Page 64 - Labelle Gramercy, On the Case

Thrown for a Loss

continue this conversation at my convenience any time in the next
forty-eight hours. Sit down, please.”
He looked over at the mall rats. If he was going to give in, it
shouldn’t be a total loss. The detective had shown herself capable of
physical responses to insubordination, so he would have to be
content with scoring this insignificant point. Insignificant to an adult,
but not to these kids who craved any ego boost at the expense of the
man—or woman—with a badge.
“Okay, but I know my rights.” He sat down heavily, his greasy pro
basketball team jacket scraping against my shoulder. The sleeves were
too short. Good indication he had stolen it.
“Are you at least eighteen years of age?”
“Yes!” He grinned. Not a minor, couldn’t be pushed around by
the cops or a judge in juvenile court. A know-it-all who hadn’t
finished high school.
“Your full name.”
“Newton Reno.”
“Address.”
“77 Sargasso Street, apartment 345.”
“Where were you when the alarm buzzer sounded?”
He stroked his chin, a poor imitation of deep thought. I could feel
my own patience wearing thin. But this had to be what he
anticipated: a trick question, right? The others already said that he
was in the bathroom. So how could he hear it? Would Labelle
Gramercy set the thing off again and go into the men’s room to find
out?
“Taking a leak, probably. Some guy ran into the john while I was
washing my hands and said something about a bell going off. I don’t
hear all that well. Too much loud music when I was young.”
That I could easily believe! I looked at his hands. Not particularly
clean, but he had been nervously eating junk food over at the table
with his buddies, and if they felt in need of a napkin or a towel they
generally went no further than their own clothing. So you could see
that he had recently consumed a doughnut because its remnants were
stuck on his trousers on top of the layer of catsup from an earlier
hamburger.
“What did you do then?”

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