Vargas was ready with a pack of tissues and said, “Is there someone you can call to come over and stay with you?”
Robin shook her head. “I don’t need anybody. Frankly, I’d been expecting this. What happened to him?”
I said, “We don’t know for sure.”
“Did he drown?”
“No.”
Robin dabbed her eyes with a tissue. “You think he was murdered?”
“We believe so.”
“Why? Was he shot? Or stabbed?”
I swallowed before saying, “He was weighed down beneath the water.”
Robin sniffled. “Oh, my poor Phil. What did they do to you?”
“We’re going to have to do an autopsy. It’s standard in all suspicious deaths.”
She nodded. “Okay, I understand.”
Before I could say anything, she said, “Why would anyone want to hurt my Phil? He was a sweetheart.”
Vargas said, “We’re going to see to it, that whoever did this, is brought to justice.”
I said, “I know this is a lot to handle, but we’ll need you to identify the body, Mrs. Gabelli. I realize this comes as a shock, but the sooner the better because we’d like to do the autopsy as soon as possible.”
“Where is he?”
“At the medical examiner’s, on Domestic Avenue off of Industrial.”
Vargas said, “I would be happy to take a ride with you. You shouldn’t have to drive alone.”
“You want me to go now?”
“Only if you feel comfortable with it. We’re not trying to rush you, we just want to conduct the autopsy as soon as possible so that we can release his body to you.”
Robin buried her face in her hands and cried. Vargas rubbed her back for a minute until she regained her composure.
Robin blew her nose and said, “I’ll go see Phil now. I just need, say a half hour, to get ready.”
“Would you like me to ride with you?”
“Thanks, but that won’t be necessary. I’ll be fine.”
“Okay then, we’ll meet you down there.”
***
Vargas and I waited for Robin in the beige, low-slung building that housed the medical examiner’s facility. We continued to discuss Robin’s reaction to the news in the lobby, keeping an eye on the door. We both felt that Robin reacted normally when we advised her about finding Phil’s body. Sometimes a suspect is just a little too scripted when the inevitable news is delivered.
Wearing a black pantsuit and low heels, Robin paused before entering the building. Vargas went to the door and escorted her to the family room. I went to the receiving room to make sure the body was ready for viewing.
Gabelli’s body was rolled out of the stainless-steel refrigeration room into the center of the smallish viewing room. I picked up the phone to let Vargas know it was showtime. As the door opened I drew a deep breath. Vargas trailed Robin by a hair as she approached the sheet-covered gurney. I looked Robin in the eye and, lip quivering, she nodded.
I drew the sheet down to her husband’s neckline and Robin gasped as a wave of nausea rolled over me. Robin broke down and I quickly covered Phil’s face, knowing there wasn’t an undertaker in the world that could make his funeral an open casket one.
Chapter 32
Stewart
“What matters is not the idea a man holds, but the depth at which he holds it.” - Ezra Pound
“Oh no, Dom, Phil’s dead.”
“What?”
“Detective Luca came over. He said the body found in Clam Pass was Phil.”
“Oh no, I’m so sorry, Robin. What did they say happened?”
“He was murdered.”
“Murdered?”
“I can’t believe anyone would want to hurt Phil.”
I thought, really, Robin? Phil was a pretty good guy, but you knew he was cocky assed and only looked out for himself. She knew he pissed people off and was ‘over the top’ selfish to boot.
“There’s a lot of crazy people out there.”
“They want me to go identify the body.”
The body? I choked down my fear and forced myself to ask, “Do want me to come along with you?”
“No. That’s okay.”
“But Robin, it’s a very, uh, difficult thing to have to do alone. Let me come with you.”
“Thanks, but it’s okay.”
Robin sounded good—strong. She was as smart as they come. Even though we never talked about it, she seemed to know Phil wasn’t coming back.
“Okay, but if you change your mind, I’m there for you.”
“You know they’re going to do an autopsy.”
“Really? Why?”
“Detective Luca said it was standard in murder cases.”
“Oh, I feel terrible for you and Phil.”
“It’s going to be all right, I just wanted to let you know what was going on.”
Atta girl!
“Give me a call if you change your mind. I’ll be there in a flash for you.”
***
I drove past Hodges Funeral Home two times before pulling into the parking lot. My original plan was to get there early so I could be a concrete pillar for Robin, but I was never good with funerals, and this one had really turned me into jelly. Florida funerals, with everyone in black, felt as off as going to the beach on Christmas Day. I had my Zegna suit on, even though it needed to be pressed, with a crisp white shirt and blue tie. It felt appropriate.
A group of guys we hung out with had arrived the same time I did and I attached myself to them like a pilot fish to a shark. We entered and were greeted by the smell of stale air infused with floral overtones.
All of us dutifully signed the register book, another stupid tradition. I mean, who goes over it? Do what with it after the funeral? Check if Johnny so-and-so came? So what if he did or didn’t. What are you going to do, not go to his wake if he didn’t come to one of yours?
I took comfort in the loud chatter in the room. Robin was smiling as she chatted with a group of her coworkers. Dressed in a long black dress, she looked good, even without any makeup. Sitting on top of a brown casket was a large heart-shaped arrangement proclaiming My Beloved Phil. Man, was I glad it was a closed casket.
As I approached her to pay my respects, I started crying. I made sure Robin saw the tears before I hugged her. I think she was wearing the new Dior fragrance. She pulled away too quickly, in my opinion, and I went and knelt before the casket. I had my eyes closed the entire time and counted to forty before getting up and heading out to the lobby.
I stood in the lobby for two hours and only came back in the room when a minister held a brief service. Phil was going to be cremated, and I was thankful to be spared having to attend a burial.
Chapter 33
Luca
I turned off Industrial Way onto Domestic and made a right into the parking lot of a typical Floridian building built in the nineties. Tossing my police pass onto the dashboard, I headed in to see the county medical examiner.
A Virginian, Dr. Bosco had come down to Naples fifteen years ago, about a dozen years before I joined the Collier County Sheriff’s department. The Collier position was an easier gig than working in D.C., where there was no shortage of suspicious deaths, and it allowed Bosco to get plenty of tee time.
The building housed three autopsy suites. The main suite had space for three autopsies, while the single suite was more private, if having your body dissected and studied could ever be considered private. The third suite was for possibly contaminated victims and those who died in fires.
Bosco led me to the solo area.
“Thanks for coming down, Frank. I thought this was going to be routine, but a couple things stood out.”
I squinted as Bosco turned up the lights. The coroner grabbed a clipboard off the stainless-steel dissection table and pulled down the sheet covering the body. Pretty boy Gabelli was nowhere to be found.
Bloated with s
ome decay, the face was almost beyond recognition. It was a wonder Robin had ID’d it.
Blowing out a deep breath, I said, “Geez, Doc, I’ve seen my share, but I never even heard of, much less ever saw a body with adi—. How do you say it?”
“Adipocere. It’s only the second time for me, so don’t feel bad. First time I saw this was on a body they pulled out of the swampy area by the Meadowlands. After that I looked into it. There’s even a body they call the Soap Lady, at the Mutter Museum in Philly.”
“Unbelievable.”
“Sure is, and it can preserve a body for centuries.”
“Incredible.”
“Normally, there wouldn’t be much left of a body in the gulf after a week or two, so we’re kinda lucky here. The way the body was wrapped and the silt covering it created the condition for this hard, waxy substance to form.” Bosco tapped the grayish waxy substance covering Gabelli’s forehead with a probe. “As you can see, there’s some decomposition and damage from scavengers, but it’s been severely limited by the adipocere.”
“It’s bizarre. Where does it come from?”
“Essentially, it’s a conversion of the body’s fat.”
“What a way to end up.”
Bosco nodded.
“Doc, you said some things stood out.”
“First off, the victim was dead when he was put in the water.”
“I figured that, but how can you be certain?”
“There was no water in his lungs, confirming he wasn’t breathing when he was dumped in the water.”
“How much time do you think it was between death and being put in the water?”
Bosco frowned. “Virtually impossible to say, Frank. Adipocere formations limit our ability to estimate the postmortem interval with any accuracy. Temperature plays a large role, and since we don’t know when the body was put in the water, I had to use an annual average of Outer Clam Bay and came up with a range of six to nine months.”
“That’s a lot of hedging, Doc.”
“The body is displaying an advanced case of adipocere. That’s the best I can do.”
“Fair enough, Doc. What about wounds, are there any wounds?”
“No. The cause of death at this point is a massive cardiac failure.”
“A heart attack?”
“Yes, but something’s bothering me.” He checked his clipboard. “This fellow seemed to be in excellent health. No signs of heart disease, arterial condition normal for a forty-year-old male.”
“And?”
“It does happen, but it’s very rare that a healthy heart just blows out on its own.”
“Could it be drugs, like cocaine?”
“It could be. I tried to check, but see here.”
Bosco took a scalpel and used its handle to probe Gabelli’s nasal cavity.
“It’s impossible to tell if the inflammation was caused by the salt in the water or existed as a precondition.”
“Gabelli was a partier, but as far as we know, there was no history of excessive drug use.”
“I’ve seen my share of so-called casual users get carried away and end up here or, if they’re lucky, the emergency room.”
“I hear you, Doc. Can you tell me how long till you know what happened?”
“We’ll have to wait to see how the blood panels come back.”
“Okay, Doc. But keep a lid on the cause of death.”
Chapter 34
Luca
I rolled my head around and massaged the back of my neck before beginning. Spending hours looking at grainy CCTV footage would make for bad television, but it’d be nice if the networks would occasionally show the tedious, mundane side of things.
Science had the spotlight, but most crimes were solved with a solid ground game: combing a crime scene for minutia, interviewing hundreds of uninteresting people, and, like today, hunching over herky-jerky surveillance video.
Knowing the bad guys usually cased a place in advance of their nasty deeds, I’d started two weeks before Gabelli vanished. It was hard to conceal a body, and even harder to keep a kidnapping quiet, so even though chances are he was murdered close to the disappearance date, I’d requested the footage for a month after he was reported missing.
Six weeks, forty-two long days, over a thousand hours of tape to review. I’d need a chiropractor and glasses before I finished. Farming out some of it, even to Vargas, was not in the cards. My unshakable belief was you’d miss the subtleties of something out of place if you didn’t view the entire lot yourself.
The footage between 10 a.m. and 4 p.m. could be viewed in fast-forward mode, saving me some time. The camera was positioned halfway in the parking lot, angled to the right, pointed toward the entrance to the boardwalk. The bad news was that a blind spot in the left-hand corner, closest to the wooded area, would slow me down. I’d have to be careful with people parking in that area, making sure they were beachgoers and not up to anything sinister.
I inserted the first DVD and hit play. Grainy, black-and-white images of cars entering the Clam Pass parking lot two weeks before Gabelli went missing came stuttering to life. I didn’t expect much, but kept my eyes out for anything unusual. You’d think anyone contemplating such a serious crime would think to blend in, but people make all kinds of stupid mistakes.
***
Four days and countless DVDs had gone by without producing the slightest suspicion in the period before Gabelli disappeared. The only thing I learned was the rhythm of Clam Pass beachgoers. It had a small parking lot, so there wasn’t a lot of in and out going on. The early crowd liked to get to the beach no later than ten, then it quieted down till around two, when about thirty percent of the early birds started leaving. Then around three thirty a late crowd would stream in, most of them staying till sunset.
I was glad I’d come to the day Gabelli could’ve been dumped in the brackish water. As I poured a cup of coffee, I remembered there was no way I’d be able to speed up the footage as much and headed to my office.
Mug of java in hand, I dropped the first ‘after’ DVD in. Nothing but sun worshippers. By the middle of the second DVD the sun began setting. As the light changed, I leaned forward. The parking lot emptied. I sped the tape up, and as the time stamp passed 11 p.m. a light-colored Honda Accord pulled into the lot. Slowing it down, I saw it was a male driving. I zoomed in but couldn’t make out if there was anyone else in the car.
I cringed as the Accord pulled into the blind zone. Was this just a lovers’ rendezvous? I studied the screen as time passed. Just after 12:40 a.m. the Honda came back into view. This time I saw a female in the passenger seat just as my pee alarm went off. I ignored it even though my eyes were stinging and hit fast-forward.
A few minutes after 5 a.m. an old van, that looked to be a Pontiac, pulled into the lot. The van seemed cautious, moving slowly until it parked near the entrance to the boardwalk. No movement. Was this just nothing more than some horny kids?
The driver’s door swung open and I held my breath as a medium build, Caucasian male got out. The driver looked around and walked to the other side of the van and disappeared from sight. I hit the fast button, but as soon as I did he emerged, backing up as he maneuvered something.
Was this the guy? I hit pause and zoomed in on the license plate. I jotted down the number of the Florida tag, JF3974X, and hit play. What was that? The guy was steering a boat-like object on a wheeled caddy or wagon. He pulled on the handle and vanished down the boardwalk. I stopped the tape.
Was there a body hidden in the contraption? Did it look like the guy was dragging the 170 pounds that Gabelli was? If not, what the hell could this guy be doing at that time of the night? The warning to relieve myself sounded again but I snoozed it. I had to see what happened with this guy and sped the tape up.
The time stamp crossed 7 a.m. and the first of the day’s visitors arrived. They were one of several beach walkers who trickled into the lot. This guy was gone for two hours
already. Would it take that long to dump a body? That’s a lot of time. Maybe he ran into somebody and had to delay dropping Gabelli near the mangroves. As I tossed the idea around, he came into view towing his boat.
Did it seem lighter? Did it look different? I moved inches away from the screen as he disappeared at the van’s side. Recall Luca, recall.
As a pair of bikers cycled to the bike rack, he emerged and got back in the driver’s seat. Before the van pulled out of the lot I picked up the phone, called the plate in, and headed to take a leak.
Chapter 35
Luca
I stared at the DMV photo of Richard Blake. The thirty-five-year-old didn’t have a record. Curly headed, the license put him at six foot and a hundred and sixty pounds. A Pontiac Montana van was registered in his name at 1099 Barcamil Way. Checking the address, it turned out to be in Colliers Reserve, an older neighborhood known as a full-time haven, which was weird, as I never knew anyone who lived there. I had heard there weren’t any condos there, and the fact Blake was collecting unemployment didn’t add up. It would have been nice to go see him with Vargas, but she was due in court, and this couldn’t wait.
Colliers Reserve had a different feel. The streets were lined with mature trees, but they weren’t tropical types. It felt like I was driving in Georgia or someplace like that. The home at 1099 Barcamil Way was another two-tone, white and beige home about twenty years old. Its vegetation was overgrown, like all the others on the block. I wondered if the owners realized it was jungly or if it’d happened so slowly they got used to the crowded look. The house was worth a million or 1.1 at most, in my opinion. Anybody buying this home would have to dump a boatload of updates into it.
Blake’s face had the healthy, weathered look of a surfer. He looked like an athlete and was surprised to see me. Blake quickly ran a hand through his sandy hair to neaten it when I introduced myself.
“What’s this about, the robbery at the casino?”
Vanished: A Luca Mystery - Book 2 Page 11