After saying “Oh, shit!” his very next breath had been: “Get that damn uniform to arrest her right damn now on suspicion of murder and bring her here for questioning! I damn well just said that those responsible for any death will be prosecuted to the fullest-and goddamn it, that’s what’s going to happen!”
Matt Payne now looked down at the gaunt and badly bruised woman, and took pity.
Someone’s really slapped her around, especially in the face. And her hand, which she must have tried to use for protection.
She could barely stand on her own two feet while they were rolling her fingers for prints and checking her hands for gunpowder residue.
The only person she’s a danger to is herself…
He said, “I’ll remove the cuff, but one thing goes wrong and it goes back on.”
She nodded.
Taking out his handcuff key, Payne asked, “Who hit you?”
“Who you think? Kendrik.”
He nodded.
“Can I get you something to eat or drink?” he asked as he removed the cuff.
“Maybe a soda?”
Payne looked to the one-way mirror. He couldn’t see anyone-except, of course, the reflections of himself and Shauna Mays-but he knew that on the other side of the glass they’d see him looking, and that they’d bring the drink from the small refrigerator that was kept stocked in the unit.
A moment later there was a knock on the door, and when Payne unlocked and opened it a crack, a massive black paw of a hand reached in with a screw-top plastic bottle of grape-flavored soda and a snack-size bag of Tastykake.
“Thanks, Jason,” he said, taking them, and then closing and locking the door.
Payne placed both on the table before Shauna Mays. As she reached for them, her bruised hand trembled.
He said, “Would you like me to open them?”
She nodded.
She ate the whole bag of Tastykake in about three mouthfuls, washing it down with half the soda in two swallows. Then she loudly belched.
She looked at Payne but said nothing.
Payne pulled from his pocket a small notepad and pen, then reached over to the recorder and pushed its red button to begin recording.
He glanced at his wristwatch and said, “Today is Sunday, November first. Time is one-twenty P.M. This interview is being held in the Philadelphia Police Department Homicide Unit, and conducted by me, Sergeant M. M. Payne, badge number 471.”
He looked at Shauna Mays, who seemed to be mesmerized by what Payne had just said.
Either that, or all of a sudden the sugar and salt in her system is throwing off her blood sugar balance.
He said, “Would you please state your name?”
“Shauna. Shauna Mays.”
“And where do you live, Ms. Mays?”
“In Philadelphia.”
“Okay. And your address is?”
“Uh, over on Wilder.”
“That would be 2620 Wilder Street, Philadelphia 19147.”
She nodded. “Uh-huh. That right.”
“Have you been read your Miranda rights, Ms. Mays?”
“My what?”
“You have the right to remain silent, the right to have an attorney-”
“Oh, yeah,” she interrupted. “That first cop did that.”
“And you’re freely willing to now answer any questions?”
“Yeah. Sure. Just so I gets my reward.”
“Right. We’ll get to that, Ms. Mays. First, Kendrik Mays is your son, correct?”
“Yeah. He my boy.”
“Can you tell me what happened to Kendrik?”
“He got hisself killed.”
“Yes, ma’am. I’m aware of that. How did it happen?”
“He was doing bad. Long time. He had it coming.”
“Because he beat you? You did say he’s responsible for the bruises on your body.”
She looked at him oddly. “I don’t understand.”
“Did you kill him?”
“No! I told that first cop that!”
“Okay, then how did it happen, Ms. Mays?”
“I guess that bullet killed him.”
Payne exhaled audibly. “Okay, let’s start from the beginning. Who had the gun?”
“A delivery guy. He come in with Kendrik’s paper. That paper I had that the cop took?”
“The Wanted sheet?”
“Yeah, that’s it. He come in and-No, wait. First he say he got a check for Kendrik. And when I let him in, he give me the paper. The sheet. Said there was no check.”
“This began at what time?”
She cocked her head. “Time? This morning, all I know. Ain’t no clocks in a crack house!”
Payne nodded as he wrote that on his notepad and thought, Right.
If something’s not nailed down, it’s sold for drugs.
My God, what a way to live.
“What did this guy look like? And was he alone, anyone else in the house?”
“Just him. Old white guy, maybe my age. Tall. Kinda skinny.”
Payne wrote that down and asked, “He give you a name? You ever see him before?”
“Nope,” she said, shaking her head. “I think Kendrik did something bad to this guy. Or maybe to his family. Robbery, rape, something. Once my boy got in the drugs, he was no good.”
Payne noted that on his pad, then said, “This old white guy your age-anything unusual about him? Anything at all special or different you remember about him?”
She thought about that for a moment. Then she grinned.
“He give me money. A hundred dollars, he did! How many times that going to happen? Some white guy come in your house and give you a hundred dollars, then tell you how to get ten thousand more!”
She’s almost giddy.
The sugar must really be kicking in.
She squinted her eyes at Payne and wagged her right index finger at him. “And I want my reward!”
“This man had a gun?”
She looked at Payne with an expression that suggested he was nuts. “How else Kendrik get shot? Had to! I never saw it. But it made a loud noise. Sounded like a cannon boom in the basement.”
“That’s where Kendrik was shot, in the basement? Do we have your permission to go through it and search your whole house?”
She nodded, then snickered. “If you want. Sure. Just try not to make a mess.” She looked at Payne and said, her tone flat, “That was a joke.”
Now she’s feeling so good she’s a damn comedienne.
Payne nodded, then said, “You do know it’s against the law to tamper with the scene of a crime, remove or otherwise alter evidence?”
She shrugged.
Payne raised an eyebrow, then went on: “Okay, do you know the cabbie who helped you?”
She shook her head. “No. He just the first one who’d help me. Had to walk four blocks till I found him on Reed Street. Only charged me twenty bucks. Said he was sorry for me but glad to see Kendrik got what he deserved. Nobody liked that boy.”
Payne wrote that as he asked, “And this cabbie helped you do what?”
“He’s a really big guy. He took that rug and rolled Kendrik up in it, then carried him to the car.”
“Ms. Mays, that’s the tampering with evidence I’m referring to. You should’ve called 911 and-”
She laughed. “Call 911? What? I ain’t got no phone. And I sure as hell wouldn’t call no police if I did.”
Payne stared at her.
Amazing. You get beat to hell and back, someone blows away your son in your basement, but whatever you do, don’t call the good guys.. ..
He went on: “Are you also aware it’s against the law to harbor a fugitive?”
“Harbor?”
“Let him live with you.”
She sat up in the chair, puffed up her chest, and in as loud and angry a voice as she could muster said, “I didn’t let him live with me! I throwed him out over and over. But he come back. And when I try throwing him out again, after he been in jail, that’s when he beat me really bad. What can I do? I got no money to move out, so I just deal with it all…” Her voice trailed off. She reached for the soda bottle and drained it.
Then she crossed her arms and glared at Payne. “I want my reward!”