She checked her watch and eyed Bree’s uniform with suspicion. “I just finished my workout, and I need to shower before my bridge game. If you’re here to beg for my vote or a donation, you can just move right along. I’m not interested.”
Bree introduced herself and Matt. “We’re looking for Kenny McPherson.”
“Why?” The woman’s tone turned suspicious, as if she was protecting Kenny.
“We’re investigating a murder,” Bree said, clearly hoping her answer would be shocking enough that the older woman would give up Kenny.
But the woman’s eyes narrowed. “Then you’re looking in the wrong place. Kenny’s a good boy. I’ve known him since he was this big.” She held a hand out about two feet over the floor.
Bree didn’t comment. “Can I have your name, ma’am?”
“Phyllis Weir,” she snapped. “Kenny was never a druggie. Those charges were bullshit.”
Matt gave her a reassuring smile. “We’re not here about the old charges.”
Not exactly.
“You know the blood test didn’t show any drugs in Kenny’s system.” Mrs. Weir was not swayed by his charms. She cocked her head, crossed her arms, and shifted her posture into outright defiance. “He mows my lawn. He’s been fixing up the house. He drives me everywhere. I’m telling you, he’s a good man.”
Matt tried a different approach. “How do you know him?”
“His mother—God rest her soul”—Mrs. Weir crossed herself—“was my best friend. She died while Kenny was in prison. Her heart was broken.” She glared at Bree. “Do you have a warrant? I don’t have to tell you shit if you don’t have a warrant.”
Matt tried to sound casual but firm. “Ma’am, we just want to talk to him.”
Mrs. Weir blew an irritated breath out of her nose, then jerked a thumb over her shoulder. “He rents the apartment over the garage behind the house.” Before Bree could say thank you, the woman shut the door in their faces.
“Not a fan of law enforcement,” Matt said.
“Clearly not.” Bree turned away from the door. “I’ll bet she’s calling Kenny to warn him right now.”
They quickened their pace.
Matt gestured to the driveway that ran along the side of the house. “You go up the driveway. I’ll cover this side in case he decides to run.”
They split up. Bree headed for the driveway on the left while Matt hustled across the grass and around the right side of the house. A detached single-car garage dominated the rear yard. Matt peered in the high windows and saw a twenty-year-old Buick Century parked inside. A set of wooden steps led up to the apartment over the garage. Matt caught a quick flash of movement at the rear corner of the yard. A bald man in a short-sleeved gray T-shirt and jeans disappeared behind the building.
“Halt. Sheriff’s office!” Matt shouted, then he turned and yelled for Bree. “This way. He’s running.” From her perspective, she wouldn’t see the fleeing man.
Matt raced after him. Ahead, the man leaped over the four-foot chain-link fence into the rear neighbor’s backyard. Twenty-five feet behind him, Matt ran faster. At the fence, Matt grabbed the top and vaulted over it, barely breaking stride. He sprinted across the grass, quickly gaining ground.
The man glanced back over his shoulder as he ran past the neighbor’s detached garage. Though he’d shaved his head since his original arrest, Matt recognized Kenny from his mug shot. He clutched a cell phone in one hand. Mrs. Weir had definitely warned him. Matt had to appreciate her loyalty.
At the front corner of the garage, Kenny paused and spun, grabbing the handle of a recycling receptacle and upending it into Matt’s path. Bottles broke and cans spilled out across the concrete. Matt slowed, but he couldn’t avoid a patch of broken glass. His foot slipped, and he went down on one knee and one hand.
Swearing, he pushed himself to his feet and continued the chase. Kenny reached the street and turned right. He should have headed across the yards, where he could use more objects to slow down Matt. Out in the open, there was no way that bastard was getting away. Matt turned on the speed. He was at least six inches taller than Kenny. And while the other man had clearly spent time lifting weights in prison—his lean frame looked solid—Matt ran every day and had considered training for an IRONMAN.
Kenny’s next glance backward was filled with panic. Matt caught up with him in a dozen strides. He reached for Kenny’s shoulder and shoved. The fleeing man tumbled face-first onto the pavement. The cell phone in his hand skittered in the road. As soon as he’d stopped sliding, Matt was on him. He flattened Kenny onto his belly and planted a knee firmly into the small of his back.