Before I Sleep

by Rachel Lee

  In retrospect, she could see that she had believed she was the only one with anything to lose. And fear of her vulnerability had kept her silent when she should have spoken, leading to a tension that had inevitably resulted in fights where she attacked him, rather than just expressing her fears and insecurity. And naturally, he had responded in kind, leaving them both bruised, bloody, and distrusting.

  She had never trusted his feelings for her. Worse, she had never believed he had any. It was a little shocking to realize that she had engaged in a six-month relationship with a man she thought didn't care a damn for her. And worse, that she had been so afraid of losing him that she had almost lost herself.

  “What?” he asked, watching the shadows flit across her face.

  “I've been a fool,” she said. Funny, but that was a lot easier to admit now than it would have been five years ago. There was a bump as the plane's tires hit the runway, and she felt her hands tighten on the armrests.

  “How so?” he asked.

  The reverse thrust cut in with a roar, making it impossible to speak. Only when it quieted again did she look at him. He was waiting expectantly.

  “Seamus?”

  He nodded encouragingly.

  “Did you ever really love me?”

  He nodded slowly, holding her gaze. She couldn't doubt him.

  “Hell,” she said finally, and looked away. “I never believed you did.”

  Neither of them spoke again until they were docked at the gate. While passengers stirred around them, jamming the aisle and reaching for luggage, they sat quietly in their seats.

  Seamus turned and looked at her as the crowd began to thin. “That was my fault,” he said. “I felt so damn guilty about what I felt for you that I resented it.”

  She nodded, feeling a wave of sadness wash over her.

  “What a mess we made of it.”

  “We could do better this time, if we try.”

  She thought about that all the way home. He drove her over the Courtney Campbell Causeway and dropped her at her town house.

  “I've got to get back to work,” he said. “See if I can get the ball rolling on the Otis thing. Get some sleep, sweetheart.”

  She shook her head. “No. I'm going to call the governor and see if I can't get him on my Monday show. Even if we don't come up with anything else over the weekend, maybe what we have will be enough to convince him to stay the execution while we continue the investigation.”

  He shook his head. “Good luck. If the man wants to get reelected, he's not likely to do that.”

  “I have to do everything I can, Seamus. Everything.”

  “Yeah.” Leaning over, he brushed a kiss on her lips. “I'll be in touch.”

  She climbed out, pulled out her suitcase, then stood in her driveway in the hot Florida sunshine and watched him drive away. He'd be in touch. It wasn't a whole lot to cling to, but here she was, clinging again.

  Either she was a fool or she was a saint. And either one was a pretty miserable thing to be. She might as well wear a sign saying “kick me.”

  Then she went inside to tackle the governor.

  Gil Garcia was at the table making phone calls when Seamus arrived at work. He raised his eyebrows questioningly as he saw his partner walk into the room.

  Seamus came over, pulled out his familiar chair, and sat, reaching for his own messages. They'd stacked up, he saw, even though Gil had probably handled any calls that had to do with their active cases. He scanned them quickly, while he waited for Gil to get off the phone, then set them aside to deal with later. All of them could safely wait.

  Gil hung up the phone. “How'd it go? Did you bring me anything?”

  Seamus passed him the credit card statement and his notes. “Take a gander at that.”

  “And here I was hoping for roses.” But Gil opened the notebook and began to read. “At the very least I was hoping you could learn to write legibly …” His voice trailed off. “Jesus Christ.” He looked at the credit card statement. “Jesus,” he said again.

  “It's pretty obvious, isn't it?”

  “Motive and opportunity. Christ, Seamus, it's a stronger case than we had against John! At least we can positively prove James was in the same town at the time of the Kline murders. That's more than we were able to do with John.”

  Seamus nodded and leaned back in his chair, loosening his tie. “If this were a routine investigation, I'd be leaping for joy.”

  “So what's wrong?”

  “In five days the wrong man is going to die for the Kline murders. It's not enough time unless we can find James and get him to confess.” At this late stage, nothing less could halt the process. The law had already made its decision on John's guilt.

  “I ran his name through DMV in fifty states. The guy doesn't have a license, at least not under his own name.”

  “Shit.” Seamus drummed his fingers on the table. “Well, I've got a picture of him. Let's flood the streets with it and see what we can turn up. We know he's been calling from Gulfport, so the logical assumption is that he's somewhere within walking distance of the pay phone he's been using.”

  Gil nodded. “Time to talk to Ed.”

  Ed looked up as they entered his office. “Back from the missing, eh? Was it a nice little vacation?”

  “That's what I want to talk to you about.”

  Ed cocked his head. “I take it this means the department is going to pay for your trip?”

  “Considering I found a strong suspect in the Downs and Barnstable killings, I should hope so.”

  “What have you got?” He listened, nodding from time to time as Seamus went over the details, and expelled a long breath when he finished. “Shit. It's not enough.”

  “It's enough to try to find the guy.”

  “I know that.” Ed grimaced. “I was just thinking of John Otis. We might not have enough time.”

  Gil laughed. “Have you been listening to Carey Justice, too?”

  “Of course I listen to her. When she isn't crapping on the legal profession, she's scalding cops. It never hurts to know what kind of press we're getting. Did you hear that thing she did last night on sexual harassment? Good show. I especially liked the part where the lawyers were threatening each other.” He flashed a grin. “Okay, so let's get the picture out on the streets. We'll need to coordinate with the Gulfport PD. I'll talk to them.”

  St. Petersburg surrounded little Gulfport on two sides, divided by a line only a surveyor could see. To the uninitiated, it all seemed like one town. To the cops, however, that dividing line was a crucial one that had to be observed in favor of good intercity relations.

  “Oh,” Ed said as they were about to leave, “the Mayberry case. You've got the go-ahead to call in some of the local people for questioning. The chief just wants it to be quiet and gentle, okay?”

  Seamus held up a hand. “No blackjacks and rubber hoses, I swear.”

  “Try not raising your voice,” Ed said sourly. “Gently, Rourke. Gently.”

  “The first one I want to talk to,” Seamus said to Gil as they headed back to their places at the table, “is Rico.”

  “Rico? Why?”

  “You know that thing Hollister said about him, that he told those people they didn't have to be witnesses if they didn't want to?”

  “Yeah, I remember. So? It's true.”

  “It's true, but what cop tells a witness something like that?”

  “He's studying prelaw.”

  “Ahh. That might explain it.”

  “Maybe.”

  He and Gil exchanged looks, then both of them shook their heads at the same time, and said, “Nah.”

  They took the picture over to get it copied and distributed, then went Rico hunting.

  CHAPTER 19

  5 Days

  Rico was on patrol, but they located him taking a break at a convenience store. He was standing outside, leaning against his patrol car, eating an ice cream sandwich and talking to some ten- or eleven-year-old kids. The
kids were fascinated by him, by his uniform and all the things on his belt. Ice cream in one hand, he used the other to point out each item he was carrying.

  A good neighborhood cop, Seamus thought. It didn't make him feel any better. He suddenly had the cowardly wish that he were up in Feather Sound, with his arms and legs wrapped around Carey's naked body, instead of here in the sweltering heat, about to make life difficult for a guy who was probably basically a good cop.

  “Let's get an ice cream,” Seamus suggested to Gil.

  “Good idea.”

  They climbed out of their car and waved to Rico as they entered the store. He waved back and returned his attention to the children.

  “How many kids did you count?” Seamus asked as they stood at the ice cream freezer.

  “Five.”

  “Popsicles or ice cream sandwiches?”

  “Buy the sandwiches. We're wealthy enough.”

  Seamus picked up seven ice cream sandwiches and paid for them at the checkout. Outside he and Seamus approached Rico and his cluster of admirers.

  “Well, look what we have here, kids,” Rico said. “Two detectives.”

  The kids looked around with interest that quickly faded when all they saw was two men in slightly rumpled suits. Rico was a far more interesting figure—until Seamus started handing out ice cream sandwiches. The children retreated to the cool grass in the shade of a live oak with their treasures. Seamus ripped open his own sandwich and took a bite.

  “So how's it going, guys?” Rico asked. He popped the last of his sandwich into his mouth and licked his fingertips.

  “Why do they always make these with vanilla ice cream?” Gil asked. “I wish they had strawberry.”

  “They've got some Neapolitan ones in there,” Rico said.

  “Didn't you see them?”

  “Guess not.”

  “Don't mind him,” Seamus said. “He's never happy with anything.”

  “Born complainer, that's me.”

  Rico laughed. “So, you made any progress on the Mayberry case?”

  Seamus looked at Gil. “I don't know. What do you think?”

  Gil shrugged. “Depends. Hollister had some interesting things to say.”

  To Seamus it seemed that Rico stiffened ever so slightly. Unfortunately, he was wearing sunglasses, and his eyes were invisible behind them. “Sam Hollister?”

  “That's the guy,” Gil said. “Know him?”

  “He lives in the neighborhood. I've talked to him a couple of times.”

  “What's your impression of him?”

  Rico hesitated. “You know how old folks get. A little confused.”

  “He didn't strike me as confused,” Seamus said.

  “Me neither,” Gil agreed.

  “He's better sometimes than others,” Rico said with a shrug. “What did he say?”

  “Just that he was worried the neighborhood watch might have gotten a little, um, forceful in their duties.” Seamus spoke casually, as if he didn't really believe it, but there was no mistaking the tightening of Rico's jaw. He could tell Gil saw it, too.

  “So what do you think Rico?” Gil asked. “Any of those old geezers capable of taking the law into their own hands?”

  Rico looked down at the pavement, but didn't say anything.

  Seamus spoke again. “Hollister said you told folks over there they didn't have to be witnesses if they didn't want to.”

  “Christ!” Rico's head jerked up, and his chin thrust forward. “Yeah, I said that. I said that when I was talking to them about neighborhood watch four or five months ago. Some of the women were worried about having to testify in court against drug dealers if they saw them up to something. So I told ‘em nobody could force ‘em to testify, that'd have to be their own decision. What the hell is wrong with that?”

  “Not a thing,” Gil said pleasantly. “So you were the one who told them they could claim to be blind, deaf, and dumb?”

  “Basically. I was trying to reassure those old ladies.”

  “Well, they apparently learned their lesson well.”

  “Yeah.” Rico sighed and looked down at the pavement again.

  Seamus spoke. “So what about Hollister's feeling that one of his neighbors might have shot Mayberry?”

  Rico expelled a long breath. “He might be right.”

  “Do you know?”

  “Honest to God, I don't want to know,” Rico said angrily. “They were a bunch of old people scared in their own homes and streets. When I first heard a guy'd been shot over there, I thought it was just street justice, and about damn time.”

  “But Mayberry was innocent of any wrongdoing. Just a young guy taking a shortcut home from the store on his bike.”

  “Yeah.”

  “So,” Seamus pressed, “what if I were to ask you to speculate who would be the person likeliest to have pulled the trigger—if, by some wild chance, it was one of the residents.”

  Rico shrugged, as if he wasn't going to answer, then said, “Barney Wieberneit. Now I'm not saying he did it. Just that he'd be the first one to spring to my mind.”

  “Thanks a lot, Rico,” Seamus said. Just then, the breeze gusted and wrapped his tie around his ice cream. He swore.

  Gil started laughing, and finally even Rico smiled. After that he talked much more freely about the neighborhood. Satisfied, Seamus and Gil drove over to the site of the Mayberry killing.

  “There he is,” Seamus said to Gil forty minutes later. They'd pumped Rico for enough information about the neighborhood that they felt they knew which residents they wanted to question in addition to Wieberneit. It was early evening, now, and most everyone was home. Rico had said that Barney Wieberneit was fanatical about his yard, and came out every evening to check on it.

  It was Seamus who had suggested they wait for Wieberneit to get outside before they approached one of his neighbors for questioning. They wanted the man to see what was going on, and maybe get nervous.

  Barney Wieberneit was a solidly built man, still straight and powerful-looking in his early seventies. He had steel gray hair and a square, pugnacious jaw.

  “I can see him as a Marine in WWII,” said Gil. “Bet he was a gunny.”

  “Probably.” Seamus, who'd done his own time in Marine green in his reckless youth, recognized the type. They sometimes got the notion they were a law unto themselves.

  Herman Glowinsky was the man they were going to see first. Rico had felt that if Wieberneit had actually killed Mayberry, Glowinsky would be the one most closely involved.

  “He's seen us,” Gil said.

  Indeed he had. Wieberneit had paused by the flower bed and was staring openly at them. Good neighborhood watch activity.

  “Let's go.” Seamus climbed out of the car first and stood on the sidewalk. He was about twenty feet from Wieberneit. “Excuse me,” he called to the man. “I'm Seamus Rourke, St. Pete PD. Are you Herman Glowinsky?”

  “No.” The man continued to stare.

  “Which house does he live in?”

  “You got some ID?”

  Seamus obligingly produced his shield.

  “Over there,” Wieberneit said with a jerk of his head. “He got a problem?”

  Seamus smiled. “We just want to ask him a few questions. Thanks for your help.”

  Together he and Gil walked to Glowinsky's front door, feeling Wieberneit's gaze on them every step of the way.

  The door was answered by a fragile-looking woman with thin white hair and a wide, warm smile. “Can I help you?”

  Seamus showed his shield while Gil explained that they wanted a word with Mr. Glowinsky about the Mayberry murder.

  The woman introduced herself as Mrs. Glowinsky and invited them inside. In a matter of two minutes, they found themselves comfortably seated with tall glasses of iced tea and a plate of cookies, and a view of a small swimming pool full of sparkling blue water.

  “Herman's in the garage,” she said. “He's building a cradle for our next grandchild, who's due in two we
eks. He's built a cradle for each of the grandchildren, you know. They'll make wonderful heirlooms. I'll just go get him.”

  “Hell,” said Gil, after she left them alone. “These are good people.”

  “So was Mayberry.”

  Gil nodded, but Seamus suspected he wasn't any happier about this than he was himself. If it turned out that the good folks of this neighborhood were the bad guys after all, it wasn't going to feel very good.

  Herman Glowinsky joined them just a couple of minutes later. He was a small man, lean like his wife, and stooped around the shoulders, but there was no mistaking the vitality in his step, or the strength in his arms and shoulders. His wife brought him a glass of iced tea and handed it to him as soon as he was seated in a wicker chair. She sat beside him, her knees primly together, and her hands folded in her lap.

  “We have a few questions about the murder that happened here two months ago,” Seamus said.

  Glowinsky nodded. His wife's hands fluttered in her lap.

  “We understand you started a neighborhood watch because drug activity was spilling over into this area.”

  The old man nodded again. “They were standing out there, at the mouth of the street, brazen as you please, and walking through our neighborhood as if they owned it But it wasn't just the dealers. It was the kind of people they brought with them.”

  “It was terrible,” Mrs. Glowinsky said. “It used to be so peaceful here. We hardly ever needed the police. Maybe that's why they came here in the first place.”

  “They move around a lot,” Gil said. He sipped his tea and complimented Mrs. Glowinsky. “Once we start cracking down on them in one area, they move to another.”

  “That's what I said,” Herman agreed with a nod. “I said all we had to do was stay on the streets so they knew we were watching, and ask the police to come here more often, and they'd move on. The whole reason they came here in the first place was that it got too hot over on Twenty-second.”

  “Probably,” Seamus agreed with a nod.

  “But it was scary,” Mrs. Glowinsky said. “I didn't even want to drive by myself because they'd shout things at me when I drove past. At least after we started the watch, and started doing things in groups, they weren't as threatening.”