Free The Pawnbroker by Aimée Thurlo Page B

added after a moment, “but don’t let me see you taking any photos with your cell phone of stuff in the closet, drawers, or anywhere else. I’ll be checking out the kitchen area,” she said, walking out of sight.
    â€œOne more thing,” she said, coming back into the living room. “You know that everything in here has to be in the exact position it was when we came in. We can’t afford to have anything challenged in court later on, and I’m not going to lie to save your butt, so don’t take anything. I’m calling Detective DuPree now, so watch your time.”
    â€œUnderstood.” Charlie had been on many intelligence- and prisoner-gathering missions while deployed and he knew how to sift through rooms and homes with efficiency, searching for useful information. The advantage he had here was that anything he read was likely to be in English, not Pashto or Dari, so it would go a hell of a lot faster.
    Although Nancy had the freedom to work beside other cops—assuming DuPree allowed it—as a civilian, his time was limited to the detective’s generosity. After DuPree found out that he’d located Baza’s residence ahead of APD, he’d either be secretly grateful, outwardly pissed, or both. Either way, there would be no reason to let a civilian participate in evidence collection.
    Charlie had his phone’s camera ready as he walked down the hall. Nancy had already turned on the lights, so he didn’t have to use the flash.
    Atop the dresser was a tooled-leather belt, two expensive-looking watches, a flashlight, a box of tissues, travel brochures, an iPhone and iPad plugged into chargers, and a leather portfolio filled with papers he was dying to examine and photograph. What intrigued him most, however, was a silver-framed snapshot of an attractive brown-haired woman. It was a bit grainy, probably blown up from a smaller image and cropped to create a portrait. The woman was standing on the front step of a building, an apartment probably. He could make out a wall of mailboxes in the background.
    Charlie took a photograph of the woman, then quickly opened the drawers, searching inside. He saw two pistols, one a Glock and the other a sand W revolver, plus three boxes of ammunition. One of the boxes, for a .32 caliber handgun, was missing eight rounds—a clip full, probably. A .32 was found on Baza’s body, Charlie recalled—unfired.
    There were also boxes containing rings, silver jewelry, and a variety of newer cell phones and other electronic devices. These were part of Baza’s stash—taken for later sale when he bailed on Three Balls. There was probably cash hidden around as well, but he could leave that to the cops. What he wanted was an obvious motive for Baza’s murder. Clearly, Baza was trying to remain as invisible as possible. The man had made at least one enemy angry enough to kill him. Why?
    He didn’t find much clothing in the drawers or the closet. All but a few possessions were packed away in two expensive-looking suitcases under the bed and in the closet. Baza could have loaded up everything he had and be out of the place in ten minutes or less. That thought reminded him of the travel brochures on the dresser, and one look at those told him that Baza had printed out price quotes to Costa Rica for two adults and a child. No tickets, however, but the dates were for next month. Who was he planning on traveling with? Could it be the woman in the photo and a child? Baza, according to Nancy’s information, had never been married, though through the years, off and on, he’d lived with one woman or another.
    â€œI found a laptop under the refrigerator,” Nancy yelled. “What about you?”
    Charlie started looking though the leather portfolio, finding a passport and other papers in Baza’s real name, nothing fake. There was also a list of a half-dozen banks, and a full-page printout of sets of numbers.