by David Archer
Harold spread his hands in a gesture of frustration. “Look, maybe I’m not a spy, but I’m a pretty tough guy. I think I could’ve handled it.”
Harry grinned and cocked his head to one side. “How would you have handled it? Confronted him face-to-face? We’re talking about a man who can kill someone twice his size with a single blow of his hand, a man who knows how to make dozens of essentially untraceable poisons, a man who can fire a killing shot from more than half a mile away or make a bomb out of stuff he could find in the average kitchen. If you had threatened him in any way, that would have made you a danger that he had to eliminate. I’m sorry, son, but you would have only put all of you in even more danger. She made the right decision in not telling you.”
“Okay, maybe so,” Harold said. “Still, we might’ve been able to help her in other ways. She said she was sneaking off to try to see you, but he found out. Maybe we could have helped her keep it a secret.”
Harry shook his head. “If she had come to you for help with that, Michael would have found out about it. He would have seen it as a conspiracy working against him, and something terrible would’ve happened to all of you.”
“Look,” Kathleen said suddenly, “all of this is moot, now. Michael is dead and the truth is out. We can spend years thinking about what might have been, or we can simply accept this God-given chance to have our real family back together again. Who’s with me on that?”
Harry immediately raised a hand, but surprisingly, it was Beth who raised hers next. Harold looked at her for a moment, then sighed and held his own hand up into the air.
“Look, Harry,” Beth said, “this is all going to take some getting used to. I don’t doubt what Mom has told us, but while you may be my father, I don’t know you. The trouble is, that wasn’t your fault; I mean, it’s not like you ran out on us or anything. Somebody lied to you and told you we were all dead. I can’t hold it against you that you weren’t there while I was growing up, know what I mean? So, all that being true, the only thing I can do is say, yes, let’s all get to know one another properly. I like what you said earlier about my kids, letting them get through the funeral and some of the grieving process before we spring this on them, but I don’t think we should wait too long. Maybe a few days after the funeral, we can all get together for a cookout or something. How would that sound?”
Harry smiled and dipped his head. “I think that sounds wonderful,” he said, “providing, of course, that I’m out of jail by then.”
“Jail?” Harold asked, startled. “You actually think you’re going to be arrested over this?”
Harry pointed toward the lobby entrance, and they all turned to see Detective Lawton standing in the doorway with two uniform patrol officers. “I’d say it’s about to happen,” he said. “That man in the suit is the detective in charge of the case, and the look on his face when he spotted me sitting here tells me that he hasn’t dropped by for a friendly chat.”
Lawton chose that moment to come walking toward him, the officers following dutifully. He stopped a couple of feet away from their table and looked directly at Harry.
“Mr. Winslow,” he said. “You are under arrest for the murder of Michael Reed.”
“So soon?” Harry asked. “I thought it would take you at least another day to put together a case against me.”
“And it might have,” Lawton said, “if we hadn’t found a witness who saw you enter the house only a couple of minutes before the gunshots rang out.”
20
Sam was sitting at the table in his room, looking down at the pad on which he had scribbled a few notes. He’d spent the past thirty minutes on the phone, starting his effort to clear Harry’s name.
Alan Ellison had answered the phone on the first ring, but it only took a few minutes for Sam to eliminate him as a possible suspect. Ellison worked for the state of Florida, and had been giving a presentation on boating safety in Miami all day. His presence there was easy to confirm, so Sam thanked him for his time and ended the call.
Daniel Jacobs had been a little harder to reach, but Sam had left a couple of voicemails for him and he called back about ten minutes later.
“Mr. Prichard?” Daniel asked. “Daniel Jacobs. On your message, you said it was urgent that I call you. What can I do for you?”
“Daniel, thanks for calling me back,” Sam said. “I’m a private investigator, and I’m working on a case in Clearwater. I’m sure you knew Michael Reed?”
“Yeah, I know that SOB,” Daniel said. “What’s he done now?”
“Daniel, Mr. Reed was murdered sometime earlier today. I understand that you and he had had some altercations, and I wanted to ask if you had any ideas about who might have wanted him dead.”
“Murdered?” Daniel asked, the surprise in his voice sounding quite genuine. “Holy cow, that’s a shocker. I can’t believe anybody could manage to do it, he was one tough bastard. Any idea what happened?”
“All the police are saying right now is that he was shot through the head,” Sam said. “I don’t suppose you went to pay him a visit today, did you?”
“Me? You gotta be kidding. The one thing I always make sure of is that I’m as far away from him as I can be! We got into it one time, and he beat me half to death, and then…”
“And then what?” Sam asked. “Did something happen between the two of you after that?”
“Man, are you sure he’s dead?” Daniel asked. “I don’t want to be opening my mouth if he’s not dead, you feel me?”
“Yeah, I’m pretty sure he’s dead. One of my best friends is probably going to be arrested for the murder, even though he didn’t do it.”
Sam heard Daniel curse under his breath. “Okay, it was like this,” he said. “Me and my ex got into an argument, it was over something stupid. Freaking Reed was my father-in-law, he just happens to show up while she’s yelling at me in the front yard, and next thing I know I’m down on the ground and he’s kicking the snot out of me. Cracked five ribs, broke my wrist, busted my nose, had both eyes swollen shut—I mean, I was in some serious pain! One of the neighbors called the cops and they came down and arrested him, asked me if I wanted to file charges and I said hell yeah, and they loaded me in an ambulance and took me to the hospital. Want to guess what happened three hours later? Michael freaking Reed comes walking into my hospital room just as free as a bird and shoves a gun in my face and tells me if I ever yell at my ex again, he’s gonna blow my head off. And then he says if I tell anybody he came to see me, he’ll kill me for that, too. He’s one crazy bastard, man.”
“Yeah,” Sam said. “Sounds like it. Somebody treated me like that, I might decide to go after him and put a bullet through his head.”
“Do what? Man, don’t be talking crazy like that. I didn’t kill him, I can guarantee you that. You can check, man, I’ve been at work all day.”
“I’ll check, can count on that,” Sam said. “I think I remember you worked at the hospital, is that right?”
“Hospital? Hell no! I manage the gas station at Tarpon Springs Road and Tampa Avenue. And if you don’t believe me, check the security cameras. I had to be there all day because I’m training a new guy.”
“Okay,” Sam said. “You still didn’t answer my original question. Do you have any idea who else might have wanted Michael Reed dead?”
“Just about anyone who knew him, probably,” Daniel said. “A guy like that, he’s bound to make enemies. I mean, he actually threatened to kill me, and man, if you’d been there you’d be just as sure as I am that he really freaking meant that! That dude is crazy, man, or at least was.”
“But you can’t think of anyone in particular? Never heard of someone else who had a serious problem with him?”
“No, man, sorry. I just pay my child support and visit my kids when I’m supposed to, and stay as far away from him as I can.”
Sam thanked him and hung up the phone. The possibility that it had been either of these two men who killed Michael had been slim to begi
n with, and Sam had known they were long shots, but he had to eliminate all possibilities.
He dropped his pen onto the table and leaned back in the chair, rubbing his eyes. This part of detective work was always time-consuming and frustrating. Working a murder investigation was bad enough when you had the resources of an entire police department to work with, but a private investigator was limited. Sam thanked God every day for Indie and Herman, and he even grudgingly acknowledged an appreciation for whatever kind of aberration Beauregard truly was—because, as much as he hated to admit it, Beauregard’s tips actually paid off—but the majority of the work and the deductive process had to be on him.
Back home, he was usually lucky enough that he could work with one of the local police detectives on a case; the chances of getting Lawton to cooperate with him weren’t going to be very good, though. Sam needed information about the crime scene, any kind of information about Michael’s past, business associates, etc. and these were things that the local police were likely to deny him access to.
His phone rang suddenly, and he picked it up. There was a local number on the display but he didn’t recognize it, so he answered gruffly. “Prichard.”
“Jerry Lawton,” said the familiar voice, “the police detective. Where is your boy Winslow?”
“Downstairs in the restaurant,” Sam said. “Why?”
“Because we got a witness who described him perfectly, and saw him go into Michael Reed’s house just minutes before the gunshots were heard. He’s got a concrete motive and now we can place him at the scene of the crime as it was happening, so the State Attorney got the judge to go for a warrant. I’m coming into your hotel right now to arrest him.”
The line went dead and Sam jumped up quickly. He had kicked off his shoes and taken off his shirt while he made his calls, so he hurriedly pulled the shirt back on, buttoned it and tucked it in, while sliding his feet into his shoes. He grabbed his phone and slipped his jacket on as he went out the door. The elevator chimed as he got to it and an elderly couple stepped out. Sam smiled at them as he slipped inside and hit the button for the ground floor.
When it opened again, Sam hurried out and headed for the restaurant, but he was too late. Harry was being led out in handcuffs already, and Sam saw Kathleen trying to follow. He spotted Lawton and stepped in front of him.
“Who is this witness?” Sam asked. “I’m gonna want to talk to all of your witnesses, you know that.”
“Prichard,” Lawton said, “you go bothering any witnesses, I’ll charge you with obstruction of justice. I don’t need you interfering and messing up my investigation.”
“What investigation? Doesn’t it strike you a little odd that you even have a witness who claims to have seen Harry? You’re talking about a man who spent many years slipping in and out of foreign countries and accomplishing missions that most people wouldn’t even believe, but he’s gonna be stupid enough to let a witness spot him while he’s trying to commit murder?”
“Yeah, yeah,” Lawton said. “Look, maybe he was some kinda superspy back in the day, but now he’s old. Ain’t you ever heard of Alzheimer’s? Happens to you when you get old, makes you forget things. Maybe he just forgot to put on his superspy disguise.”
“Oh, good grief,” Sam said. “Let me ask you this: you said you had a witness who saw him go in. Did anyone see him leave?”
“What would that matter? All we need to know is that he was seen going in just before Reed was killed.”
“Think for a moment, would you? You’ve got witnesses who claim to have heard gunshots, and what’s the normal reaction when you hear a gunshot? You look in the direction it came from, right? So, now you’ve got witnesses who heard gunshots and looked in the direction they came from, did they see anyone leave the house? Did any of your witnesses see Harry leaving the house?”
Lawton glared at him. “At the moment, all we got is that he was going in just before the gunshots. Nobody saw anyone leave the house afterward, no. Hey, I got it, maybe Mr. Superspy suddenly realized there might be people watching, so he snuck out through the back. That would make sense, right?”
“Only if Harry was an alligator. Reed’s backyard was pretty small and backed up right to the water. You need to be asking yourself how witnesses could see somebody go in, but not see them leave. I’m pretty sure you’re dealing with a professional killer, here, somebody who could show up looking like Harry in order to throw suspicion on to him, then disappear without a trace.”
Lawton shrugged and gave Sam a wide-eyed look. “Well, isn’t your old buddy there supposed to be a professional killer? Sounds to me like he’s guilty as hell, and using you to try to build him a reasonable doubt defense. If you can convince a jury he wouldn’t do things this way, he might walk.” Lawton grinned suddenly. “But I wouldn’t count on it.”
Sam grimaced and shook his head. “What about bail?”
“He’ll be arraigned tomorrow morning on the nine o’clock docket,” Lawton said. “I would imagine bail will be pretty stiff, though, we’re talking about capital murder.”
The detective turned and walked away, leaving Sam standing there with Kathleen beside him. Her children had come out of the restaurant and were standing just behind the two of them, but neither had said a word. Sam watched the police car drive away with Harry in the back, then turned to face Kathleen and her kids.
“What was that all about,” Harold asked, “with that detective?”
“He says they’ve got a witness that saw Harry go into Michael’s house just a short time before the gunshots were heard. I was pointing out to him that if people hear gunshots, they naturally look in the direction they came from. That would make you think that one of them should have seen Harry leaving, but nobody did. Makes me think it wasn’t Harry they saw, after all. Why would he take a chance of witnesses seeing him? For that matter, why would he use a gun that people could hear, when I happen to know that he has a pistol with a sound suppressor? If he was going to commit murder, that would probably be the gun he would want to use, but he left it in the hotel room when he went to get his cigars.”
“Did he have any other guns?” Beth asked. “Maybe he just thought, ‘oh, hey, I’m out by myself, why don’t I go kill Michael?’ Maybe he just took a chance and it blew up in his face when somebody saw him.”
“No, the only other gun was mine, and I’ve had it the whole time. I realize you don’t know him yet, but if you understand Harry, none of this makes any sense at all.”
“So what can you do, Sam?” Kathleen asked. “How can you help him?”
“I don’t know, yet,” Sam said, “but I can promise you I won’t give up until I find a way.”
“I’ll pay you whatever it costs,” Kathleen said suddenly. “If Michael is dead, then I’ll end up with most of everything. We both had wills, and I doubt he had a chance to change it today.”
Sam put a hand on her shoulder. “Harry’s got me taken care of,” he said. “We’ll go to his initial appearance in the morning, and you might be able to bail him out. I would imagine your house is probably closed off for now, as a crime scene, but you can contact the police department to find out when you can go back inside. I’d really like to get a look in there, see if I can spot anything this CSI team might have missed.”
“Well, I have a key. Do we actually have to have permission to go in there?”
Sam nodded. “Until the police crime scene tape is removed, yes. They should be done by sometime tomorrow, I would think. For tonight, we might as well just get some rest.”
“Mom,” Beth said, “do you want to stay here at the hotel, or come home with me and the kids? They’re pretty upset about Dad—about Michael, I mean, but I know they’d love to see you.”
“No,” Kathleen said. “I think I just want to stay here tonight. I’ll go with Sam to the initial appearances in the morning, and I’ll call you both afterward.”
Harold and Beth gave her hugs, and Harold shook Sam’s hand. “Mr. Prichard, if there’s
anything I can do…”
“I might take you up on that,” Sam said. “Thanks for keeping a cool head through all this. I think it’s helped your mother and your sister a lot.”
Harold shrugged. “Sometimes,” he said, “you just have to deal with whatever reality the world hands you. It isn’t always easy, but it’s still reality.”
21
Sam went back to his room and called Indie to tell her the news. She was naturally upset, but understood that, under the circumstances, it was logical for Harry to be arrested. She wished Sam luck on finding the real killer, cautioning him to be careful, and then the conversation turned to simpler things.
When he got off the phone, Sam took a shower and climbed into bed, even though it was not yet nine o’clock. He often did some of his best thinking in bed, and this case was giving him plenty to think about. Unfortunately, he didn’t have any great epiphanies during the night, so he rose early the next morning and got dressed and ready for court, then called Kathleen next door.
She answered on the first ring. “Hi, Sam,” she said.
“Hey,” Sam replied. “Feel like going down for breakfast?”
“I’ll have to pass. Detective Lawton called before you did, and they’re sending a car to pick me up to take me to the Medical Examiner’s office. I have to identify the body.”
“Oh, crap, I should’ve thought of that. Call Lawton back and tell him I’ll bring you.”
“It’s too late for that, I think. You go on and have your breakfast, then do whatever you can think of to help Harry. I’ll get a cab afterward and meet you at the courtroom, okay?”
“Are you sure you don’t want me to at least go with you? Identification—it can be pretty rough.”