“That’s okay,” Becker said. “She wants to walk with you—don’t you, Deputy?”
“Yes, sir,” she said, nodding again.
I shrugged and said, “Sure, why not?”
“We’ll be talking to you later, Mr. Jacoby.”
“My pleasure,” I said, then added, “I didn’t mean—”
“That’s okay,” Becker said, “I know what you mean.”
20
Deputy Merrill and I went down to the front desk, where I managed to convince the clerk—with her help—that he wouldn’t be aiding and abetting me in an escape if he gave me another room.
“Well,” he finally relented, “if she says it’s all right.”
I pocketed my new key and was walking away from the desk when he said, “Hey, what about the other key?”
It was in my pocket, but just to be mean I said, “You’ll have to get it from the detective.”
“W-which detective?” he called out as I walked away.
My buddy, the hairless deputy, was still standing in the lobby, and he nodded at us as we walked by him and into Denny’s.
“Two?” the waitress asked.
“No,” Deputy Merrill said.
“Yes,” I said.
“I can’t—” the deputy started.
“You’re supposed to watch me, right?” I said. “Make sure I don’t try to run away?”
“Well . . . yes . . .”
“What are you going to do?” I asked. “Stand and watch me have coffee?”
“Well . . . no . . .”
“Come on,” I said, “they’re not going to fire you for having coffee.”
“This way,” the waitress said.
I followed, and the deputy followed me . . . tentatively.
“I can’t sit until you do,” I told her when we reached the table. “My upbringing.”
“Oh,” she said, “okay.”
She sat down, and I sat opposite her.
“Two coffees,” I said to the waitress.
“Uh-huh.”
“Got any good pie?”
The waitress looked at me and said, “What do you think this is, the Village Inn?”
“Just the coffee, thanks.”
As the waitress left, I looked across at Deputy Merrill. She was sitting with her back straight, her shoulders back, and her hat still on.
“Take off your hat,” I said.
“Oh, I couldn’t do that,” she said. “I’m on duty.”
I said something to the woman, not the deputy.
“It looks silly.”
She hesitated for just a moment, then took it off and put it on one of the other empty seats. Her blond hair was cut short, rather than pinned up under the hat, as I had suspected.
“What?” she asked as I stared at her.
“Nothing,” I said. “I just thought you had longer hair.”
She touched her hair, and now the deputy was completely gone. She looked soft, even in the uniform.
“What’s wrong with my hair?”
“Nothing,” I said, “nothing at all. It’s lovely.”
The waitress came with two cups, poured them full, and carried the pot off.
“How long do you think this is going to take?” I asked her, picking up my cup.
“What?” she asked, still touching her hair.
“I mean, how long am I going to have to stay around here?”
“Oh,” she said, dropping her hand, “it could take a few hours. I mean, the ME has to come, and probably a superior officer. . . . It could take hours.”
“Well, I can’t drink coffee for hours,” I said. I sipped the coffee and then put the cup down. “I especially can’t drink this coffee for hours.”
She tasted the coffee and lowered the cup to the table.
“It’s not bad.”
“I’ll bet you drink some pretty bad coffee on this job.”
She smiled then and said, “Yeah, some pretty bad coffee.”
“Tell me something,” I said. “What’s the difference between the sheriff’s office and the Tampa city police?”
“There are a lot of different counties within the city,” she said. “Each has its own sheriff’s office. When it comes to a crime like this, the city detectives conduct the investigation.”
“How long have you been a deputy?”
“About two years,” she said. “I was on the waiting list for nine months before that, but when you’re on the list you have to go out on patrol, sort of be in training without pay.”
“What’d you do while you were in training?” I asked. “Before you became a deputy.’
“I used to work at the tracks as a betting clerk.”
“The tracks?”
“Tampa Bay Downs,” she said, “the Tampa Dog Track, sometimes jai alai—hey, why am I answering all these questions?”
“Because I’m the only one asking questions,” I said. “We’ve got to do something while we’re waiting, don’t we?”
“Okay,” she said, “then I’ll ask some questions.”
“Sure,” I said, “go ahead.”
“You really didn’t know who that guy in your room was?” she asked.
“No,” I said. “Is that so hard to believe?”
“Well,” she said, “why would someone leave a body in your room?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “I guess that’s up to Becker and Rizzo to find out. I’m just here on vacation.”
“On vacation?” she asked. “Why would you come here on vacation?”
“You mean to Florida?”
“I mean, why would you be staying here!” she said, indicating our surroundings. “Why not Orlando, near Disney? Or some bigger hotel, near Busch Gardens or the airport?”
“This place was recommended to me as someplace quiet,” I said. “All I need is a place to sleep at night, not some resort with parties on every floor.”
“You don’t look like a man on vacation,” she said.
“Well, I have been sort of driving around in circles,” I said. “Maybe what I need is a guide, somebody who lives here and can show me where to go.”
If she knew what I was hinting at, she chose to let it go by the boards.
“When did you get to Florida?”
“Yesterday.”
“Did you rent a car?”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“Alamo.”
“Where have you gone so far?”
“Not too many places,” I said. “I went to a place called the Pier.”
“In St. Pete?”
I nodded.
“Why’d you go there?” she asked.
“It was recommended by a friend.”
“The same friend who recommended this hotel?”
“As a matter of fact,” I said, “yes.”
“And you haven’t been to Busch Gardens yet?”
“No.”
“That’s funny.”
“Why?”
“People who come to Tampa usually come here to go to Busch Gardens.”
“I intend to go,” I said. “I just haven’t gone yet.”
“I would have thought you’d go there before you went all the way to St. Pete to the Pier.”
“These are not exactly the same kind of questions I was asking you,” I said.
“Like I said,” she replied, “I’m on duty.”
At that moment I saw Detective Becker come into Denny’s behind her. He looked around, spotted us, and came over. When she saw him, she grabbed her hat and stood up.
“That’ll be all, Deputy,” he said without looking at her. “Go back to the room and my partner will tell you what we want you to do.”
“Yes, sir,” she said. She hesitated a moment, then said to me, “Thanks for the coffee.”
“Sure,” I said.
Becker didn’t see the look she gave him, but I did, and it said “asshole.” I agreed with her.
Becker sat down, and I waved the waitress over.<
br />
“I’ll have a refill, and get my friend a cup.”
“Sure.”
“You can collect your belongings from the room and move them to your new one,” he said.
“Thanks.”
“You got into town yesterday, right?”
“You take a look at my ticket?” I asked. “That means you went through my underwear drawers.”
“Your return date is a week from now,” he said. “Short vacation?”
“My budget won’t allow for much more,” I said. “Just because I work for myself doesn’t mean I can take unlimited vacations.”
“I guess not,” he said.
“What else did you find in my room, Detective?”
“Not much,” he said. “You bought a lot of postcards.”
“I have a lot of friends.”
“Must be all male friends,” he said.
“I just haven’t gotten around to buying cards for the women yet,” I said. “You get an ID on the dead guy?”
“Yeah,” Becker said. He took a notebook out of his pocket as the waitress poured him a cup of coffee and refilled mine. “His name was Styles, Ben Styles. That ring a bell?”
“Not a bit,” I said. “Where was he from?”
“From here.”
“Florida?”
“Tampa,” Becker said. He put the notebook away, picked up the coffee, and tasted it. “I can see why my partner doesn’t come here.”
“Just out of curiosity,” I said, “what’s the drill here? Who caught the case?”
“We’re partners,” he said, “but officially, the case is mine.”
He stood up.
“Am I done?”
“For now,” he said. “Come collect your stuff. Here’s my card. Come to that address tomorrow so we can take a written statement.”
I accepted the card and said, “I’ll be there.”
“You look clean in this, Jacoby,” Becker said, pointing his finger at me. That’s always served to endear people to me. “Don’t let me find out I’m mistaken.”
“Hey,” I said, spreading my hands, “somebody picked my room to dump a body. It could have happened to anyone.”
“Yeah,” he said, “but it happened to a vacationing P.I. from New York.”
“Which part is it you don’t like, Detective?” I asked. “Vacationing, P.I., or New York?”
“I have a problem with two out of three,” Becker said. “Come by early tomorrow, all right?”
“Right after breakfast,” I said.
He went back across to the hotel lobby, spoke briefly with the deputy in the lobby, and then they both disappeared. My guess was that the deputies would be canvassing for witnesses.
I hoped that nobody had happened to be looking out their window when I pulled into the parking lot . . . the first time.
I saw Becker again briefly when I went to the room to pick up my things. He and Rizzo were still there, waiting for the ME. None of the deputies was in evidence.
I was very deliberate in collecting my things because I wanted to see if anything was missing. I had to step over the body to retrieve the postcards and papers I had put on the night table next to the phone. That was when I noticed that the piece of paper upon which I had written the phone number I had gotten from Geneva was gone, torn off of the hotel pad I had written it on. I didn’t have a chance to look around for it because the ME arrived just then and Becker hustled me out of the room.
Funny that someone would take only that.
21
Tension is a funny thing. I’d been on an adrenaline high from the moment I found the body in my room and knew that somebody was trying to set me up. Once I got to my new room—on the second floor this time—behind closed doors, I suddenly felt very sleepy, so just a couple of hours after finding a dead body in my room, I took a nap.
I woke up an hour later and tried to get a discreet look at my old room, to see if the cops were gone. They were, and had made pretty good time doing it. I’d gotten back from Orlando about four, and I’d guess that the cops were in the picture by four-fifteen. It was now seven. It seemed to me like a lot more than three hours or so had gone by. When I went down to the lobby, there were no deputies in view, and no cars—county, city, or otherwise—in the parking lot.
“They’re gone,” the desk clerk said.
I looked over at him. He seemed much more at ease with me now that I hadn’t been taken away in handcuffs.
“How long ago?”
“Maybe twenty minutes, a half an hour,” he said. “Not long after they actually took the body out.”
“I see.”
“It must have been awful for you,” he said. “I mean, I know you’re from New York, but finding a body in your room? Wasn’t it awful?”
I thought about teasing him, but decided it wasn’t worth the effort. And he was trying to be nice, wasn’t he?
“It was awful.”
“How awful?” he asked, and now he seemed a little anxious.
I thought I knew what he was getting at.
“Not awful enough for me to sue the hotel over,” I said, and he visibly relaxed.
“Oh,” he said then, “one of the deputies left you a message.”
“Really?”
“Yes,” he said with a smirk, “the female one.”
He handed me an envelope.
I checked my watch and saw that it was time for dinner.
“Do you know a place called the Outback?” I asked.
“Oh, yes,” he said. “It’s right on Dale Mabry. You just have to drive south about a mile or so, maybe more. I’m terrible with distances.”
“That’s all right,” I said. “I’ll find it.”
I went back to my room and opened the envelope. It was a short note, written in an erratic hand. I could imagine trying to read the offense on a summons she had written.
It said: “If you still want a guide, call me.” There was a phone number after it, but the note wasn’t signed. I picked up the phone and dialed the number.
“’Lo,” a tiny voice said.
“Hi,” I said. “Is your mommy home?”
The phone dropped and the tiny voice became louder, shouting, “Mommy, Mommy!”
I waited and eventually the phone was picked up.
“Hello?”
“Is this Deputy Merrill?” I asked.
“It is.”
“I’m still in need of a guide.”
“Mr. Jacoby,” she said.
“Miles,” I said. “I know it’s kind of late, but have you had dinner yet?”
“No,” she said, “I just got off duty a little while ago.”
“Will you have dinner with me?”
“I’ll have to get a baby-sitter.”
“Bring . . . him?”
“Yes, him,” she said. “No, it’s all right, I can get a sitter. Did you have someplace in mind?”
“The Outback?”
“I know it,” she said. “Um, it’s almost seven-thirty now. In an hour?”
“Sure.”
“Um, you’d better get there earlier and give them your name. There’s usually a wait.”
“Is there a bar?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll wait for you in the bar.”
“All right,” she said. “See you there.”
I hung up, remembering how she had been questioning me over coffee. I had the feeling I might be dealing with a deputy who had visions of making detective rather than a woman who had found me irresistible. Still, I enjoy eating with pretty women.
I left the room and headed for the Outback.
22
The Outback was an “Australian” restaurant that boasted Foster’s, steaks, and something called the “Bloomin’ Onion.” I’d find out what that was over dinner. I gave my name to the hostess, told her “party of two,” and then went into the bar. ESPN was on the tube, and people were shoulder to shoulder, waiting for tables, or just hanging out at the bar. I found a slot and
ordered a Foster’s. Before long Sports-Center came on, but I listened to the news of the day in sports with only one ear.
I was thinking about the phone number I had gotten from Geneva. Had I taken the piece of paper with me and lost it? I didn’t think so. I was pretty sure I had left it on the table with the racy postcards. Had one of the deputies taken it? I doubted that. Cops were cops, and if they had taken something, it would have been one of those postcards. What about the detectives? Why would Becker or Rizzo have taken the phone number? It had a New York area code, so that was no secret. Besides, if they’d been interested in it, they could have copied it.
Try as I might, I couldn’t remember the number. I was wishing now that I had torn off the piece of paper beneath it on the hotel pad I’d written it on. It might have given me the impression of the number.
So, what about the number? Why would whoever had dumped the body in my room take the phone number of a potential client in New York?
There were two things I had to do, either when I got back to my room or—if that was too late—in the morning. I had to call Geneva and see if she still had the phone number. I also had to talk to my friendly hotel clerk and see if I could get back into my old room. If not, maybe I could find out from him where the used pads went when rooms were made up for new guests.
I was thinking about ordering another beer when there was a tap on my shoulder I turned and found myself looking at Deputy Merrill.
I leaned back and she leaned forward so I could speak into her ear.
“I don’t think you want me calling you ‘Deputy’ in here,” I said.
She smiled, put her mouth to my ear, and said, “Cathy.” Her breath was warm on my cheek.
“’Scuse me,” I said to the guy next to me.
He turned, saw me, saw Cathy, and then said, “Sorry, mate,” and tried to make some room for her He was either Australian or he was really getting into the swing of the place.
She slid into place next to me, and I asked, “What can I get you to drink?”
“White wine.”
It took a while, but I finally got the bartender’s attention. By the time he brought the wine, my name was coming over the loudspeaker.
“That’s us,” I said.
I took my beer, and Cathy carried her wine as we followed the hostess to a booth in the back. The place was jam-packed with couples and families, and all of the tables and hardwood booths were filled once we slid into ours.
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