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As the proverbial bad cop to Dexter’s good guy routine, it was my turn to step in. “You guys know anything about the kid tagging stores downtown?”
Eric noticeably stiffened. “How do you know it’s a kid?”
His reaction could have been for a number of reasons: He was involved, knew who it was, or was worried we’d accuse him regardless.
“We’ve got video,” Dexter answered.
“Must not be a good video if you’re talking to us. We didn’t have nothin’ to do with that,” Eric said with his usual bluster.
He was smarter than he let on.
“What about the break-ins?” Dexter asked.
The kids’ jaws tightened, and I knew they wouldn’t tell us any more. It was possible they didn’t know.
I sighed. “Let us know if you find out anything.”
“What do you care about some spray paint?” Eric asked when we turned to leave.
“When you damage property and hurt the businesses, you scare people, and it affects tourism. The mayor’s very concerned.” I wanted them to understand the effect of property damage because, in my experience, they didn’t. And I wanted them to understand this issue wasn’t going to get shoved under a rug. The mayor wanted to get to the bottom of it.
Eric’s face screwed up in disgust, but he didn’t say anything further.
We’d only gotten a few feet when one of the boys called out to us, “Maybe it’s that new kid.”
Turning to face them, three of them had hung back, but the smaller one, Joey, had followed us.
Dexter paused, his hands on his belt. “What new kid?”
Joey tilted his head to the side as if he was trying to remember. “I think he lives with one of the guys from the garage.”
Dexter’s brow furrowed. “The new one? Harbor Garage?”
Joey nodded. “That’s it.”
“Why do you think it’s him?” I asked.
“At school, he was bragging about having spray paint in his bag.”
“You tell the teacher?” I asked on the off chance he’d said anything.
Joey sneered. “I don’t rat anyone out.”
I didn’t point out that he was talking to cops. “Thanks for telling us.”
We pivoted, stopping by our squad cars to discuss the new information.
“You can’t buy paint without an adult,” I said, working it through.
Dexter lowered his voice, “If your dad owned a garage, there might be spray paint around.”
“If they do bodywork,” I agreed, excited we might finally have a lead.
“Let’s find out,” Dexter said, opening his door.
I rounded the hood of my car, climbing in.
Even if it was a low-level crime, my blood pumped faster in anticipation of a break in the case. I didn’t like Remi being scared.
