questioning.”

“But let’s not jump to conclusions. We don’t know if this guy’s the shooter.”

“Okay. So what now?”

“Simple. I take a picture of your property, put it all in the trunk of my cruiser, and I’ll make sure Crime Scene is gentle and kind.”

He snaps his pics, and after Hurley gives me latex gloves,  I help him carry everything to his car and put it in the trunk.

We return to the store, and Hurley proceeds to light Wendland up for several violations. His lips tighten, and he’s shaking his head ever so slightly. Makes me smile.

Hurley’s phone rings. He looks at the screen.

“I’d better take this,” he says, and he answers. “Really? Yes, of course, Sarge. Heading there now…maybe fifteen minutes. Copy.” He disconnects, looks at me. “Damn.”

“What’s up?”

“I have to roll on something. I’ll get back to you soon.”

Must be important, ’cause I gotta wonder if Hurley did the right thing leaving me here alone with Wendland.

He starts to walk away. I suddenly remember.

“Wait—before you go.”

He stops by the front door, out of earshot for Wendland.

I approach him. “I got some good info for you.”

“About what?”

“I was able to get some good info on that kid who served Jeffrey at the club. The one with dreadlocks.”

“Yeah?”