by Unknown
"I didn't mean to snap at you. But I had a weird experience this afternoon, and I still haven't found a new place to live. Why do you think, Sanchez, that Hickey would carry a picture of a mongrel dog in his wallet?"
Ellita stood up, leaned over the desk, and frowned at the items on the desk. "Everything else is expired, so I'd say the dog is probably dead, too. Maybe it was once his dog, and it died, so he wanted to keep the picture as a -memento mori-."
"A -memento mori- is a human skull, not a picture of a dog. But you may be right. There was no indication of a dog living at the Hickey house. Pass me the phone."
Hoke dialed the number on the slip of paper.
"Hello."
"I'd like to speak to Jerry Hickey," Hoke said.
"Who?"
"Jerry Hickey."
"He don't live here no mo'." It was a black woman's voice.
"Who is this, please?"
"Who is you?"
"I want to buy Jerry's dog. When he left, did he leave his dog with you?"
"He didn't have no dog. I don't 'low no dogs here. Who is this?"
"When did Jerry move?"
The woman hung up the phone.
"You're probably right about the dog, Sanchez." Hoke handed her the slip of paper. "Get the address of this number from the phone company. It doesn't mean anything to us, but I can pass it on to Narcotics. It might be a lead for them. Jerry had to get the heroin somewhere. He hadn't been living at home long. I'll find out how long this evening when I talk to his mother."
Ellita nodded. "You want some coffee, Sergeant?"
"Do you?"
"We've got a half hour before we meet with Major Brownley."
"I know that. I asked if you wanted some coffee."
Ellita nodded.
"In that case," Hoke said, "I'll go. You've gone the last three times, and it isn't supposed to work that way. Bill and I always took turns. I've been taking advantage of you. How many sugars?" Hoke got to his feet.
"None. I keep Sweet 'n' Low here in my desk."
Hoke took the elevator downstairs to the basement cafeteria. For some reason, he thought, Ellita seemed to be afraid of him. Several times lately he had noticed her staring at him, and she looked frightened. He couldn't understand it, because he had been leaning over backward to be friendly with her. Maybe it was the meeting coming up with Major Brownley. Most of the detectives in the division were afraid of the major. As a rule, Brownley kept his distance, either by communicating with his detectives through Lieutenant Slater or by sending out memos. It was unusual for Brownley to call a special meeting this way. As he filled two Styrofoam cups with coffee, Hoke wondered vaguely what the old fart wanted.
4
Major Willie Brownley, the first black ever to be appointed to that rank in the department, leaned back in his padded leather chair and got his cigar drawing well before he said anything. His face, the color of an eggplant, but not as shiny, was lined with tiny wrinkles. His cropped hair was gray at the temples, but his well-trimmed mustache was still black. The whites of his eyes were the color of a legal pad. He looked of indeterminate age, but Hoke knew that Willie Brownley was fifty-five, because Hoke had worked for the major when he had been a captain in charge of Traffic. The major wore his navy-blue gabardine uniform even on the hottest days, with the jacket always buttoned, and his trim military appearance made him look younger than his age.
The three detectives sat facing Brownley's desk, with Henderson on the right. Henderson was a large, paunchy man who almost always wore a striped seersucker jacket with poplin wash pants. Although he was officially six feet, two inches tall, he appeared six-four because he wore Adler's elevator shoes. Henderson thought the extra two inches made him look slimmer. They didn't, really, but the extra height did make him look more formidable. Henderson was an affable man, but his front teeth, both uppers and lowers, were laced with a tangle of silver wire and gold caps. When he smiled, these brutal metal-studded teeth were more than a little frightening, particularly when he questioned a suspect. But his smile rarely changed, whether he was interrogating someone or eating a bowl of chili.
Hoke and Ellita sat closer together on the left of the desk, facing the major. Ellita had a yellow legal pad and a ballpoint pen. Before they went to Brownley's office, Hoke told her it might be a good idea to take a few notes.
Brownley dropped the burnt match into an ashtray made from a motorcycle piston, looked at Hoke, shook his head, and smiled. "Hoke, you must be the last man in Miami wearing a leisure suit. Where'd you find it, anyway?"
"There was a close-out in the fashion district. I got this blue poplin and a yellow one just like it for only fifty bucks on a two-for-one sale. I like the extra pockets, and with a leisure suit you don't have to wear a tie."
"You don't wear a leisure suit to court, do you?"
"No. I've got an old blue serge suit I wear to court. Is that what this meeting's about, Willie? My taste in plain clothes?"
"In a way. What I'm doing is what they suggested in the Dale Carnegie course I took last year. I'm putting you all at ease by developing a relaxed atmosphere. You all relaxed now?"
Hoke shook his head, Henderson smiled, and Ellita said, "Yes, sir." Hoke took the butt of the Kool from his shirt pocket, lit it, and dropped the match into Brownley's piston ashtray. He took two drags and then put out the butt.
"Until I tell you different," Brownley said, "consider this meeting as confidential. It'll probably get out in a few days, about what you're doing, simply because of what you're doing, but I don't want the press to get wind of it. If anyone in the department asks you what you're doing, just say you're on a special assignment and let it go at that. Until we see where we're going, I think we can get away with that much, anyway."
Brownley puffed on his cigar before he continued. "You've all heard the rumors about the new colonelcies the chief's passing out, haven't you?"
Henderson shook his head. "Colonelcies? There aren't any colonels in the department. Except for assistant chief-- and we got three already--major's as high as we go."
"I heard something about it the other day," Hoke said, "but I didn't pay any attention to it."
"It isn't official yet, but it's no longer a rumor. The chief's found a sneaky way around the no-raise budget this year. He's creating a new rank of colonel, and there'll be eight of them passed out. The new rank'll mean an extra eighteen hundred bucks a year for those promoted. It'll also mean eight major and captain vacancies. So although there's no money in the new budget for raises, a good many deserving officers will be getting more money when these promotions are okayed by the city manager."
"What about the cop on the street?" Henderson said. "What'll he get?"
"He'll get zip. On the other hand, with more supervisors, it'll mean more vacancies for him, too, if he passes his exams high enough."
"It stinks," Henderson said. "I was in the infantry, and we only had one colonel, the regimental commander, for a fifteen-hundred-man regiment. We've got way less than a thousand cops, and we've already got a highly paid chief, three overpaid assistant chiefs, and now he wants eight new colonels. What we're gonna look like is a damned Mexican army, all generals and no privates."
"A police department's not a rifle regiment, Bill," Brownley said. "You can't equate a professional police officer with a grunt private. Most of our officers have got at least a junior college degree of some kind."
"I know, I know." Henderson scowled. "But what we need's more men on the street, not more brass sitting on their ass."
"You and Hoke both should take the exam for lieutenant. I've told you that before. Promotions are going to break wide open for qualified people. But that's your problem. What I want is one of the colonelcies. And I've come up with a way for you two"--he looked at Ellita, and smiled--"and you, too, Sanchez, to get it for me."
There were four stacks of rust-colored accordion files on the table against the wall. The major pointed at them. "I've been going through the old files.
These are fifty old unsolved homicides. All of them go back a few years, some much longer than others. Some of these, I know, could've been solved at the time. But they weren't solved, or resolved in some way, because there wasn't enough time. There's never enough time. Most breaks, as you know, come in the first twenty-four hours. After three or four days, something else comes up, and after two weeks, unless you get a break accidentally, you're on a new case, or even three new cases. After six months, the homicide's so far back in pending, it's colder than the victim.
"I'm not telling you something you don't know already. I didn't become the Homicide chief because I was a detective. I'm an administrator, and I was promoted for my administrative ability. It didn't hurt that I was black, either, but I wouldn't have kept my rank if I couldn't do the work. It seems to me, if we can solve some of these cold cases, it'll make our division and the entire department look even better than it is. And if that happens, they'll have to make at least one of those new colonels a black man. What I want is one of those silver eagles and another gold stripe on my sleeve."
"Time's always been the problem, Willie," Hoke said. "When we get a chance we work on old cases, but a new dead body is found damned near every day in a car trunk, a tomato field, an apartment--"
"I'm not finished, Hoke. Time is what I'm going to give you. You rank Bill, so you're in charge. But the three of you are going to get two full months to do nothing else but work on these fifty cold cases I picked out."
"What about the cases we're on now?" Henderson said. "We've got, me and Gonzalez, a triple murder in Liberty City, and no leads at all. Tomorrow we're supposed to--"
"Gonzalez will have to handle that one by himself. Hoke, you can give your current cases to Gonzalez, too. I know he lacks experience, but he'll report directly to Lieutenant Slater, and he'll get all the help from Slater he needs. I can't spare four men for this assignment, but the three of you. in two months' time, should get some positive results."
"Three months," Henderson said, "would be better."
"I know." Brownley smiled. "And six months would be better than three months, but you've got two. I've already gone through the old files and picked out these fifty. Take them with you, go through 'em again, and decide which cases to work first. You know more about the possibilities than I do. Any questions?"
"That office we've got," Hoke said. "It's too small for the three of us. Can we have one of the interrogation rooms to work in on a permanent basis?"
"Take Room Three. There's a table and some folding chairs in there already. It's yours for as long's you need it. I'll inform Lieutenant Slater. Anything else?"
"When Hoke and I turn all our cases over to Gonzalez, he'll shit his pants," Henderson said.
"He'll be all right with Slater. Just fill Slater in on what's been done so far. Slater knows what you all will be doing, but Gonzalez doesn't. Just tell him you're on a special assignment, Bill, and to do the best he can. You have any questions, Sanchez?"
"No, sir. I think it's a good idea, that's all."
"It would be a better idea if we had three months," Henderson said.
"Solve at least ten of these cases in two months, and I'll give you the extra month," Brownley said.
"Fair enough." Henderson picked up an armload of files and left the office.
After the cold cases were stacked in piles on Hoke's desk, he looked at them and shook his head. "It's fivethirty. We'll start going through them tomorrow morning in the interrogation room."
"If you want me to, I can take a couple home with me tonight to read," Ellita said. "I haven't got anything else planned."
"No. I want to think about how best to work things out. You guys go home."
Henderson broadened his smile slightly. "I think I'd better take Teddy out and buy him a drink before I give him the news. Did you notice Gonzalez through the window when we were in Willie's office? The poor bastard went to the can three times. He probably thought the meeting was all about him. But you can't blame him. If I'd been left out there, I'd've thought the same thing."
After Henderson and Ellita left, Hoke locked the office, got his Pontiac from the lot, and drove out to Green Lakes to pay another visit to Mrs. Hickey's house.
5
The rush-hour traffic on Flagler Street was heavier than usual because of the rain. In July, during the rainy season, showers and thunderstorms begin at four or four-thirty every day and continue into the early evening hours. Hoke didn't mind the rain or the traffic, or the fact that he was working overtime without compensation. He appreciated doing anything that would delay his getting home to the Hotel Eldorado in Miami Beach--any delay, that is, that didn't cost money. The long nights at the Eldorado were dull, so he was always glad when he had an excuse to postpone going home.
The pile of old cases on his desk troubled him a little, but not very much. Brownley had had a good idea there, despite his selfish motivation, and Hoke looked forward to the two-month assignment. He didn't think they would be able to solve ten cases, but even if they could solve three or four, it would be better than none. He just wished that he had been the one to select the fifty cases to work on, instead of Willie Brownley. If he and Henderson had gone through all the cold cases, and there must be several hundred, they could have done a much better job of winnowing them than Brownley. On the other hand, the fact that Brownley had selected these particular files out of all the other unsolved cases gave Hoke at least a weak excuse for failure if they didn't resolve any of them at all.
The best way to work it, he decided, was to have each of them read all of the cases first. Each reader could then select the ten most likely cases to work on. If they all came up with the same three or four homicides on their lists, these would be the cases to work on first. If they all had the same half-dozen, it would be even better.
Hoke didn't know why Brownley had assigned Sanchez instead of Gonzalez to his team, but it was probably because he didn't think Slater could work well with a woman. Slater had a very short fuse, and Brownley undoubtedly felt that Slater would feel more comfortable chewing on Gonzalez's ass every day than he would Sanchez's. Regardless of the reason, Hoke was happy to have Sanchez instead of Gonzalez. She could spell, as well as type, so he would have her keep the daily notes and write the weekly progress reports that Major Brownley wanted. Sanchez didn't have much of a sense of humor, but he would be working with Henderson again, who did, and that was a big plus.
Loretta Hickey was no longer the distraught youthful mother Hoke had last seen sobbing on the lawn that morning. When she opened the door, she was rested, clean and sweet-smelling, and wearing a black-and-white silk djellabah. Sober, Mrs. Hickey was a handsome woman. Her long hair, freshly shampooed, still had damp ends, and she had brushed it straight back. Her high white forehead was shiny and without makeup, but there was a pink trace of lipstick on her full lips.
She asked Hoke for identification. He had to tell her his name and show her his shield before she would unlock the screen door. She stared at Hoke with bold blue eyes and without apparent recognition.
"Are you always this cautious?" Hoke said, stepping into the living room.
"No, not always." Her face relaxed a little. "But I thought it might be those two men coming back."
"What men?"
"They said they were friends of Jerry's, but I'd never seen them before. Neighbors have been coming by all afternoon, bringing food, but these two came at about threethirty, when no one else was here. They got upset when I told them that Jerry was dead. Then they started looking in his room."
"That room is sealed."
"I told them that, but they broke the strip of paper and looked around in there anyway. They asked me if Jerry had left a package for them, and I told them no. Then one of them asked if the police had found twenty-five thousand dollars in the room! I told them that Jerry had a thousand, but no twenty-five thousand. But the thousand wasn't there either. That's when they started dumping the drawers out on the floor."
"Wh
at did they look like, these men? Did you ask them for ID?"
Mrs. Hickey shook her head. "No. I'd thought at first they might just be more neighbors. I didn't know half the people who brought food over this afternoon. And they didn't look like friends of Jerry's, either. They looked more like Yuppies, well-dressed with blow-dry hair--like Brickell Avenue or Kendall types. One of them was wearing a silk suit, and the other had on a linen jacket. They were in their mid-twenties, I'd say. The one in the suit had black loafers, the other man wore brown-and-white shoes."
Hoke grinned. "The man with the black shoes did all the talking, right?"
Loretta Hickey nodded. "How'd you know that?"
"I didn't. But guys who wear two-tone shoes have an ambivalent personality, and are indecisive." Hoke studied the drape of the silk djellabah and wondered if she was wearing a bra. "What else did they say about the twenty-five thousand?"
"Jerry was supposed to deliver the money to them yesterday, but he didn't show up, and they'd been looking for him. I told them that Jerry had a thousand dollars, and I knew that, because he showed it to me when I came home from work yesterday evening. If he had more, he didn't tell me anything about it. The thousand was on the dresser when I found him this morning. I had assumed it was still there, because I didn't go back into the room again. But it was gone when we went into the room, so--"
"I have it in my pocket," Hoke said. "Tell me, did you let Jerry in yesterday?"
"No, I wasn't here. I'd already gone to work, but he came to the house in the morning, he told me."
"How'd he get in? There was no key with his effects."
"He used the key I keep hidden in a fake rock. If you live all alone and happen to lock yourself out--and I've done it--you've got a problem. I'll show you."
She opened the screen door and led Hoke outside. She picked up a gray stone about four inches long and handed it to Hoke. It weighed four or five ounces and had a flat bottom. Hoke opened the flat part by sliding it to one side and found the key concealed in the recess. He hefted the stone in his hand. "This is the phoniest fake stone I've ever seen. Where'd you get it?"