by Unknown
Noseworthy frowned. "If you don't want to tell me, don't tell me."
While Noseworthy sulked, Hoke looked incuriously at the gray-green flatlands of Lee County. A lot of the land near the state road had been cleared for cultivation, and they occasionally passed small herds of Black Angus cattle in fenced fields. There were also developers' billboards as they got closer to Four Corners, advertising low preconstruction prices for new condo complexes that were still in the planning stages. When they passed the billboard advertistising the Bonita Springs dog track, the sign where the dead Haitian's body was purportedly discovered, Hoke shook his head with sudden insight. The mystery of the "dead" Haitian behind the billboard was now explained to his satisfaction, but he still didn't know why Mel Peoples and Willie Brownley had lied to him about it. He would find out, however, when he got back to Miami and talked to Willie, even if he had to twist Willie's arm.
There was no bus station at Four Corners, but there was a fifteen-minute rest stop for passengers at the restaurant, and Hoke could buy his ticket from the cashier. Noseworthy gave him money for the fare and an extra twenty dollars, but he handed the money over reluctantly. He shook hands with Hoke, however, and wished him luck before heading back to Immokalee.
Hoke ordered a breakfast of poached eggs, grits, and milk toast and drank three cups of coffee. He had to wait four hours before the bus for Miami pulled into the lot. He could smoke again, if he didn't inhale too deeply, and he smoked ten Kools while he waited for the bus. He was puzzled by Mel Peoples's sudden departure for Tallahassee and Noseworthy's intuitive feeling that he didn't think that any man named Adam Jinks would show up at his guesthouse. It looked as if Mel had been covering for himself, in case anything happened at Bock's farm, by being four hundred miles away from the area.
Hoke called his house from a pay phone in the Miami bus station. He let the phone ring ten times before he hung up. It was after 9:00 P.M., so someone should have been home. Hoke dialed again, thinking he had inadvertently dialed the wrong number. But no one answered the second time either. No one was home. Not one of the three females in his house would be able to let the phone ring ten times without answering it. As a general rule, one of the girls picked up the receiver by the second or third ring.
Hoke walked to the police station, a dozen blocks away. He took the elevator up to the Homicide Division; but his office was locked, and he didn't have his keys. Captain Slater was night duty officer in charge. Slater wore a black silk suit, a navy blue shirt, and a striped blue and white necktie. His pale, pockmarked face, because of his dark clothes, made him look as if he were recovering from a serious illness, but he always looked this way. Slater looked Hoke up and down, and gave him a lipless smile.
"Back from vacation already? Where'd you go, anyway?" Hoke's right sleeve was scorched slightly, his oversize rolledup trousers were baggy at the knees, and he needed a shave again.
"Just working around the house, Captain. Is Gonzalez around?"
"He's still on days. I haven't seen him for a week or so. Half the time I don't even know what you cold case people are working on."
"That's up to Major Brownley. I report directly to him, as you know, but I'll get permission from him to fill you in if you want me to."
"Never mind. I don't want to know. I've got enough on my plate already. You hear about RodrIgues and Ouintero?"
"What about 'em?"
"Arrested. Both of them. They're both in jail on a hundred-and-fifty-thousand-dollar bond. It should be in the papers tomorrow."
"What happened? They're on your night shift, aren't they?"
Slater nodded. "They held up a crack house in Liberty City. It wasn't the first time, either, but this time IA undercovers were planted and arrested them with their hands out."
"That's hard to believe." Hoke shook his head. "These guys've been in plain clothes for five or six years, and they're both married, with families."
"It's a fucking shame, Hoke. But the money's too easy to get, and there's too much of it out there. And these are Homicide cops. God only knows what the Vice cops are stealing."
"I blame Internal Affairs, Captain. Lieutenant Norbert sits on his ass over there, and he doesn't know half the things that are going on in the department. They should send Norbert back to Traffic, where he belongs."
Slater pulled his thin lips back again. "He managed to get Rodriguez and Quintero. They've been suspended, of course, and that leaves me four detectives short on my night shift. Smitty resigned yesterday, without being asked, and Reynaldo's on a six-month psychiatric leave. He'll never return to duty either. He was cleared at the hearing, but both those boys he shot were under sixteen, and the new chief won't take him back."
"He can fight that with the PBA." Hoke shrugged. "Both those boys he killed had pistols."
"Oh, I don't blame Reynaldo, Sergeant. I would've shot them myself in the same situation, but that makes six he's killed in five years. Six, as you know, is beyond chance. They'll give him a psychiatric disability pension, and he'll be fixed for life. What the hell, Hoke, Reynaldo's got sixteen years in. You take his pension fund money for sixteen years, and add a disability on top of that, and he'll make more retirement money than he would if he stayed for twenty."
"I guess you're right, Captain."
"I know damned well I'm right. I worked out the figures on my calculator."
Hoke shrugged and took out his cigarettes. "Reynaldo's always been a little flaky, if you ask me, but--"
"You can't smoke out here in the bull pen."
Hoke put his pack away. "But Quintero and Rodriguez were good cops."
"'Were' is the word. Can I help you with anything, Hoke?"
"No, sir. I was just looking for Gonzalez, is all. I'm still on vacation. I'll just leave a message in his box and tell him to call me at home tomorrow."
"Okay. I happen to see him, I'll tell him to call you."
Before going downstairs, Hoke put a message in González's box. He checked an unmarked Plymouth out of the motor pool and drove home to Green Lakes. He turned on the radio. Miles Davis was playing "In a Silent Way." Miles Davis hated white people so much he always played with his back to his audiences. But he took their money; he let them buy his records. Hoke switched to a Spanish station. An unhappy baritone was singing about his -corazón-. The Latins all had heart trouble, Hoke thought. He switched off the radio and drove the rest of the way home in silence.
No one was home, the house was dark, and Hoke didn't have his keys. Hoke's Pontiac Le Mans was parked behind Ellita's Honda Civic, and Sue Ellen's motorcycle was chained to the carport support column. He rang the bell several times, but no one answered.
Hoke went next door to Mr. Sussman's house. Hoke hadn't talked to Mr. Sussman for more than a month and wasn't eager to see him now; but Hoke kept an extra set of house keys at the Sussmans', and Sussman had left a set of his at Hoke's for emergency purposes. Mr. Sussman was religious and wore a crocheted yarmulke at all times, even when he was inside his house. The old man had berated Sue Ellen one afternoon for revving up her motorcycle in the yard, and she had told him to go fuck himself. Hoke had talked to him about it and then had to persuade Sue Ellen to apologize. The two families weren't close; but Mrs. Sussman was a nice old lady who made over Pepe whenever she saw the baby with Ellita, and Hoke didn't want to have a feud going with his neighbors.
Mr. Sussman, wearing his skullcap, answered the door when Hoke knocked and peered at him with watery blue eyes. He had a pointed chin, and his cropped gray beard made him look like a billy goat. He took off his reading glasses but didn't invite Hoke inside.
"I don't have my keys with me, Mr. Sussman, and no one seems to be home."
"They all left, that's why. I'll see if I can find your keys." He closed the door, and Hoke waited on the porch. Hoke lighted a cigarette and smoked while he waited. Sussman came back with the keys, unlocked the screen door, and handed them to the detective.
"What do you mean they all left? Both cars are
still there."
"They left with that man who moved in across the street. About ten this morning. They were all dressed up, and they had suitcases and the baby, too. They got into this stretch limousine--a big blue Lincoln--and drove away."
"The man across the street, too?"
"That's what I said. There was a man driving the limo, and he was wearing a dark suit, but if he was a chauffeur, he didn't wear a cap. Sarah and me both watched 'em leave from the yard. I'd been on the phone for an hour or so, lining up volunteers for Super Sunday--that's for Federation, you see--and Sarah'd just got back from the store with Bumble Bee."
"Bumble Bee?"
"That's white tuna. That's what Sarah always calls it. When she sends me to the store for tuna, she always writes down 'Bumble Bee' so I don't get a different kind by mistake. Anyway, as I was saying, most people on the block, those that were home, came out to take a look at that stretch Lincoln. You could almost put my little Escort in the back seat."
"They didn't say where they were going?"
"It only took 'em a minute. They seemed to be in a big rush, although I thought your daughter, Sue Ellen, said something or other to me when she got into the car. I don't know what it was, but I can make a pretty good guess."
"That's all over with, Mr. Sussman. Sue Ellen apologized to you for the last time, and she told me she was sorry, too. I won't bother you again this evening, Mr. Sussman. I'll just hang on to these keys for now and bring 'em back to you tomorrow sometime."
"Suit yourself."
Hoke let himself in to the house and looked on the refrigerator door for a note from Ellita. There was no note under the pizza magnet or anywhere else in the house. His car and house keys were on top of his dresser, however, and that would have been a logical place to leave a message. But he couldn't find any notes, and he looked in the girls' room as well. Clothes were scattered about in Ellita's bedroom and the girls' room, but then, they always were--most ot the time anyway. Both of Ellita's suitcases, the big bag and her expensive camelskin airplane carry-on, were missing. Pepe's blue nylon diaper bag was missing, too, but Ellita would need that if she were going to be away for only a couple of hours. Still, it was past ten now, and if they had left at ten this morning, they had been gone for twelve hours!
Hoke called the Sanchez house, hoping he would get the old lady instead of Ellita's father. Her English was better than the old man's, and when she had lived with Hoke for a month right after Ellita came home from the hospital with the baby, the two of them had got along fairly well. She was a good cook, and Hoke had praised her meals. She had certainly been a big help to Ellita during her postpartum periods of depression. For a couple of weeks, when she first came home with Pepe, Ellita had cried a lot for no apparent reason, and Hoke didn't know what was the matter with her. "Don't worry," Mrs. Sanchez had said, raising her gray eyebrows. "We all do that. She'll quit after two or three more weeks. She'd cry even more if she'd had a girl."
On the fourth ring Mrs. Sanchez answered the phone.
"It's me, Hoke," Hoke said quickly. "Sergeant Moseley. Don't hang up."
"I didn't see you leave the party."
Hoke had already forgotten about the party. "I thought I said good-bye to you, Mrs. Sanchez. I had to go to work. An emergency. I know I said good-bye to Uncle Arnoldo. How is Tio Arnoldo, by the way?"
"He has cancer. There's a tumor in his bowels."
"I'm sorry to hear that."
"He bleeds down there. He has to wear a pad. Like a woman."
"That's too bad."
"He's at Jackson now, but they're sending him home from the hospital to die in two days."
"Back to Cuba?"
"No, here, at my house. He will die here in America, a free man, as soon as we get the Medicaid papers signed."
"I'm sure you'll keep him comfortable, Mrs. Sanchez. Is Ellita there? At your house?"
"No. I haven't seen her since the party. If she doesn't want to talk to her mother, she should at least call her father."
"You don't know where she is then?"
"She hasn't called me since the party. If she doesn't want to talk to me, tell her to call her father. He is very sad about Tio Arnoldo."
"Of course. Tell Tio Arnoldo I'll come by and visit him after he gets home. I don't like to bother people when they're still in the hospital."
"I'll tell him. He will be pleased. And tell Ellita to call her father."
"I'll tell her."
After he put the phone down, Hoke undressed and went into the bathroom to shave and shower. He pulled off the Band-Aid preparatory to shaving, and found that the puncture wound in his chin was festering. He cleaned out the yellow pus with a Q-tip dipped in iodine and shaved carefully with a new Bic throwaway razor. He plastered another Band-Aid over the wound before he took his shower. He slipped into a pair of khaki slacks, a light blue sport shirt, clean white socks, and the Nikes he wore when he went to the gym to play handball. His black, high-topped shoes were dirty, and damp inside, so he put them outside the door to the girls' room so Aileen could clean and polish them when she came home. When she came home? Where in the hell would Aileen, Sue Ellen, and Ellita go with a creep like Donald Hutton? That is, if they'd gone willingly. Mr. Sussman said that Sue Ellen had said something or other he couldn't hear when she climbed into the limo. Were they being kidnapped? That seemed unlikely, but on the other hand, if Hutton had a weapon, they would do what he told them, including packing their bags. One way or another Hutton would get his revenge, and a good way to do it was by doing something evil to Ellita and the girls. But Hoke couldn't entertain this thought seriously. If Hutton were going to kidnap Ellita and the girls, he would do it surreptitiously, not in broad daylight with a chauffeured limo.
There was plenty of food in the refrigerator. Hoke made a tomato and cream cheese sandwich on white bread and drank an Old Style with it. He had to make his report to Major Brownley, and he couldn't decide how much or how little to tell him. Brownley still had his badge, weapon, and teeth. Despite the hour, Hoke decided to drive to the major's house instead of phoning.
He threw the.38 pistol he had taken from Bock's house into the bottom drawer of his dresser and covered it with T-shirts. It might be useful as a throw-down weapon someday. He drove the unmarked police car he had checked out instead of taking his Pontiac. Brownley lived in the middleclass section of Liberty City, but to get there, Hoke had to drive through some mean black streets where kids often threw rocks at cars with white drivers. If rocks were thrown, let them throw at a department car instead of his Le Mans.
Hoke hadn't been to the major's house in more than two years. He had forgotten the address but knew where it was and how to get there. On Hoke's last visit Brownley, when he had been promoted to major, had thrown a backyard barbecue for all the off-duty detectives in the Homicide Division. Only five of them, including Hoke and Bill Henderson, had shown up. Ellita had been there, too, but the other detectives hadn't brought their wives. Mrs. Henderson came along, of course, because Bill made her. It would have looked bad for him as the executive officer if he hadn't brought his wife. There was a full keg of draft beer and enough pork barbecue and baked beans for at least forty people. Brownley's three sons wore white shirts, red bow ties, and white pants, and his two daughters wore white party dresses with red sashes. It had been an embarrassing evening for the Brownleys, and Hoke thought at the time those kids would be eating barbecue for a week afterward. After that the major hadn't given any more parties for the detectives in his division.
Brownley had a four-bedroom ranch-style house, and it was surrounded by an eight-foot unpainted board fence. There was a kidney-shaped pool in the backyard. Three cars were parked on the circular asphalt driveway in front of the house. Hoke parked in the street and pushed through the gate, ignoring the Bad Dog sign. Brownley's dog, a fifteenyear-old poodle bitch named Mary, was half blind and too feeble to bark.
One of Brownley's sons, a boy of fifteen or so, let Hoke into the house and aske
d him to sit in the living room. This was a room rarely used, except for company, and it smelled strongly of Lemon Pledge. Hoke could hear talking and the sounds of the television coming from the Florida room in the back of the house. Willie Brownley, wearing plaid Bermudas, slippers, and a striped Saint Laurent shaving robe, joined Hoke within minutes. Hoke stood up. Brownley waved him back down and sat in a tapestry-cushioned straight chair across from him.
"I know it's late--" Hoke said.
"When did you get back?"
"This evening. I rode the bus from Bonita and checked a car out of the motor pool at the station."
"Mel's pretty upset, Hoke. He's called me twice now, both times with new information. He's sorry as hell now, he said, that he asked me for help, and he's afraid I'll tell somebody. Apparently he's up for a big civil service promotion, and he doesn't want any word of your investigation to get out."
"There's no investigation to talk about, Willie. Mel told me to tell you that you were 'kits' now--I guess he meant 'quits'--but all I can tell you is what I told him. I went out there all right, but when I saw the house and barn on fire, I took off in a hurry."
"Did you see any Haitians out there?"
"I didn't see anyone, and no one saw me. The farm's almost a mile from the highway, and I couldn't see the fire till I walked down the gravel road to the farm. I could see smoke, but I thought at first they were just burning a field. There's a heavily wooded hammock between the highway and the farm, and the highway along there's bordered by palmettos."
"The sheriff found two dead bodies, Hoke. Mr. Bock was inside the house, and his foreman was in the barn. Bock's chest cavity was filled with shotgun pellets, and the Mexican's skull had been crushed with a blunt instrument."
"No shit?"
"That's right. What do you suppose happened?"
Hoke shrugged. "What about the workers?"
"He had some Haitians working out there, but no one seems to know how many there were. But they've all disappeared, and his truck's gone, too."
Hoke nodded reflectively and touched his sore chin.