Chasing Suspect Three

by Rod Hoisington

  “You are a saint,” Sandy hugged her. “And you have never heard of a Richie Grant?”

  Sandy watched with puzzled eyes as Adela shook her head. How could it be? Both Margo and Claudia had identified the dead person as Richie Grant. Why had they lied? Perhaps to fool the police into giving up the search for the real Richie? In that case, he was still alive. Was he the one who took off with the money? At least, now she knew he wasn’t the murderer, but Richie Grant was still out there, and she didn’t know what that meant.

  It was just too crazy to believe Gerardo Diaz had somehow been leading a double life in Park Beach and in Miami. She asked, “Adela, does Diaz work full-time at the consulate?”

  “Yes, they keep him busy driving the officials around the city and couriers to and from the airport. Likes his job, he once told me. He gets to dress sharp and is home every night. He must be on some assignment or something, because he has not been at work this week at all.” Then her eyes widened. “Oh my God, he’s dead in those photos, isn’t he?”

  “Yes, he’s one of those involved in the drug gang, isn’t he?”

  “Yes, you see how they operate. They killed him for some reason. Do you realize you are holding my life in your hands?”

  “The gang didn’t kill him. He was shot by a deputy out of town.” She patted Adela’s hand. “And a long lovely life you’re going to have. You would not have had a happy life with John. You would have been on the run forever, and never had the nice home and the things you deserve. You are a beautiful person, inside and out. Here’s my card. Call if I can help you. One last thought, start aiming higher. You can do a lot better than the John Larenas of the world.”

  The only way it made sense to Sandy was Gerardo Diaz went to Park Beach to kill John to keep him from testifying against Ramirez and to recover the money. There was no question about it in her mind. Yet, she had to find the .45 caliber murder weapon or other evidence to definitely link Diaz to the murder.

  After spending another half hour talking, Adela made her a cup of coffee, and Sandy went out front to her car. She drove a few blocks away, just to be safe, and phoned Jay Heppard.

  He answered, “Agent Heppard.”

  “Sandy Reid, Park Beach.”

  “Ah, the girl with the soft sexy knees. What do you need, Sandy?”

  “I discovered the murderer of John Larena.”

  “I’m happy for you and I love hearing your voice. Who was it, his wife? You know, that’s a local Park Beach murder. Why are you bothering me with that?”

  “Listen up, kiddo. It ties in with your consulate drug smuggling case here in Miami. The killer is part of the Salvadoran drug cartel. He was after the drug-buy money John Larena absconded with.”

  “I don’t get it. You said, ‘here in Miami.’ Where are you right now?”

  “In Miami. The killer lives around here. Or did, he doesn’t live anywhere anymore. You do know that Larena was in the middle of a drug buy when you guys came down on the consulate, don’t you?”

  Silence on the phone, and then, “What are you getting at?”

  “Larena wasn’t around when you busted everybody, was he? He was one of the missing. I’m guessing he came back up to Park Beach with a diplomatic pouch full of cash. If you knew about this, what did you think happened to the cash in the interrupted drug buy?”

  “There were several buys. I don’t think we knew that Larena in particular was left holding cash. You don’t need to spread that all over town. So, the cash is still out there. Where is that money now?”

  “Geez Louise, do I have to do everything for you? Okay, okay. I’ll go find the money.”

  “Just hold the money part for a minute. What’s the killer’s name, and who is your source?”

  “I can’t reveal my source. We’re dealing with dangerous people here. I need to make a deal with you, Jay. You have to keep my name out of it. If you name me as your source, you federal types are going to ask me who my source is.”

  “You’re damn right we will. I’m asking right now. Who is your source? Don’t worry, we’ll give your source protection.”

  “Sure you will. The graveyards are full of government-protected witnesses. I want a deal. You promise not to name me as your source.” She was aware that people carrying badges routinely make false promises and barefaced lies to get information. It’s part of their game. She didn’t like the idea of relying on him, but regardless she’d never tell him or anyone.

  “Bullshit. This is a federal investigation. You’ll tell me now.”

  “Come on, Jay. You’re following up on dozens of leads. Surely, you can say the killer’s name was just one of the names that popped up on the street, and you checked it out. If you do that, you’ll have a big boost in your investigation and another star on your chart.”

  “What? You’re going to let me take all the credit for a significant break in the case, and your name will never be mentioned. Is that what you’re saying?”

  “That's what I’m saying. I don’t want my name mentioned. The glory is all yours.”

  “Okay, you’ve got your deal. Name the killer.”

  “First, he was a John Doe. Then he was supposed to be Richie Grant.”

  “Richie Grant? We’re looking all over Dade County for information on that guy.”

  “You can stop looking. His real name is Gerardo Diaz, a driver for the consulate. His body is on a slab in Park Beach. His address is on the consulate employee list.”

  “How do you know all this? Give me your source. Is it Margo Larena? You can claim attorney-client privilege, if it is.”

  “It’s not Margo. Just trust me enough to go ahead and search the home of Gerardo Diaz immediately. Time is very important. Swoop down on his place tonight and start collecting evidence. You’re looking for a .45 caliber murder weapon. He wouldn’t have thrown it away, because when he left home the last time, he didn’t know he was never coming back. Call Detective Jaworski in Park Beach and see what he needs. DNA, prints, trace evidence. I’m certain you can connect Diaz to the John Larena murder.

  “I’ll start the ball rolling on his place. Thanks for the gift of his name. A consulate driver, huh? We didn’t have any leads on that angle. This will look very good on my record. I’d like to thank you in person. Where are you now?”

  “On Red Road, but I don’t think I’ve time to meet with you this evening. I must get back to Park Beach.”

  “Look, Sandy, I’m in North Miami Beach right now. My apartment is near you on Ponce de Leon. I can meet you out front in a half-hour. I’ll stop and get some wine.”

  “What are you talking about? I’m not going to your apartment for wine.”

  “You’ll love the place. It’s comfortable, quiet, and we won’t be disturbed. My roommate is out of town.”

  “Your roommate?”

  “The government rents it for interim housing, two agents to an apartment. It is first-class gorgeous. It’s after dark already. I don’t want you driving through Miami at night. Your red car is a tempting target even without you sitting inside like a mouth-watering cherry on an ice cream sundae.”

  He was correct about the risks of the drive home at night. Staying over with Mr. Fabulous Kisser would be an interesting next step. But she didn’t want a next step with him. The step she wanted was to get straight with Chip. “I’m not spending the night with you, Jay.”

  “All right. Then just meet me at the apartment. We’ll have a glass of wine and talk about it.”

  “There’s nothing to talk about.”

  “You should do it, Sandy. You’re comfortable with me. We can pick up where we left off. You’ve been in that small town too long. This is the big city. This is Miami. We can go out later, if you want. What’s your problem anyway? Use your GPS. It’s 8102 Ponce de Leon. I’m dying to kiss you again.”

  She had never expected him to be like that, begging like a teenager. “Jay, it’s a nice offer. I truly appreciate you bringing your forces down on the Diaz apartment, and keeping
my name out of it. But, I’m not sleeping with you.”

  “I get excited thinking about having my hand under your skirt the other night.”

  “Your hand was never under my skirt, and your excitement is not my problem.”

  “You surprised me that evening. I thought we were going to hook up. You looked as though you were about to invite me in. I was looking for something special from you.”

  “You’re still looking.”

  “You’re putting me in an awkward position.”

  “Which position would you like to put me in? Forget it, buddy, it’s not going to happen.”

  The phone was quiet for a moment. Then he said, “8102 Ponce de Leon. One half hour. Or else.”

  “Stop joking. It’s not funny.”

  “Hey, you’re the one asking for the favor. You don’t want me to reveal your name.”

  “But it’s not a favor, if you make a trade out of it. I would never, never, trade like that. That isn’t me.”

  “So, you’ve never in your entire life traded sex for something you wanted.”

  “I’m not having this discussion with you.” She paused knowing she was about to make an enemy. “I don’t want to talk with you any longer. Just assure me that your people will move in on the Gerardo Diaz place.”

  “I just looked up his name on the consulate employee roster while we were negotiating. I’m looking at his address right now. He lives in Hialeah. Not far. Yeah, we’ll take care of it.”

  “Well, thanks for that much anyway. I’m hanging up. Goodbye.”

  “Then you leave me no choice. I will name you as our source, and all hell is going to come down on you. A federal judge will issue a summons for you to appear in court. You’ll be forced to testify and reveal your source, or go to jail for the criminal charge of withholding evidence. Don’t be surprised if you also lose your law license. Do you still think protecting your source will be worth all that? You need to think about how easy it would be for you to avoid all that.”

  “I can’t believe you’d do this.” She was relieved thinking back to the evening sitting in the car with him after dinner. She had come close to asking the creep in for a night together. It was a good lesson for her; one great kiss isn’t enough to let someone into your life. Her jaws had tensed up to the point she had difficulty getting the words out. “You are a first-class sleazebag. Taking advantage of my situation is extortion, a criminal offense.”

  “Isn’t the judge using extortion when he says, if you don’t give me the name, I’ll send you to jail?”

  “I don’t have to screw the judge.”

  “Would you, to stay out of jail?”

  “It’s insulting to even ask me that. Let me ask you this. If I agreed right now, would you actually enjoy the night with me knowing I didn’t want to be with you?”

  “You’d probably get into it before the night was done.”

  “Boy, did you pick the wrong girl. How many distressed women have you screwed using your FBI position to coerce them?”

  “Counting you?”

  “Goodbye.”

  “Come on, you don’t want to drive back alone in the dark. We get along. What happens in Miami stays in Miami. What’s the big deal?”

  “If it’s no big deal, why are you making an ass out of yourself? You are a cheap and lustful gutter dweller. You’ve made a serious mistake doing this. You just put yourself on my to-do list.”

  “Maybe it’s not my finest hour. Are you going to run and tell everyone about me?”

  “No, because then when something bad happens to you, everyone will remember I had a motive to get you. And I will get you and bring you down. It might be later, but it’s not too early to start looking over your shoulder.”

  “That’s nice, but make no mistake. I’m going to find out who gave you the name, Gerardo Diaz, and you will go to jail.”

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  Tired and still wound up from her successful excursion to Miami, Sandy finally made it back to Park Beach shortly after ten that night. The after-dark drive back was uneventful except for a few laudatory honks from a car of teenage boys, while speeding down the Don Shula Expressway. She guessed the bad guys didn’t crawl out until after midnight.

  In total, the day had come up roses except that Jay Heppard was threatening to reveal her as the source of the killer’s name. Maybe he wouldn’t. He didn’t need to. He could easily quote an anonymous source, or say the name came up while questioning some low life. If a summons were issued, she didn’t know how to avoid naming Adela Sevilla, and she had promised to never to that. A further recollection of the day brought a smile to her lips; she had been offered an expense-paid tryst sailing off on a cushy white yacht into the land of make-believe. That fanciful thought would stay in the back of her mind for a long time. The offer was flattering. Nice to know she was one who could be out there.

  She wondered if it was too late to drop in on Chip. He’d be thrilled to hear about her winning day. She’d need some excuse for coming by. She could say...her white jeans were there and she needed them. Fabricating an excuse to see her lover seemed strange.

  She wished all of her fears and suspicions were behind her. According to her perspective, things still needed ironing out. She needed to lay it all out there. Now would be a good time.

  She approached his house hoping he was home. When she turned the corner, she was pleased to see his brown Crown Vic in the driveway.

  Then she noticed the dark green BMW parked at the curb.

  She parked several houses away. By the porch light, she could now clearly see Claudia with her considerable blonde hair standing in Chip’s front doorway. She was dressed in a yellow sleeveless sun dress and wore high cork-heeled platforms. She was now leaving. Had they just kissed goodbye? Chip was standing in the doorway watching her sashay down the front sidewalk to her car. She didn’t look back at him and wave from her car, just drove off. Fortunately, she went the opposite way from where Sandy had stopped.

  Sandy hurriedly parked in front of his place, pulled her skirt up to her hips, and jumped over the unopened door of her small convertible—something she did only under abnormal circumstances or when upset. This was a case of both.

  She knocked on the door and entered all in the same motion.

  “She bring over another poetry book?” she said immediately.

  He was standing in the kitchen doorway. “Come in and calm down. I was just about to open a bottle of Chardonnay.”

  She didn’t want to demand to know what the woman was doing there. As normal as that reaction might be, all that screaming jealously stuff just wasn’t in her. Her purpose wasn’t to display her distress. Her purpose was to know the truth.

  She was ready, right then, to decide whether to go on with him in her life. She knew that all of this controlled reasoning was very noble; she hoped she could do it. She took a deep breath. “Sure, wine is just what I need.”

  “Coming right up.” He disappeared into the kitchen.

  Geez, was he playing it cool or was he the world’s greatest actor. His position all along was that he didn’t know what she was upset about. Well, he certainly knew now, with Claudia just leaving his house.

  She walked to the kitchen doorway so he could hear, “Sorry, I dropped in unexpectedly. I didn’t know you were entertaining a guest.”

  “No, she didn’t bring another poetry book.” He continued fussing with the corkscrew.

  What does she say, it’s okay Chip? I trust you? That wasn’t true.

  “I didn’t want her inside this house and that upset her. Since I want her out of my life, why would I want her in my house? She wasn’t happy when I told her that. She turned around and left. I was afraid she’d make a scene on the porch. I guess she got the message.”

  As he recalled, Claudia wasn’t much for accepting rejection. He had met her three summers ago. He had just taken the exam for detective. His studying was behind him. The summer was his to waste. Definitely a summer to remember. C
laudia was not one of his summer delights. She had crossed his path later.

  His patrol zone that summer was the beach area and the City Marina. As luck would have it, he met several wonderful women around the beach that summer who were there on vacation. They possessed varying degrees of beauty and charm, and each was enjoyable, enthusiastic, and determined to make the most of their two-week vacation. They had only two things on their mind when they hit town. Getting a tan at the beach came in second. They were concerned with something more important. Such as getting next to that charming bachelor cop who was showing all the women around.

  Summer was almost over when he received the good news of his promotion to Detective. Until it became effective, he was pulled him off the road and reassigned. Away from the beach, the summer became quite ordinary, followed by one of the coldest winters on record in Florida. That’s when Claudia blew in.

  As it would take some time for his promotion paperwork to be processed, he was reassigned as the instructor for the court-ordered Defensive Driving class. Offenders with moving violations could attend the class and avoid a ticket, insurance points, or even a stay in jail.

  At the first class meeting, Chip noticed the somewhat overdressed woman sitting in the back row. When the class came back after a short break, she had repositioned herself conspicuously at the front. She wore a red scoop-neck sleeveless tank top and her long legs were encased in impossibly tight jeans. One crossed leg was continually swinging with a red sandal dangling from pedicured, painted toenails. After class, some participants came to the front with questions for him. He noticed her standing at the side hanging around, so she’d be the last and alone with him.

  “Officer Goddard is it legal for me to enter an intersection on the yellow light?”

  He smiled to himself thinking that in his grandfather’s day it would have been illegal for her to walk around in jeans that tight. “It’s Detective Goddard, and we answered that question twice in class.”

  “We’ve met before. Thought maybe you’d remember me.” She struck a cliché celebrity-pose as though that would help.