“Who?”
“Joseph Chapman and Brett Tinder.”
“What about ’em?”
“They were both murdered.”
“So I hear.”
Vargas said, “It might be better if we came in.”
“I ain’t letting you in without a warrant.”
I said, “Mr. Moler, we can do this down at the station if you prefer.”
“Ask your fucking questions right here. Okay?”
“How did you know them?”
He sucked in through his nose and spit just to Mary Ann’s right. I wanted to kick this guy’s ass all the way to Tampa.
“From work.”
“Oh, we have to add stealing to your resume?”
He drew the back of his hand over his mouth. “You a funny man? I worked at the body shop, and they used to hang out there.”
“What’s the name of the place?”
“Collision Masters.”
“Is that where you threatened to kill Chapman?”
“What are you talking about?”
“We have a witness who said that you got into a brawl with Chapman.”
“Motherfucker deserved it. Fucking queer was one bossy mother jumper.”
“So, you put him in his place?”
He shrugged.
“We heard Tinder jumped in, and they pinned you down, took your knife.”
“Fucking fairies, both of them.”
“You still work at Collision Masters?”
He stared at his feet. “Nah, been a while.”
“How you make a living these days?”
“This and that.”
“Do you own a firearm, Mr. Moler?”
He hesitated. “No.”
“You own a car?”
He shook his head.
“How do you get around?”
“My girl’s got a car.”
“What make?”
“A Honda.”
“What color is her hair?”
“Her hair? What the fuck does that have to do with anything?”
Vargas said, “Please, just answer the question.”
“Dirty blond.”
Afraid of tipping Moler off, I asked a couple of bullshit questions, and Vargas never missed a beat. We really made a good team, and I wondered if our personal relationship would screw things up before we thanked him for his time and left.
As soon as the door closed, I said, “We got to get inside. Let’s draft a subpoena request.”
“It’d be good to go for the car, even if it’s not his.”
“This is gonna be a tough sell as it is. We’re gonna need Chester to push the DA.”
“I doubt that’s going to be a problem.”
“Hope not.”
“You know, Frank, you better be careful with what you say to the sheriff.”
“What do you mean?”
“You misled him with the gay angle.”
I shrugged. “It seemed like there was a connection until it petered out.”
“It’s dangerous telling him about a lead that we already dismissed.”
“Aw, come on. Just buying a little time. I can resurrect it if needed.”
“He finds out you’re feeding him nonsense, you won’t have to worry about being taken off this case.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll handle Chester.”
“I hope so.”
“You still okay with me moving into the cabana?”
“I’ve told you a hundred times, it’s fine. It could be fun.”
It was too early in the relationship to be so close, but with this case I had no time to find a place to live. Truth was, I had banked on using her place and hadn’t looked at anything for a while.
“Thanks. I really appreciate it. The movers are set to do it the day after tomorrow.”
“Who’d you get to do the move?”
“A nephew of Candy’s, in HR. Kid has a small moving company.”
“Candy? Didn’t you used to date her?”
“That was ages ago. Way before I got sick.”
Chapter 17
It always seemed to happen to me. If I only had one important obligation, another one would be scheduled on the same day. Today was no different.
The sheriff was able to convince the DA to seek a search warrant of Moler’s place. The judge signed it at 11:15. It was a big win, but I planned to take the afternoon off; the movers were coming to my place at one.
Vargas was waiting in the parking lot with two squad cars. Clutching the search warrant, I bounded down the stairs to meet them. I held the warrant in the air.
“Let’s roll.”
We sped down Livingston, and when we crossed over Bonita Springs Road it hit me.
“Shit!”
“What’s the matter, Frank?”
“I forgot to notify Lee County we’re executing a search.”
“No problem. I called it in already.”
“You did?”
“Yep. I called the Lee County Sheriff about our search warrant.”
She really had my back.
“Thanks, I forgot all about it. Guess I was too excited about it.”
Was I having another bout of chemo brain? I couldn’t remember things. Mary Ann said I had too much going on with the case and finding a place to live.
“Shit!”
“What now, Frank?”
I hated admitting it, but the words just tumbled out. “I forgot to call the movers.”
Vargas hesitated. “It’s okay. What’s the number? I’ll see if they can do it around five. We should be done way before that.”
“I donno. We may have to do interviews if we can nail Moler.”
“It’ll take a day or two for forensics to support an arrest.”
“My stuff will be out on the street by then.”
“We’ll get it done. Even if we have to rent a U-Haul and do it ourselves.”
Remembering how my ex-wife and I used a U-Haul when we moved in together caused my stomach to lurch.
Turning onto East Terry I saw two Lee County Police cars. They were parked just a few doors away from Moler’s.
“What the hell are they doing here?”
“It’s their territory, Frank.”
“I don’t want Moler spooked. He sees the cars, and he’ll try to destroy any evidence.”
“Take it easy. They’re not out front. Besides, you forget the wood on the windows?”
Some kid was practicing the guitar next door as the door swung open.
Moler, in shorts and a tee shirt, looked like he’d been sleeping. His hair was flattened on one side, and he had what looked like crud from drool on the side of his chin.
“What the fuck you want?”
About to present our search warrant, my hand stopped midair when I got a whiff of his alcoholic breath.
“This is a warrant. We’re here to execute a search of your place. Step aside.”
Moler swiveled his head. “What?”
Maybe it was the alcohol, but he genuinely seemed surprised.
Two uniformed officers stepped forward and escorted Moler to the carport at the end of the building. The apartment had only three rooms and had a neglected feel to it; dishes were piled in the sink and clothing was scattered around.
And there was a smell. The smell of a man living alone. It was the main reason I kept my place clean and organized. Shaking my head, I headed to the bedroom, and Vargas went to the kitchen.
A ceiling fan was spinning like it was attached to a fighter jet and clothing was strewn over a bed with no headboard. I dug out my gloves. A chest of drawers, capped by a dusty mirror, was the only other piece of furniture in the room.
Moler’s phone, wallet, keys, an empty bottle of beer, and a couple of comic books covered the top of the dresser. I looked through his wallet. There was a photo of a blond woman. Was this his girl? The color of her hair was
close to the hairs we’d found on Parker.
There was nothing else of interest in his wallet. I bagged the cell phone, hoping for connections, and moved to the drawers.
The bottom drawer was crammed with sweatshirts and pants, none of it folded. The next drawer contained socks, bathing suits, and shorts. As soon as I opened the third drawer I noticed the edge of a plastic bag. Moving a tee shirt aside, I saw it contained marijuana. I took a photo and bagged the weed.
The top drawer had an assortment of underwear, coins, and paperwork. I shuffled through the documents: a copy of the lease for the place, and a self-storage receipt. I studied the receipt from Simply Self Storage. It was for a small five-by-five-foot unit. It had possibilities. Who knew what someone like Moler could hide there?
Sliding open a pair of bifold doors, verging on becoming unhinged, exposed a crammed closet. There were a couple of sundresses, skirts, and blouses hanging to the right of Moler’s jeans. I patted pockets but came up with nothing. I slid three overflowing cartons on the closet’s floor into the bedroom.
One was filled with pictures and memorabilia from Moler’s family. I looked at a picture of a ten-year-old Moler standing in front of his parents. I studied the parents. The old man and the mother both had a drunkard’s look to them. Moler never had a chance.
I pawed through a box topped with an old baseball glove. Below it was an ancient toolbox I’d bet was his father’s and assorted junk you’d normally keep in a garage.
The last box had a tattered backpack containing swamp waders. I tossed it aside, and lying at the bottom was a partially empty box of shotgun shells next to a fishing reel. The 12-gauge shells contained shot used to hunt pheasants or turkeys. It wasn’t worth making an issue of.
Before I left, I shut the fan and stood on the bed. The ceiling vent had been painted over. There was nothing hidden behind it.
The bathroom separated the bedroom and kitchen. I asked Vargas, “Anything?”
“Nope. What did you get?”
Waving the bags with the pot and cell phone, I said, “Moler’s got a small self-storage unit at Simply. No telling what’s in it.”
I stepped into the yellow-tiled bathroom. An open bottle of Excedrin was on the sink. I flipped open the medicine cabinet: Band-Aids, a razor, hydrogen peroxide, toothbrush, and female deodorant.
Sliding the sunburst shower curtain aside, I swiped my forefinger over the drain. A blond hair was trapped by soap scum. I spied another blond hair stuck to a tile and bagged it as well.
A brown, faux leather couch anchored the family room. Its better days were when I’d been in high school. Opposite the couch was an old entertainment hutch that held a big tube TV. I strained my back getting behind the TV, but all I got for the effort was a handful of dust.
We left Moler’s with our hopes resting on the cell phone and the storage unit.
Chapter 18
Despite the experience, moving wasn’t getting easier; it was getting old. Moving down to Naples a couple of years ago, the excitement of starting over was the fuel I ran on. I’d left my wife the furniture, but as we know, we accumulate a lot of crap besides furnishings.
Renting a furnished place gave me time to find a place and buy new furniture. Boy, was I glad I didn’t take anything down from Jersey; it wouldn’t fit in. But moving my boxes, organizing the deliveries, and unpacking, all while starting a new job, was challenging.
Even though I’d made a couple of runs last week, my car was still packed with clothes and bathroom stuff. The movers were loading the last piece, a coffee table, onto the truck headed for self-storage when I realized I’d have to turn the keys over.
This felt big, and I immediately regretted dragging my feet in looking for a place. It was risky. I wanted things to work out with Mary Ann, but being so close could screw things up. We’d have to work hard at keeping some distance. But how? The place had no kitchen, and if I picked something up without asking her, would she get pissed? And what about shopping? Shit, Luca, you boxed yourself in.
Punching a fist into my palm, I jammed the keys in a pocket, took one last look at my old place and jumped in my car.
***
Simply Self Storage was housed in a beige building on Airport Polling Road next to a CVS. The only thing distinctive about it was its lime-colored, metal roof. I swung around back where Sergeant Towbin and two uniforms were searching Moler’s unit.
Getting out of my car, Towbin said, “Luca? What are you doing here?”
“Movers finished loading my stuff earlier than expected. What did you find?”
Towbin shook his head. “Nothing.”
I surveyed the boxes that had been taken out of the square space. “You shitting me?”
“Nah, we’re almost done—nothing here but family memorabilia—photo albums up the wazoo, a shitload of knickknacks, the usual crap people can’t seem to get rid of.”
Memorabilia? Moler was sentimental? I’d really seen it all. I pawed through a couple of boxes before heading over to my new living arrangement.
***
The cabana door was open, and I was looking under the bed when Mary Ann came in.
“You need some help?”
“I don’t know where the hell I’m gonna put all this. Maybe I could get those plastic bins that fit under the bed.”
“There’s room in the spare bedroom’s dresser. If you want, you can put your seasonal clothes in there.”
“Thanks, but I got it under control.”
“Okay, I’ll be inside if you need anything.”
Mary Ann wasn’t the type to blackmail me, but I still felt uncomfortable handing over some of my independence. I was used to living alone the last couple of years, and though we weren’t moving in together, you couldn’t get any closer.
Her house had a long driveway with a garage to the right of the front door. A covered walkway from the house led to the cabana I was calling home. With its own entrance, it was ideal, if I didn’t feel like it might cramp my style.
We’d agreed that’d I pay fifteen hundred a month, which would include utilities. But the last couple of days or so, Mary Ann said she didn’t want any money. She felt funny, as the room was empty, and how much water and electricity was I going to use anyway. We argued about it, and in the end, I insisted on paying my way, or I’d move into a short-term rental.
Feeling like the whole thing was another huge lapse in judgment, I thought over my new living arrangements. Recalling my vow to take my laundry out to be done, get a microwave, and keep the tiny fridge stocked calmed me. What was I worried about? I’m forty-two years old, I know how to handle things.
Stacking three duffel bags under the window, I caught a glimpse of Mary Ann walking through the cabana’s door. She was holding two glasses of wine.
“Welcome to the neighborhood.”
***
My phone sounded its pee-pee alarm. It was the second time it went off. I threw the covers off and froze. Shit, what did I do? Screw up the first damn night? Sliding out of bed, I tried not to wake Mary Ann.
Following the night-light, I sat on the bowl. What’s wrong with you, Luca? You threw the bullshit about keeping things the way there were but couldn’t control your instincts for one night. Worse, tomorrow was a big day, and we had to be the same team we always were.
My pee came faster than usual. She had one of those newer toilets where the cover hid the seat, different from the one in the cabana. It stood higher, and I wondered if that made it easier for me.
Mary Ann rolled over, touching my arm as I got back into bed. I shifted from beating myself up to thinking about our meeting tomorrow. Sheriff Chester wanted to see us first thing in the morning. I tried to fall back to sleep, but the thought I’d be pulled off the case had me worked up. What else could it be that would have made his office call me after nine last night?
Mary Ann said I was letting my mind run away, that it was probably nothing. She was too much of a
n optimist. I tried to look at other possibilities, but I could sense bad news like an arthritic predicted the rain.
We were closing in. I wasn’t going to be taken off the case without a fight. Three of the four suspects were connected to The Spirit of Fellowship Church. That kind of connection couldn’t be ignored. How many members were there anyway? What were the odds that three end up murdered?
I thought about finding an excuse to miss the meeting, and next thing I knew, the alarm sounded and Mary Ann got out of bed.
Chapter 19
When we were shown into Sheriff Chester’s office, my defenses shot up. He was behind his desk talking, a little too comfortably, with FBI Agent Haines. Chester rose and said, “Everyone here knows each other.”
Vargas and I shook hands with Haines, who looked uncomfortable.
Chester said, “It’s my feeling that we haven’t worked close enough together. We could make real progress if we made full use of the resources the FBI have at their disposal.”
My face was heating up. I wanted to tell him to fuck off, but I needed my job and kept quiet. The sheriff continued, “How many serial killing cases have you worked on, Agent Haines?”
He shuffled his stance. “Uhm, I don’t know, a dozen or so.”
“Well, unfortunately, we don’t have any experience, right?” The sheriff looked at Mary Ann and me, and we nodded.
“I’m assigning Agent Haines a more active role in the investigation.”
I said, “With all due respect to Agent Haines, I don’t think that’s necessary at this stage, sir.”
“At this stage? You mean the stage with four bodies in the morgue? With the public frightened about their safety? With the governor breathing down my neck?”
With Haines staring at his feet, I said, “I realize it’s a tough situation, but we’ve got a line we believe will lead us to the killer.”
“That’s good to hear. Now, why don’t the three of you go down to your office and get this case closed.”
Chester turned toward his desk, and just like that, I’d been demoted. I loosened my collar. My face burning, I headed to the bathroom to calm down.
***
Minister Booth was meeting with members of the church council, and it was running late. I put down the Christian Monthly I’d been paging through and stood.
Third Chances Page 7