“Yes, ma’am, and I won,” Mike said. “I’m glad you called the tip line. Can you tell us what you saw across the street last night?”
“Okay, okay. Let me see, a week ago, Georgie—Georgio Panatone, he owns the repair shop—he took off for Europe. Lord knows where he got the money, business hasn’t been too good this year for either of us. Before he left, he told me some friends were going to stay in his place, water his plants, keep an eye on things, so not to be worried if I saw people come and go. He gave me a spare key in case there was trouble, and took off.”
She sniffed. “I don’t know why he didn’t ask me to care for his things, we’ve known each other for decades. Anyway, I’m nosy, so I watched over things, in case something happened. Friends can’t always be trusted. The day he left, I saw a big black van drive up and five people got out and they had all kinds of boxes, and what looked like small TV screens. They dropped black curtains over the windows in Georgie’s apartment—it’s above the shop—and isn’t that strange? Black curtains? Like they didn’t want anyone to see what they were up to. What sort of plant-watering friends do that?”
Mike said, “I agree, ma’am, it’s very strange behavior. Can you tell us what the people looked like?”
Mrs. Antonio’s brows shot up. “Well, of course I can and I was going to. I didn’t bring you out here to tell you about some black curtains. You some kind of dummy?”
Nicholas and Mike both grinned. Mike said, “Ah, no, ma’am. Forgive me for interrupting. Please continue.”
“Okay, then. So they didn’t leave for two days, until last night. I saw them clear on the steps—four men: one was an Arab; three were white. I’d say the Arab guy was well into his forties, two were in their thirties, and a younger guy, probably late twenties, like my oldest grandchild, Nelson. And there was a pretty young woman with red hair stuffed under a ball cap. They were carrying duffel bags and backpacks.
“Last night, three of the men and the young woman piled into a beat-up Corolla Georgie had sitting on his lot. They had a lot of stuff with them in duffel bags. I don’t see them come back, but every half-hour or so, the curtains twitched, so I knew for certain the young guy had stayed behind.” Nicholas saw that Mike was ready to shout to the heavens.
Bless Zachery’s gut.
Nicholas said, “Mrs. Antonio, I think you’ve missed your calling. You should have been a private investigator.”
She nodded. “Not a bad idea. After five boys and thirty-two grandchildren, you bet I know how to keep my eyes on things.”
“Are you certain of their races, ma’am?” Mike asked. “Could you describe these people to a sketch artist for us?”
“I have eyes in my head, Agent Caine. Yes. I am absolutely sure, and yes, I’ll work with your people. Now I’m getting to the meat of the story, so hang on. I heard them drive back about two in the morning and looked out my window. There were only three of them, two white men and the redheaded woman. They were careful, quickly made sure there wasn’t anybody around. The Arab man was nowhere to be seen. It wasn’t more than thirty minutes later when I heard the shots.”
Mike could feel Nicholas vibrate. “Tell us about the gunshots. You’re sure they were gunshots? Sure there were two?”