Charles Willeford_Hoke Moseley 04

by The Way We Die Now

  “Why are you sitting there, staring at my house?” Hutton, who had been a tall, spare man to begin with, unlike his dead brother, Virgil, had lost more weight in prison. He unfolded his long arms, which had been crossed over his chest, and placed his spatulate fingers on his bony knees. Unlike Hoke, he had retained all his hair, and it had been teased into ringlets. A fringe of black curls obscured the hairline on his high forehead. His long nose hooked slightly to the left. His deep-set dark eyes were more violet than blue, and he had long black eyelashes. As he widened his eyes, Hoke could see the outline of the full optic circle. A half-smile made Hutton’s full lips curl on the right side only, and there was a tiny square of dentist’s gold on his right front tooth. He had been a handsome man at the trial, ten years ago, and he had worn a different suit and tie every day. Now that he had a few craggy lines around his eyes and at the corners of his mouth, he was even more handsome. Or craggy. Yes, that’s the word for him, Hoke thought: craggy.

  Hutton pointed a forefinger at Hoke. “I think I know you, sir. Aren’t you Detective Moseley?”

  “Sergeant Moseley.”

  Hutton nodded. “I thought you looked familiar, but you’ve lost a little hair. And you live over there?” Hutton moved his finger slightly to the right, so it was no longer pointing directly at Hoke. “Then we must be neighbors. What do you do, Sergeant—congratulations on your promotion, by the way—rent a room from Mrs. Sánchez?”

  “That’s Ms. Sánchez, and she lives in my house.”

  “You aren’t married then? That isn’t your baby?”

  “No, that’s Ms. Sánchez’s son. My two daughters also live with me.”

  “I saw them earlier. Nice-looking girls. How old are they?”

  “What are you doing out here, staring at my house?”

  “There’s not much else to look at. But sitting out in the sun has been a rare privilege for me in recent years. I occasionally look down the street because I’m watching for the FPL man to turn on my electricity. The water man came already; but the FPL promised faithfully to send out a man today, and I don’t want to miss him.”

  “How come you bought this house? This particular house, right across from mine?”

  “Oh, I didn’t buy it, Sergeant. I leased it for a year at a very attractive rate, with an option to buy at the end of the year. But I don’t think that’s any of your business. How much did you pay for your house?”

  “I’m leasing it.”

  “At least your house is on the lake, and mine isn’t. D’you ever swim in the lake?”

  “Swimming’s forbidden. It was a pretty deep quarry, and some kids drowned.”

  “A nice breeze comes off the water, though, doesn’t it?”

  “A hot breeze. But you haven’t answered my question.”

  “I thought I did. I got an attractive deal, and I’ve always thought that Green Lakes was a quiet part of Miami to live. It’s not quite as nice as I remember it, but it’s convenient for shopping. The new shopping center’s only five blocks away.”

  “You threatened my life, Hutton. D’you remember that, too?”

  “Yes, I did, didn’t I?” Hutton smiled crookedly. “But I was upset at the time. After all, I was an innocent man and was sentenced for a crime I didn’t commit.”

  “You killed your brother, all right. That was proven to the satisfaction of the jury.”

  “A new trial would bring a different verdict. But I was denied a new trial. I took the deal, anyway, to get out of prison. But I still didn’t kill my brother. Did you ever ask yourself how I, a man fifty pounds lighter than my brother, managed to get him to eat two spoonfuls of rat poison?”

  “Many times. How did you persuade him? There were traces even in the roots of his hair, so he took it over a long period of time.”

  “I didn’t put it in his shampoo either, Sergeant. I loved my brother and wished him no harm. I only hope that someday you people will catch the real killer. But it’s written off now, isn’t it? I don’t hold a grudge against you or the system. I think now you were only doing your job, as they say, so I don’t hold a grudge against you. You may disregard my old threat, Sergeant, if you haven’t already. I hope we can be good neighbors.”

  “We’ll never be good neighbors, Hutton.”

  Hoke was perspiring freely. It was only 6:00 P.M., and with DST there would be another two and a half hours of sunlight. Hoke took off his jacket. The heat had no apparent effect on Hutton, despite his heavy blue serge suit.

  “The only way we’ll ever be good neighbors, Hutton, is if you stay on your side of the street and I stay on mine. And keep away from my family.” Hoke turned on his heel and crossed the street. He imagined that he could feel Hutton’s violet eyes boring into his back. He rolled up the windows in his car and went into the house without looking over at Hutton. Hoke realized he had come out badly in the little confrontation. He should have ignored the man altogether, but it was too late now.

  Hoke showered and wished that he could shave. The dark gray stubble on his chin and cheeks, and the thick mixture of black and red hairs on his upper lip, made him feel seedy and unclean, even after his shower. He put on a pair of khaki shorts and a clean white T-shirt and sat on the edge of his army cot in his small bedroom.

  He was angry about Hutton, but there didn’t seem to be anything he could do about it. Ten years was a long time for a man to hold a grudge. Either a man would forget about it altogether, or he would nurse it, hugging it to his chest, and let it become an integral part of his being. Donald Hutton was an educated man, with a degree in agriculture from Valdosta State College. He still had a trace of Georgia accent in his voice, but not very much. Voices flattened out, and accents—except for Latins—eventually disappeared after a man had lived in Miami for a few years. Even Hoke called the city “Miami” now instead of “Mi-am-ah,” as he had when he first moved down here from Riviera Beach, Florida.

  How did Donald persuade his brother to take strychnine? This was a point that Hoke had never been able to clear up, although it hadn’t mattered too much at the time. Hoke’s part in the process was to find enough evidence to go to trial, and he had. What the state’s attorney and the jury and the judge did with the evidence was not important to Hoke. Cases where the evidence had been very strong indeed had been lost by the state; other cases, with little or weak evidence, had obtained convictions. But if Hoke worried about lenient judges and juries letting people off, he would be (as some of his fellow detectives were) in a constant state of rage. In Hutton’s case the man was surely guilty. Hoke was certain of that, although it hadn’t mattered to him whether or not Hutton was convicted and put away. That part of the process was not his job, and Hoke was objective about the outcome of most murder trials, including the ones he had worked on. Hutton, of course, hadn’t shared his objectivity. Perhaps now, with the knowledge he had gained at Raiford, Hutton had mellowed out. What did he say? “You were just doing your job.” Right. By the time Aileen came back to his room to call him to dinner, Hoke had decided that Hutton was not an immediate threat to him or his family. The girls didn’t know anything about the Hutton case, but he would remind Ellita to keep the threat a secret from the girls. There was no need to alarm the girls unless there was a need to alert them.

  Hoke went into the kitchen and told Ellita to say nothing about Hutton’s ten-year-old threat.

  “You don’t have to tell me that,” she said. “I’d never tell them anything without talking it over with you first.”

  “I realize that. But I don’t want anything to slip out. We don’t want the neighbors to find out who he is either. Otherwise, they’ll be taking walks every night to take a gander at him out of morbid curiosity.”

  Hoke took the platter holding the turkey breast out to the table and began to carve it into even quarter-inch-thick slices. There was Stove Top corn bread dressing, mashed potatoes and gravy, and boiled rutabagas. There were avocado halves filled with shrimp salad as appetizers. Ellita had always laughed
at the TV commercials of the housewife tests for Stove Top dressing. “Did the husbands prefer Stove Top dressing to mashed potatoes?” The husbands invariably wanted the Stove Top dressing, instead of the mashed potatoes, but Ellita knew that most men would want both—not one or the other.

  There was a dish of jalapeños for Hoke, black and green olives, and a bowl of jellied cranberry sauce. Hoke distributed slices of turkey and then sat in his chair as Ellita passed around the other plates of food.

  There was a knock on the front door. Ellita got up. “I’ll get it.”

  “If it’s anyone for the girls,” Hoke said as he chopped a jalapeño over his turkey slices, “tell them we’re eating now and to come back in an hour.”

  “Ellita,” Sue Ellen said, “says that little car across the street’s a Henry J. How much would a little car like that be worth today, Daddy? I’ve never even seen one before, and we get just about everything through the car wash.”

  “I don’t know, sweetie. Back in the fifties you could pick up a secondhand Henry J for about a hundred bucks. A used one, I mean. But after twenty years a car in Florida becomes a classic, so it would all depend on how much a collector would be willing to pay for it.”

  “D’you think I could talk the owner into a Simoniz job? I could do it Sunday and give him a better price than he could get down at the car wash.”

  “We’re going to the Sánchezes’ Sunday afternoon. Remember?”

  “If I can make thirty-eight bucks on a wax job, I’ll skip the party. I’m not all that thrilled about—”

  Ellita entered the dining room with Donald Hutton. He was carrying a small aluminum coffeepot in his right hand.

  “This is our neighbor from across the street,” Ellita said, “Mr. Hutton. You already know Sergeant Moseley, but these are his daughters, Sue Ellen and Aileen.”

  The girls nodded and smiled. Hutton shifted the coffeepot to his left hand and shook hands awkwardly with the two seated girls. He cleared his throat and lifted one corner of his mouth in a lopsided smile. “I, ah, was only asking Ms. Sánchez here for a pot of hot water, thinking I’d brew up some instant coffee. My electricity hasn’t been turned on yet, and I don’t want to go out for anything because the man could show up at any time. I certainly didn’t invite myself to dinner.” He looked at Hoke, who said nothing in return.

  “I invited you,” Ellita said, gesturing to Aileen. Aileen got up and brought a chair in from the kitchen and placed it next to her seat. Sue Ellen went into the kitchen for silverware and another plate. Ellita took the plate from Sue Ellen and filled it. Hutton sat in the chair Aileen brought to the table, shifting the empty pot from one hand to the other; then he placed it on the floor between his feet.

  “Dig in, Mr. Hutton,” Hoke said. “None of us cares for dark meat, so Ellita usually cooks a turkey breast instead of the whole bird, except when she fixes mole sauce.”

  Hoke passed Hutton the dressing and the gravy boat. His fingers trembled slightly from rage, although his voice hadn’t betrayed him. What he wanted to do was kick Ellita squarely in her big fat ass! What in the hell was the matter with her, inviting this bastard to the table?

  “This really looks good,” Hutton said. “It’s been a long time since I’ve had a home-cooked meal.”

  “Did your wife die, Mr. Hutton?” Sue Ellen said.

  “That’s a personal question, Sue Ellen,” Hoke said.

  “Oh, that’s quite all right,” Hutton said, smiling as he spread a heaping tablespoonful of cranberry sauce on his turkey. “I’ve never been married. I came close a couple of times, but somehow I just never got around to it. I’m forty-five now, and it’s a little too late to start a family, I guess.”

  “We were talking earlier about your Henry J,” Sue Ellen said. “How much is it worth, a little antique car like that?”

  “It isn’t for sale. It’s the only car I’ve got left. At one time I collected classic cars, but I kept the little Henry J. It’s only got twenty-seven thousand miles on it, and I’ll just use it for transportation.”

  “Would you like a beer, Mr. Hutton?” Ellita asked.

  “I’m not allowed to drink.” Hutton shot a quick glance at Hoke. “Doctor’s orders,” he added.

  What a bastard, Hoke thought; did Hutton think he would turn him in to his parole officer for drinking a lousy beer?

  “I wouldn’t mind some coffee, though,” Hutton said, smiling at Ellita.

  “We usually have coffee later, with dessert. Cuban coffee. And we’re having Tres Leches for dessert.”

  “Three milks?”

  “It’s a homemade custard. I haven’t started the coffee yet, but—” Ellita started to get up.

  “Sit down, please. I’m in no hurry for coffee.”

  Ellita sat down, and Aileen jumped up. “Let me make it, Ellita. I know he wants his coffee now, or he wouldn’t’ve brought his pot over.”

  “Please—” Hutton held up his right hand.

  Aileen went into the kitchen.

  “I work at the Green Lakes Car Wash,” Sue Ellen said. “But I can do wax jobs for people on my own time. I could do a nice Simoniz job on that Henry J for you at a bargain price. Thirty-eight dollars. It’ll cost you fifty at the car wash. I can’t do it this Sunday because we’re going to a party. But I can do it next Sunday.”

  “That sounds fair to me.” Hutton nodded. “I don’t have a garage or a carport, so it might be a good idea. If it’s going to sit out in the sun all day, that might be the thing to do.”

  “Sunday week, then, Mr. Hutton. I’ll also bring along a can of new car spray, and you can keep it in your car. It’ll look like a new car when I finish, so you’ll want it to smell like one, too.”

  “Sure. Why not? This turkey’s wonderful, Ms. Sánchez.”

  Aileen came back from the kitchen. “There’s a van over in front of your house, Mr. Hutton.”

  “That’s probably the FPL man.” He started to get up.

  “I’ll go,” Hoke said. He got up and placed a hand on Hutton’s shoulder. “I know where your meter is. Finish your dinner.” Hoke left the house and went across the street. He hadn’t been able to take another bite after Hutton had sat at the table.

  After the Florida Power electrician had turned on the electricity, Hoke signed “D. Hutton” and the time on the man’s clipboard. He finished his cigarette before he went back to his house. He had calmed down by this time and was half amused by his former anger. He decided to say nothing to Ellita. It was as much her house as it was his, and if she wanted to invite the killer to dinner, she was entitled to feed him.

  When Hoke took his place at the head of the table again, Ellita was nursing Pepe. She had folded her T-shirt back, exposing her large alabaster breasts, with faint tiny blue veins. Hutton, a little bug-eyed, was trying to keep his violet eyes off them but couldn’t quite manage it. He stared at his plate, and then cut his eyes over, and then shifted back to his plate again, obviously discomfited.

  Hoke was able to eat now. He finished quickly so the others could get to their desserts and coffee. Hoke enjoyed Hutton’s uneasiness. Hoke hadn’t paid that much attention to Ellita’s breasts before, but he saw them with new eyes, thanks to Hutton. Ellita was a D cup before she began nursing, but her breasts were much larger now. Pepe, red-faced, nursed audibly.

  Hutton refused a second cup of coffee, finished his custard, thanked Ellita again, and left the house. Aileen walked him to the front door and then came back, hesitating in the archway between the living and dining room. Aileen looked at her sister and giggled.

  “Did you notice his eyelashes?”

  “Did I?” Sue Ellen rolled her brown eyes. “I’d give my left ovary for eyelashes like that.”

  “His eyes are violet, not blue,” Ellita said. “Just like Elizabeth Taylor’s.”

  “Jesus Christ,” Hoke said, and he threw his napkin down on the table. He left the table and went into the living room to catch the last half of the Kojak rerun on Channel 33. The women cl
eared the table, and he could still hear them talking and laughing in the kitchen over the cacophony of the New York traffic coming from the television set.

  6

  SATURDAY MORNING AFTER BREAKFAST HOKE MOWED THE lawn. The lawn mower was old, and the blades needed sharpening; but Hoke enjoyed the exercise. The activity, he felt, was good for him, but he wanted to finish before the sun got too hot. It had been eighty degrees at six-thirty, with humidity to match, when he went out to get the newspaper. The paper stated that the highs would probably be in the low nineties. The Henry J was gone, so Hutton, thankfully, was off somewhere. Hoke was pleased about that. He hadn’t relished the thought that Hutton might sit out in his front yard and watch him work for two hours.

  At ten-thirty, when Hoke had finished the front lawn and was sweeping grass cuttings off the sidewalk, Ellita called him in to answer the telephone. It was Teodoro González.

  “Hello, Teddy,” Hoke said into the phone. “How’d you make out?”

  “They let me talk to four Cuban guys wearing orange jumpsuits out in the yard. What they told me doesn’t mean much, but they got my Oméga.”

  “Your wristwatch?”

  “Yeah. One of the bastards took it, but when we shook ’em down later, nobody had it on him. I didn’t miss it, you see, until I was leaving and picking up my pistol and cuffs at the main gate. We went right back, but by then whoever took the watch had a chance to ditch it. Security said they’d shake down the barracks this morning and let me know if it shows up. But I’ll never see it again, and I paid a hundred and eighty-five bucks for that watch.”

  “You should’ve checked it with your pistol at the gate.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  “What about the tattoos?”

  “They said they weren’t prisoner tattoos. Those stars and circles were new to them, and they thought the little V’s might be initials. The dead men could be cane cutters, they said, Jamaicans or Haitians, but whatever they are, they aren’t Cubans.”