The Night Watchman

by Mark Mynheir

  Pam knocked on my door in less than fifteen minutes. I closed out what I was doing and let her in. She leaned forward like she wanted to hug me, then pulled back; I just shook her hand. I don't know what it is about church people, but they do seem to hug a lot.

  I filled Pam in on the phone number that called Jamie the most often. “I can't just whip out a subpoena and find out who it is. Even if I could, it might be listed in someone else's name. I'd like you to call the number and try to find out who it belongs to.”

  “What do you want me to say? I doubt this person will just blurt out who he is and why he called Jamie.”

  “True,” I said. “So I want you to tell whoever answers that you're a friend of Jamie's. I think coming from a female caller this would be more believable.”

  Pam raised an eyebrow at me.

  “Trust me. I'll brief you on the way.”

  “On the way to where?”

  “I don't want to do this with my cell or home numbers,” I said. “We need to find a pay phone. I took a real risk calling Chances number, but I wasn't trying to get information from him, so I don't think he suspected anything. With this next call, we'll have to be a little shrewder.”

  “I'll do whatever I have to for the case. I just want to be sure I don't mess it up.”

  “We just need to hone your bluffing skills a bit.”

  “And just how do you plan to do that?” She folded her arms and scowled at me.

  “Okay, try this line for practice: ‘Ray Quinn is a supernice guy’ If you can say that with a straight face, you'll be ready to make that call.”

  “Robert De Niro couldn't even pull that line off,” she said. “I'd rather make the call than attempt that.” She smirked. “I think I'm ready.”

  We got in my truck, and it took us nearly half an hour to find a working pay phone at a gas station on John Young Parkway. I wasn't even sure there were any around anymore, since almost everyone on the planet owned a cell phone. We discussed the strategy along the way. Pam was sharp, but I hoped her religiosity wouldn't get in the way.

  “Whoever used that number to call Jamie has a major connection to her, so much so that he had to talk with her several times a day,” I said. “I'm betting that person bites big-time. But you have to remember everything we talked about. If I want you to say something different, I'll write it on the pad.”

  I had a two-way earpiece plugged into the microphone of my digital recorder. Pam would have one earpiece in her ear and place the phone up to it, so I could record both sides of the conversation. I had the other to listen to the call.

  I didn't inform Pam that this was mildly illegal. I suppose it's like being kind of pregnant. You either are or you're not. Recording this conversation was illegal, but I would erase it as soon as I could. I'd just hate to miss some good information. If we could come up with something solid, I'd take the fall to get the information to solve this homicide.

  She put the earphone in and nodded to me. I punched in the numbers. The midafternoon traffic would make hearing a bit difficult.

  “Hello,” the man on the other end said.

  “Ah… yes.” Pam glared at me. “I'm a friend of Jamie's.”

  Her statement was met by silence.

  “She told me that if something ever happened to her, I…I was supposed to drop a package off to you.”

  “What kind of package?”

  I nodded to Pam and rolled my hands. He was talking. That was good. The more he chatted, the better.

  “I don't know what's in it,” Pam said. “She just told me it was imperative that I get it to you. She said this package would be important to you too. I just found out about her death. I'm sorry I'm so late getting in touch with you.”

  Pam improvised that last part. Not bad for a woman not inclined to lying, bluffing, or whatever.

  “I… I'm not sure about this,” he said. “How do I know you're on the level?”

  “I had your number, didn't I? Jamie gave it to me with strict instructions. I'm just trying to follow them. Evidently, this was very important to her, so I want to make sure it's done right. I'm supposed to give it to you personally.”

  “I understand” he said. “How do you want to do this?”

  She'd reeled him in; now it was time to net him.

  “Meet me in an hour in the Burger King parking lot on International Drive near Municipal Drive. I'll be driving a blue Mercedes. What will you be driving?”

  “I'll find you,” he said.

  I scribbled my knockout punch on the pad and showed it to Pam.

  She nodded. “I really miss Jamie.”

  “So do I.” He choked up and then disconnected.

  “That went well, Detective Winters. You're earning your keep.”

  Pam smiled. “Maybe I'm a better actress than I thought. But even though that went well, I'm still not ready to try your line yet.”

  “I can live with that… for now,” I said, giving her the deadeye. “But we're not nearly finished yet.”

  26

  I PULLED INTO A STRIP MALL across from the Burger King, which was on the outskirts of a much larger shopping center. The parking lot was open, and I could keep a good eye on the entire area and ease back into traffic without too much difficulty.

  Pam adjusted herself in her seat. “What do we do now?”

  “Wait.” I scanned the Burger King parking lot with my binoculars. A fair number of cars flowed in and out, making me question my decision to lead him here. I was still a little rusty with the surveillance stuff, but it was too late to change things, so we'd have to make it work. I checked a couple of parked cars. All of them seemed empty.

  “What if he doesn't show?”

  “He'll show,” I said. “Out of curiosity if nothing else. Did you hear the emotion in his voice? I think you more than piqued his interest.”

  Pam wrapped her arms across her stomach. “Do you really think this is the person who killed them both?”

  “Don't know. But for some reason this guy lit up her cell phone constantly and called her six times on the day she died. That sounds a lot like a jealous or angry boyfriend. I still haven't identified Tay Maybe this is him.”

  “I just feel so weird,” she said. “Like I want it to be the person, but not really the person who did such a wicked thing. I feel like I'm going to jump out of my skin. How do you police officers deal with the stress?”

  “We drink… a lot. But first things first. We have to identify this guy. Once we do that, we'll turn up the stress on him.”

  “Do you mind if I pray?”

  “What would you do if I did?” I said.

  She shrugged. “Do it anyway.”

  I chuckled. She was consistent if nothing else. “That's what I thought. Go ahead. But don't take too long; I have a live one that just pulled in.”

  I tracked a black Suburban that turned off International Drive into the parking lot. A lone male driver slowed down and peered at each car as he passed. He was looking for someone. He did a measured lap around Burger King, then parked toward the front. He got out and lingered at the back of his car, leaning against the back hatch doors.

  If it was him, he wasn't quite what I expected. The voice on the phone seemed older and a little gruff. This guy was about thirty with thick dark hair and a stout doughy frame. He wore a blue power suit with a red tie and had a purposed look on his preppy face. He smacked of an educated professional there for business. He crossed his arms and scanned the parking lot. He checked his watch and continued searching.

  “He's our guy,” I said. “I'd bet money on it, except you religious folks probably don't gamble.”

  “How can you be so sure it's him?” She ignored my stab at humor.

  “Body language. He's checked his watch a number of times, and he's only been there a couple of minutes. He's standing outside, not going in or through the drive-through, so he's not a customer. He has a business face on. He's there to meet someone. He's there to meet you.”

  “
Do you want me to go over and meet him? I'll try to get him to talk to me.” She unlocked her door and was almost out before I stopped her.

  “Luckily we're not going to do that right now,” I said. Pam had chutzpa for sure. She would have hopped right out, marched across the street, and demanded answers if I would have told her to. I wasn't ready to release her on this guy yet. “Besides, I think we can get more information from him by not showing up. A lot of police work is trying to anticipate your opponent's next move. What will he do if the person he's waiting for doesn't show up?”

  “Leave?” she said.

  “Not bad for a rookie.” I snapped a couple of photos of him and stowed the camera on the seat. The guy alternated his attention from his watch to the parking lot. “Does this guy's looks match the voice you spoke with?”

  She checked him out with the binoculars. “I would have thought he'd be older.”

  “Precisely. He looks quite professional as well. This kinda guy doesn't go by the name of Tay I can tell you that much.”

  It was about ten minutes after one, and Doughboy paced around the car a couple of times, then hustled from one end of the parking lot to the other. He was working up a sweat.

  “It's hard to just sit here and watch,” Pam said. “I feel like we should be doing something.”

  “We are. We're being smart.”

  He pulled his cell phone off his belt and dialed a number. I retrieved my digital cell phone scanner from underneath my seat. Easing the knob around, I listened to a variety of calls. None of them fit. I passed a terse baritone and tuned in.

  “I've been here fifteen minutes already and nobody has showed up.” Our guy's mouth matched the words. He plugged one ear with a finger as he spoke. “I think someone is playing a game with us.”

  “I want you to stay as long as it takes,” the voice on the other end said, the caller Pam spoke to. Our guy had sent someone ahead for him, to scout things out. Very clever. He was making the hunt interesting.

  “Whoever this girl is, she knows way too much. We have to find out who she is and how she knows about Jamie and me. Then we'll work on making it go away. Understand?”

  “Got it, Mike,” our guy said. “But I think you're a little too worried about this thing. It was probably a crank call, or someone trying to rattle you.”

  “We really don't have the luxury of taking that chance, now, do we? What if Jamie did have something hidden away, an insurance policy of sorts? It could take us all down. Got it?”

  Our guy flipped the phone shut and passed his chubby little fingers through his hair.

  “So we're looking for a Mike.” I jotted down on my notepad the time of the call and what was said. I also noted the scanner's dial position for that phone, which could come in handy later. Any confusion I had on “if” Jamie was seeing someone else was obliterated by that one call.

  Pam smirked at me. “You know this was all set up by prayer, don't you?”

  “I'm just starting to have some fun on this case, so please don't ruin the moment for me.”

  “God's going to clear David's name. I've felt it since we first met.”

  “You mean the very first time we met?” I said, my filter slipping a bit. “I felt something entirely different at our first meeting.” I rubbed my jaw.

  Pam's eyes narrowed and her face brightened. “Maybe not the first time we met. But soon after that.”

  I still wondered about a woman who could believe so passionately in a God who would lead us to David's killer and clear his name, and yet she refused to be angry with that same God for allowing the murder to happen in the first place. Life isn't always logical, but that one didn't make much sense. At least Pam had a sense of humor and could take a little ribbing, a rarity among the religious people I've known.

  Trisha used to take teasing pretty good too, but she gave it back even better. On her first day in the unit, I made some snotty comment about her shoes. She punk'd me about my hair and tie without missing a beat. She was quick and tough and didn't take anything from me. We hit it off right away and were partners after that.

  Our guy grunted it out for another forty-five minutes, about fifteen minutes longer than I thought he'd stay. I took the opportunity to snap more photos of him and his car. At a little after 2:00 p.m., he tossed his hands in the air and got back into his SUV.

  “Now we're getting somewhere.” I started the truck and waited for him to pull into traffic. “So, rookie, I'm going to give you a little quiz on your understanding of police work thus far. Since we didn't show up to meet him, where's he going now?”

  Pam shifted toward me and was silent for a moment. Then her face lit up. “He's going to see Mike.”

  “You're getting the hang of this.” I eased into traffic several cars behind him. “We're going to let our buddy lead us to right to Mike.”

  He headed west on I-Drive and then north on Kirkman until he picked up I-4 north toward downtown. We kept our distance, always hanging back and using other cars for cover. I was able to get a clear view of his license plate number—an Orange County tag, which piqued my interest all the more.

  He signaled to get off at the Anderson Street exit downtown. Rush-hour traffic was awful, but we locked on our target as he zigzagged through some side streets. He drove into the back parking lot of the Fairwinds Building on the corner of West Central and Garland. We passed by but turned around in time to see him power walking into the building.

  “Are we going to follow him in?” Pam said.

  I killed the engine and prepared to get out when I looked across the parking lot at the huge sign at the end. “I think I know exactly where he's going.”

  Pam gawked at me.

  I pointed to the sign that read “Campaign Office of County Commissioner Michael Vitaliano.” A picture of a distinguished, gray-headed gentleman graced us with his pompous politico's smile. A thousand realizations collided in my head.

  I turned to Pam. “Call me psychic, but I think I might know who Mike is.”

  27

  IF GOOGLING WERE A SPORT, I'd be on my way to the Olympic Village right now. I enjoy digging through page after page or finding that one obscure fact out in cyberspace. It's been worse since I got hurt and don't get out of my apartment as much as I should.

  After I dropped Pam off at her place, I went back to my apartment and logged on to my computer right away. I navigated my way to the good commissioner's Web site. Having worked in Orlando for over fifteen years, I'd have to have been blind and deaf to be ignorant of County Commissioner Michael Vitaliano. As election season was gearing up the last couple of months, his magnanimous mug had intruded on the televisions of everyone in Orange County, the flag flapping behind him. Nice. His Web site wasn't a lot better. I've never had much use for politics or politicians.

  Scrolling through different areas of the site, I determined that any rational human being would have to be fairly intoxicated to enjoy this kind of stuff. I was tempted to have Jim accompany me on my tour so I could stomach the putrid political pabulum. Family values. Fair wages. Health care. Blah, blah, blah. Nothing revealing… until I clicked into his staff. Chief of Staff Gordon Kurfis, my Burger King guy, popped up. A smug-looking fellow, to be sure. Graduated from Princeton, top of his class too. A fine education wasted on being a political hack's do-boy I'd have to bring my dictionary with me when I talked with him. I printed the picture and added his name to the notes.

  I stabbed his photo on the wall with a pushpin next to Michael “Family Values” Vitaliano. I wrote the phone number I contacted them with underneath and drew some hasty lines connecting the others. The prefix for Vitaliano's number was the same, and the last four digits were only a few off from Jamie's. A coincidence? Not in this case. I wrote “The Lion's Den” between the two.

  I absorbed the collage that was becoming this case. I had phone links from Chance to Jamie, Jamie to the Commish, and Jamie to David, all on the day of her death. If I had time, I'd print out a larger graph showing the connect
ions more clearly, at least better than my hasty Magic Marker on the dry wall.

  I had a full-fledged crime scene section set up as well. I'd covered the gruesome photos with a piece of paper I could lift, so that when Pam was here, it wouldn't freak her out. Whatever else I was struggling with, I generally didn't like being sadistic. And the little fundamentalist marm was growing on me. She did a good job reeling in the Commish. I'd have to tell her that.

  I pinned the cover paper back and studied the photos of David and Jamie at the crime scene. Since the first time I saw the photos, something's always bothered me about them. Why did David have a scrape on his knee that looked like a rug burn? Why the piece of pillow embedded in his head wound? Why would a pastor even own a pistol with the serial number filed off? Why would he kill her at all?

  Then there was the gunshot residue found on David's hands, verified by the Florida Department of Law Enforcement lab. That was a tough one to explain. The locked room. No one seen coming or going. I had a lot of dots, but no great connections… yet.

  I pulled a kitchen chair into the living room and checked my notes on Gordon's call to his boss. “What if Jamie did have something hidden away, an insurance policy of sorts? It could take us all down.” The “us” intrigued me. I didn't think the good public servant hung out with Jamie for her savvy political skills. The emotion in his voice was raw, palpable. He was a man in love. I'd remember that when we spoke.

  With everything in this case spinning out of control, I couldn't ignore some serious facts. I'm not the sharpest tack in the box, and I was able fairly quickly to put together the phone connection between the Commish, Jamie, and David. Why weren't those phone records in the original report—even after being subpoenaed? The stunning simplicity of that answer had been hounding me since I saw Vitaliano's campaign sign.