by Lisa Turner
In the rearview mirror he checked Highsmith and saw his cheek puffing at the bone where a punch had landed before he’d gotten his hands on the lamp. Billy could almost hear the wheels turning in the man’s mind, thinking how close he’d come to being tased and dragged into a van.
How had Martin connected with the KODA Group in the first place? Ah. They must protect the warehouse where he stores his car collection. So why call in the big guns for the firm? There can’t be anything of tangible value so it must be secrets that would destroy the firm if they were stolen. Information in those files.
“How long were you in Caroline’s office before they showed?” he asked.
“Long enough.”
“What about Martin?”
“I don’t know how or when he got there. He may have been at the bank and they called him.”
“You know those guys could’ve chopped you up and fed you to the hogs. Boom. Gone. That’s probably what Martin had in mind.”
“I handled myself okay.”
Oh, right. “You said Rosalyn took your key. How did you get past the lock?”
“I learned the tricks of B&E men when I worked at the prosecutor’s office. Locks aren’t a problem.”
“What about the alarm?”
“I figured Martin was too lazy to change the code and he hadn’t.” Highsmith shifted in the seat. “Pull over. Get me out of these cuffs.”
“I’m taking you in.”
“Seriously?”
“KODA has a security video that proves you broke in.”
“I worked in that building until yesterday. I’ll say I forgot something, so I went back.”
“Except that you just confessed to me you went in that building unlawfully. It’s my duty to take you in.”
“Bastard,” Highsmith muttered.
He checked the rearview mirror. Highsmith was staring vacantly out the window. Another mile to the Poplar viaduct then a fifteen-minute drive to the Shelby County Jail. If he went through with this arrest, Highsmith would lose his license to practice law. There’d be no justice in that. Apparently, the guy did a bad thing for a good reason. Billy had done the same thing more than once. He’d just never gotten caught. Besides, with KODA’s involvement he was beginning to believe Highsmith’s claim about the embezzlement.
But if he let Highsmith go and Rosalyn pressed charges, the chief would come down on his head. Director Davis had warned him to play it straight. If it came to light that he’d turned Highsmith loose, his own job would be at risk.
He took a right into the deserted Poplar Plaza Shopping Center and parked in front of Spin Street Music. The iconic thirty-foot tall image of Elvis in his gold lame´ suit glowed in the showcase above the store’s entrance.
“Why are we stopping?” Highsmith asked.
“To make a call.” He hit Frankie’s number on his mobile. She answered.
“You still at the hospital?” he asked.
“I’m at Walnut Grove and Yates.”
“I need you to swing by the Lee Law Firm and see if the place looks buttoned up.”
“Sure. Why?”
“I’ll explain later.”
“You always say that,” she said.
“I know. Did the pharmacist decode Sharma’s script?”
She made him wait. “It’s definitely not cold medicine.” He could hear the click of her turn signal. “I’ll do a drive-by and text in a couple of minutes.”
He sat back. Street sounds bled through the closed window. In the back Highsmith was looking up at the towering image of Elvis outlined in strips of blue neon and lighted by spotlights. It had been a close call with KODA. Both of them could’ve been injured. It wasn’t over yet. Martin was obviously so pissed off he’d be willing to walk through fire to put Highsmith behind bars.
Billy twisted around in his seat. “What in the hell were you thinking? You went in to steal evidence that you know can’t be used to get an indictment.”
“I had my reasons.”
“Reasons ain’t worth shit when you’re sitting in lockup.”
Highsmith drew a deep breath and exhaled.
“What is it?” Billy asked.
“You said Caroline might have sent a letter to Sharma admitting she’d left him for another man. I was that man. So if Sharma killed her, I was the reason. I couldn’t handle that. I was desperate to find some other killer. Some other reason she’d been murdered. That was Martin. I wanted it to be that way.”
Billy almost felt guilty. The man had made him suspicious at the barge, so he’d exaggerated what was in the letter to make him react. As a prosecutor, Highsmith had played the same kind of games, but it was still dirty pool.
A cruiser running code whipped through the light at Poplar and Highland, the sound of the siren deepening in the distance. “Tell me why you broke into the firm when you didn’t have the computer passwords you needed,” he said.
“I took a chance. I guessed at Caroline’s password and hit it on the first try. BlueSkies. It was her favorite song.”
“I know that.”
Highsmith gave him a sharp look. “Caroline told me the two of you had an intimate relationship. She said she was a mixed-up teenager back then.”
Billy looked away, not wanting Highsmith to see how upset he was. Jesus. Caroline must have told him everything.
“She said she regretted the way she’d treated you. And I knew our relationship would make you angry,” Highsmith said. “Like now.”
“You’ve got a bigger problem than that. I don’t believe your reason for jilting Caroline.”
Highsmith’s head hung down, the blue neon coloring his face. “It was a lousy excuse. I didn’t believe it either. I wanted Caroline to love me the way she loved you during your high school romance. Instead, I was the guy she didn’t want anyone to know she was sleeping with. She made that quite clear. She left Sharma and then realized she was pregnant. I think she was terrified he would find out and come after her again, so she told me the baby was mine. I thought I didn’t care whose baby it was, but I guess I did.
“She insisted on a quick wedding. I was already having doubts when I stumbled onto Martin’s embezzlement. You know how it went from there. That night at The Hollywood I felt justified walking away from her.”
“Then you hid out at the diner and licked your wounds.”
Highsmith’s face stiffened. “I’m not proud of it. I was heartbroken. Disillusioned. I was going to have to blow the whistle on her and her family.”
Billy got out of the car and went around to open Highsmith’s door. “Come on. Get out.” He unlocked the cuffs.
Highsmith shook out his arms. “What now?”
Billy’s phone pinged with Frankie’s text:
Lee Law Firm closed up. See you AM. Bring donuts.
“Get in front,” Billy said. “I’m taking you to your car.”
Chapter 39
Billy gave up on sleep at 5:35 am. He showered then went to the sofa to work on a strategy for the coming confrontation with Sharma.
Five days gone since the murder. If Sharma had an alibi, Vanderman should have produced it by now unless the doctor was preventing him from revealing it. Or Sharma was innocent but had no alibi, or he was guilty as a bucket of sin.
Looking at the evidence, they had a solid case. Sharma’s harassment set the tone. Munford Hale had placed Sharma’s car near the crime scene. The .32 revolver in his nightstand could be the murder weapon. If not, the second .32 might be under the driver’s seat of the Escalade. The prescription bottle could be an indication of drug addiction, the kind that makes a hotheaded man more violent. That would add an interesting slant to the interrogation.
In a perfect world Sharma would walk into the squad room and confess. With Vanderman there, that wasn’t going to happen.
Finished with his notes, he made a breakfast of eggs over medium, bacon, grits, toast, and orange juice. Plenty of coffee. He pulled into the CJC lot at 7:35 am. The overweight officer Frankie ha
d nicknamed Snackbar was standing outside the rear entrance door smoking a cigarette. As soon as Billy got out of the car, Snackbar was on him.
“Got a minute, Detective?”
He took a breath of cold air. “Sure. What’s up?”
“I heard Munford Hale placed your perp near the Lee crime scene.”
“You know Hale?” Billy asked.
“He’s a fishing buddy.” Snackbar flicked the cigarette against the wall. “Good officer in his day. Committed.” He rubbed the side of his nose with his forefinger and looked down the street. “You know how it is with us old farts. His mind started playing tricks a few years back. He took early retirement because he knew he was slipping.”
Oh, shit.
“What are you telling me?”
“He gets his days confused. Can’t remember his grandkids’ names. The wife lets him drive to Shelby Farms at night. He says he walks the track, but he sits in the car and listens to the radio.” Snackbar shrugged. “His testimony won’t hold up in court, but there’s no reason you can’t use his statement to pressure your suspect.”
In the squad room, Billy found Frankie at her desk unpacking her satchel. Her complexion looked dull from a hard week and lack of sleep. He would like to take her out for a hot breakfast instead of her eating those stupid PowerBars. He’d want to tell her about his takedown of the KODA operative on the landing, Highsmith wielding the lamp, and the consternation on Martin’s face when he’d walked Highsmith out of the building in cuffs. But he couldn’t do that, because he would also have to tell her he’d caught Highsmith red-handed committing a felony and then let him go. That could lead to all kinds of hassles for both of them.
All he could give her this morning was the news that Snackbar had just blown a hole in their case.
She waved to him and covered a yawn. “Sorry. Not awake yet. And I’m afraid there’s not much positive news. The ballistic comparison on Sharma’s revolver is negative, and the lab is having trouble analyzing the specks of blood on the slacks. One good thing. The pharmacist at the hospital traced Sharma’s prescription bottle to a hospital in Houston.”
“We’ve lost our witness,” he said.
She squinted. “What? What’s the problem?”
“You picked up on it last night. Munford Hale has dementia.” He recounted Snackbar’s parking lot revelation.
She dropped her head in her hands and groaned.
“Hold on,” he said. “Hale may have a memory problem, but that doesn’t mean Sharma’s Escalade wasn’t in the parking lot on Monday night.”
She lowered her hands and looked at him as if he was nuts. “We can’t use it. Vanderman will discredit his testimony on cross.”
“We can use it today as leverage. Vanderman doesn’t know Hale has dementia. And if Sharma has a drug addiction, I want to use it. You think you can identify the drug before they get here?”
She sat back. “I put a call into the Houston hospital, but I don’t hold much hope they’ll talk to me. I’ve given the list of compounds to Dr. Ramos and asked him to try and identify them as a backup.”
“Ramos? You’re still seeing the witchdoctor?”
She gave him a grim look. “He’s a highly regarded psychologist who happens to be a Santeriá priest. He has the same access to medical research sites as any M.D., and he’s willing to help.” She started typing. “And who I see is none of your business.”
Billy was still thrown by the bond between straightlaced Frankie and the mysterious Cuban psychologist. Her ties with the Santeriá religion, which started during her Key West upbringing, had been a surprise. Still, Ramos was a smart guy and had played a role in breaking their last big case. He might come through again.
At nine o’clock, the secretary at Reception buzzed the intercom. “Detective Able, Mr. Vanderman is here.”
“Is his client with him?”
“Not unless he’s the Invisible Man.”
“I knew it,” Frankie said, ease dropping.
“On my way,” he said.
Vanderman was standing next to the reception desk in his thousand-dollar suit. When he saw Billy he thrust out his hand. “Dr. Sharma’s flight from Houston was delayed. He’ll be here in twenty minutes.”
“I have a warrant for his arrest. How do you know he’s not on a plane to Fiji?”
“He’ll be here,” Vanderman said, but he looked uncomfortable.
“I’ll give him the twenty minutes. After that I’ll have him arrested in the parking lot.”
He left the attorney pacing among Reception’s plastic chairs and returned to his desk.
“And?” Frankie asked.
“Sharma’s flight was delayed. Houston.”
“Houston means he made a drug run, or he’s AWOL. Vanderman showed up to protect his own credibility.”
“You may be right,” he said, his fallback response when he wanted to shut down a conversation. He’d been in this position before, a tight case unraveling. He went to the break room and returned with a cup of scorched coffee. He checked his mobile. It was after nine and still nothing from Blue. Maybe his dad had gotten sick during the night. Billy texted his concern and paced around the squad room, ending up at the window where the Pyramid gleamed above the mighty Mississippi. A pigeon landed on the ledge and eyed him.
He looked at the clock. “Six minutes,” he told the bird.
Detective Kloss waved him over to his desk. “I heard you say Munford Hale has dementia. I don’t understand. He was right as rain yesterday when I interviewed him.”
A fried chicken biscuit sat in front of Kloss in its greasy wrapper. Kloss picked it up. “You’ve got Sharma on the ropes even without Hale’s ID, right?” He took a bite.
They both knew the murder charge depended on Hale’s testimony.
“Not exactly,” Billy said, watching biscuit crumbs fall in Kloss’s lap.
Kloss took another bite and chewed. “A female cab driver is coming in. Cabbies see a lot of shit on the road, you know. Maybe she’s got something.”
Billy nodded, only half listening. As he was walking back to his desk, the secretary buzzed in.
“Detective. Tall, dark, and agitated just showed up.”
Frankie looked up from her keyboard. “I’ll send uniforms downstairs to look for the Escalade. If it’s not there, we’ll check the house.”
In Reception, Vanderman shook Billy’s hand like they hadn’t done it a few minutes earlier. Sharma loomed behind his attorney. Billy hadn’t seen him dressed in anything but scrubs. Today he wore tan slacks, a red sweater, and a brown leather jacket. He had his hair slicked back, his brow an ashen color. He looked thin, almost skeletal.
Sharma stepped around his attorney and stabbed a finger at Billy. “You broke my front doors. You violated my home.” His voice sounded rough as if he’d been huffing sand.
“Settle down, Doctor,” Vanderman cautioned.
“You weren’t home so we let ourselves in,” Billy said. “I hear you’ve been in Houston.”
Sharma threw Vanderman a nasty look, obviously furious his attorney had disclosed the trip.
“Detective, I need a moment with my client,” Vanderman said.
“This way.” Billy ushered them down the hall, an acrid odor trailing Sharma. In the squad room, Vanderman ignored Frankie as he passed her desk. That was a mistake. One day she would be the lead detective on a case he was defending.
He showed them into the interview room with four chairs around a table. Sharma stalked past him, and Vanderman closed the door behind him.
Billy turned to Frankie and shook his head.
“A hospital attorney called while you were in Reception,” she said. “They wouldn’t tell me a thing. I’m counting on Ramos to come through.” She cocked her head toward the interview room. “Sharma looks awful.”
He went to his desk and picked up the arrest warrant and a case file that he’d bulked up with enough extra material to put a scare into Sharma. Billy liked his reputation as a closer,
but this time he had very little ammunition. He noticed Vanderman had opened the door.
“Put your phone on vibrate,” Frankie whispered. “I’ll buzz you if Ramos comes through with intel on the drugs.”
He walked in, noting that Vanderman had seated Sharma at the table and positioned himself behind the chair for control. Billy would’ve preferred to put Sharma in a chair with his back to the corner and go after him, but that wasn’t about to happen with Vanderman there. The doctor had his head down and was flipping a burner phone from hand to hand as Billy took the chair across from him. He laid the arrest warrant on the table. Sharma pocketed the phone, deliberately avoiding eye contact.
“Dr. Sharma,” Billy said. “You have an opportunity to help yourself by explaining what happened between you and your former fiancé on Monday night.”
Vanderman peered over the top of his glasses. “Talk to me, Detective. Not my client.”
Billy tapped his finger on the warrant. “He’s going to be charged with first degree murder. If he cooperates, the DA may consider reducing the charge to second degree.”
Sharma picked up the warrant and handed it over his shoulder to Vanderman. “Get on with this. I have a surgery scheduled in two hours.”
Vanderman read the warrant and tossed it on the table. “If your witness swears to this identification he’ll perjure himself. Put him on the stand, and you’ll be in trouble.”
Vanderman sounded confident, but then he was a professional bluffer. “Our witness is a former police officer, a trained observer,” Billy said.
Vanderman pulled an envelope from his inside suit pocket and withdrew two rectangular pieces of paper. “That may be, but he’s wrong in this instance. My client flew out of Memphis on Monday three hours before Miss Lee was murdered. Here are his boarding passes.” He dropped the cards on top of the warrant.
Billy picked them up and studied them. They looked authentic. “He could’ve ducked out on the flight.”