“Yeah, well, the lady said he was wearing latex gloves, so I doubt we’re gonna find any prints,” the taller of the two cops said.
“It looks like it might be related to a case I’m working on, so if I want prints taken I’ll have my people do it,” Harry said.
“Good enough for us,” the Clearwater cop said. He handed Harry a card. “Just call in and let us know what’s missing … for our report. And when the lady feels up to it, you can arrange a time for her to look at our perp book, see if she can ID this guy.”
“You got it,” Harry said.
“Oh, by the way, the guy got in through your lanai. Cut the screen and came in through the sliding glass doors to the house. It doesn’t look like he had to force them.”
“Sometimes I forget to lock them,” Harry said.
“Bad idea,” the cop said. “Your mother’s right about this neighborhood. There’s a lot of creeps on the beach early in the morning. Some of them sleep out there at night.”
When the two officers left, Harry knelt back down in front of Jeanie. “You sure you feel okay?”
“Yes, I’m fine.”
“Okay, tell me what this guy looked like.”
Jeanie thought about the question, something Harry always liked to see a witness do. “Well, he was tall, maybe an inch shorter than you, or maybe an inch taller. It was hard to tell.”
“But approximately my height.
“Yes.”
“What about weight?”
“He was slim, but strong looking; muscular, rather than flabby, you know what I mean?”
“Maybe a hundred and seventy-five, a hundred and eighty pounds?”
“I’m not good about weight with men, but that sounds about right.”
“Hair?”
“That was hard to tell. He had a bandana over his nose and mouth and a baseball hat pulled low over his eyes, but I feel like his hair was a light color, blond or sandy brown, something like that. But I couldn’t swear to it. I spent most of my time staring at his gun. It was a big, square one, just like the one you have.”
Harry nodded. “No facial features at all?”
Jeanie shook her head. “Just his eyes. They were blue, and I only remember that because they were very hard, very scary eyes, like he was maybe a little crazy or something. It seemed like he was outraged that I was here, that I was interrupting him. I know it sounds crazy, but it made me feel that he knew I didn’t belong here.” She glanced at Maria with a look of nervous regret.
Maria just patted her hand.
“The Clearwater cops said he was wearing latex gloves.”
“Yes. Just like the ones you have around here. Maybe he just took some of yours when he saw them.”
Harry nodded, his thoughts drifting to Bobby Joe Waldo, and then to Nick Benevuto. “Are you sure the guy was thin?” he asked.
“Yes.”
The door opened behind him and Rubio strutted in. He was dressed in an oversized Magic basketball shirt, baggy jeans falling off his butt that he held up with one hand, and a cockeyed Tampa Bay Rays baseball cap. Harry had told him to wait in his car until the Clearwater cops cleared the scene and left.
“Who the hell are you?” Jocko said.
Harry smiled at the boy. “This is Rubio. I hired him to be Jeanie’s bodyguard.”
“What?” Jeanie said.
“He’s good,” Harry said. “And I trust him. I want him to hang with you for a couple of days, or until I catch this clown.”
“You think this guy might come back looking for me?” Jeanie asked.
“No, I don’t,” Harry said honestly. “But I don’t want to take the chance.” He looked back over his shoulder. “Rubio, come here.”
Rubio swaggered toward them. “Wassup?”
Harry spent the next half hour going through the duplicate files he had at home. Nothing he could think of seemed to be missing, although he had a nagging feeling that something was. If so, he knew it would come to him later.
He left Jeanie and Rubio in the care of his mother, who had decided to take both of them home with her, “where it’s safe,” and “where I can make them a nice lunch.” She promptly ordered Jocko to take his MGB home and get their “real car,” so they all could fit inside.
Before leaving Jocko threw a glance a Rubio and offered to stay at the house with Harry.
“No, I’ll be fine,” Harry assured him. “This clown won’t risk coming back.”
“You got any idea who it was?” Jocko asked.
“Yeah, I do,” Harry said.
It was well past noon when Harry got back to the squad room, half the day wasted. Rourke called him into his office as soon as he noticed he was back.
“We got a problem,” he said, even before Harry had taken a seat. “But first, tell me how everything turned out at your house.”
Harry told him, assuring him there was no evidence at the house that shouldn’t have been there.
“You have any idea who did it?”
“Nothing solid right now,” Harry said, “just a hunch. What’s the problem?”
“The sheriff had a call from a lawyer named Walter Middlebrooks. I guess you know him. He represents that church you’re looking into.”
“And the head minister’s son, who’s my prime suspect right now. What did that weasel lawyer want from our great and glorious leader?”
Rourke gave him a warning look. “Seems like your boy, the minister’s kid, remembers Darlene talking about a cop who was pressuring her to put out. He also remembers that he was a homicide dick and that his first name was Nick. The lawyer says the kid withheld the information because he was afraid we’d set him up if he pointed a finger at one of our guys. So he wants to know why we’re pushing so hard on a kid minister, just because he may have strayed a bit, but we’re ignoring one of our own who was doing the same thing.”
“What did you tell the boss?” Harry asked.
“I told him the minister’s kid and our guy are both under investigation, and that I’d send him copies of the daily reports to back that up. I also told him Nick’s assigned to limited duty until the case is resolved, or at least his part in it is resolved.”
“What did he say?”
“He said to suspend him forthwith. He said it could be a suspension with pay, but he wanted him out of here before the shift ended.”
Harry looked over his shoulder and noticed that Nick’s desk was empty.
“I told him a half hour ago,” Rourke said. “He came in late this morning.” Rourke hesitated and gave Harry a look that said, late enough to have been at your house.
Harry nodded, but didn’t take the bait. “How’d he handle the suspension?”
“He was upset, but he knows my hands are tied.” Rourke drew a long breath and shook his head. “Harry, I don’t make him for this. And it’s not just because he’s a brother cop.”
“Neither do I. But there’s enough evidence pointing at him that we can’t ignore him, either.”
Rourke thought it over for several moments. “Who do you think broke into your house?”
“Bobby Joe Waldo,” Harry said. “The same minister’s kid that lawyer was yapping about. It was either him or somebody very close to him. But I can’t prove it. Not yet, anyway.”
“Why would he take a chance like that?”
“The same reason they’re trying to deflect attention toward Nick. He probably heard Nick’s name from Darlene. That part of it’s probably true. But he’s just using it; grasping at anything he can to take the pressure off. He knows I’m closing in on him. That’s why he broke in. He wants to see what I’ve got on him and he knows he can’t get in here. I think he was hoping to find exactly what he found, copies of reports that I was working on at home. Somebody was watching my house the other day and he took off when Jocko spotted him.”
“Are you talking about your father, the retired Clearwater sergeant? He saw this guy too?”
Harry nodded. “Neither one of us made the connect
ion then. Jocko couldn’t make the guy out, but it was obvious he was watching the house. Hell, maybe he followed me home one day. Or maybe he followed me two or three days. I wasn’t exactly looking over my shoulder. But if he did, and he saw me bringing home some folders, it wouldn’t take a genius to figure out what they were.”
“So what are you going to do now?”
“I’m going go have a talk with the young Reverend Waldo.”
“Be careful,” Rourke warned. “The sheriff doesn’t want to piss off the faith community. This is still the Bible belt, and he’s still running for reelection.”
When Harry got back to his desk there was a note to call Walter Middlebrooks. That would be a demand to stay away from his client. He decided he would see Bobby Joe first and save the pleasure of Middlebrooks for later.
Bobby Joe wasn’t at his church office, his secretary explaining that “the minister called in sick.” To Harry’s surprise the short, plump, and extremely prim woman was more than happy to hand over Bobby Joe’s home address. “He lives above the garage at his daddy’s house,” she said, as if that solitary bit of information told Harry everything he needed to know about Bobby Joe.
Harry kept his back to the spy hole in Bobby Joe’s front door. He wanted the benefit of surprise when the young minister opened it and realized who was standing there; wanted to see what tells Bobby Joe would give up. No matter how proficient the lair, there was always something that would show if a cop remained patient and watchful. The problem wasn’t that some suspects were so clever. It was that there weren’t enough patient cops.
Harry turned as the door opened and was met by a look of abject fear in Bobby Joe’s eyes, a look that turned to sudden relief when he saw who it was.
Somebody is scaring the hell out of him, Harry thought. And it isn’t me.
“Expecting the bogeyman?”
Bobby Joe stiffened. Harry took advantage of the momentary confusion and walked past him into a disheveled living room.
“Hey, didn’t Middlebrooks talk to you?”
Bobby Joe said, following him inside.
“Talk to me about what? Are you referring to Nick Benevuto?”
“Is that the detective? Darlene just called him Nick, a real scary homicide detective.”
Harry turned to face him. “Scarier than me, Bobby Joe?”
Bobby Joe swallowed hard. “Look, Middlebrooks already talked to the sheriff and he was supposed to talk to you. My daddy wants to know why you’re all over me about this, all over our church, and nobody’s lookin’ at this cop who was threatening Darlene?”
Harry made his mouth form a slow smile. “We’re looking at him, Bobby Joe. In fact, we’ve been looking at him almost as long as we’ve been looking at you. But you know what, Bobby Joe? I don’t make him for that murder. I make you for it.”
“That’s crazy. I didn’t kill anybody.” Perspiration had begun to form on his upper lip despite the cold blast of air-conditioning that filled the apartment. “Alright, I admit I slept with her. I was seduced. That woman could seduce anyone. But I didn’t kill her.”
“Somebody in your church killed her, Bobby Joe, and if it wasn’t you I think you know who it was.”
“I don’t. All I know is this Nick guy.”
“Bullshit!” Harry shouted. “You either did it, or you can point a finger at the person who did.” Harry jabbed his own finger into Bobby Joe’s chest. “And you better tell me, you little shit, or you’re going down for it.”
“All I know is Nick—”
“We’ve checked Nick. We’ve checked him inside out. And you know what? You’re not gonna be able to hang this on him. But I’m gonna be able to hang it on you. And your lawyer and all his bullshit stories about Nick Benevuto aren’t gonna let you weasel out of it. So you better tell me what you know.”
Bobby Joe tried to light a cigarette, but his hand was trembling and it took several attempts before he succeeded. “If I could help you, I would,” he managed.
“Who else was watching her? Who else was trying to do what your daddy asked everybody to do … to get something on her?” As he asked the question, Harry realized what had been taken from his house. It had been the copy of the church bulletin, the one in which Reverend Waldo repeated the call he had made from his pulpit, the call to his flock to go out and get something on Darlene, to make her pay for her sins. He was now 90 percent certain that it hadn’t been in the file when he checked it this morning. It was the only thing that had been missing. He glared at Bobby Joe, thinking about the pistol whipping Jeanie had sustained. “Did you break into my house this morning?” He waited while Bobby Joe just stared at him. “Answer me!” he shouted when the minister failed to speak.
“No. No. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Somebody broke in and went through my files. If it wasn’t you, then you know who it was.”
Bobby Joe’s face was dead pale. “You’re tryin’ to get me killed,” he croaked.
Harry grabbed him by the arm. “Who would kill you, Bobby Joe?”
Bobby Joe pulled away. “I’m not sayin’ anything more. I want you out of my house. I want you out of here right now.”
Harry returned to his car and sat, staring up at the apartment. His instinct told him to sit on Bobby Joe, to see who he went to see, or who came to see him. But first he had to find out if his memory was correct, that the church bulletin was really missing. He tried to call Jeanie on her cell phone, but there was no answer. He called Jocko’s house and Maria told him that Jeanie had left with Rubio, saying they were going to a movie to try and get her mind off what had happened. She said Jocko had gone with them, but that she decided to stay home and cook everyone dinner. She asked if he was coming to eat. Harry said he would try; then ended the call before Maria could begin an extended guilt trip. He had no choice. He had to head to his house and check the file. He’d also have to check the office to make sure it wasn’t there. In the meantime he’d have to try and get a patrol unit to drive by Bobby Joe’s apartment and keep track of anyone who showed up.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Bobby Joe paced the floor trying to figure a way out. He called Walter Middlebrooks and got a token pat on the hand, complete with lawyerly assurances that things were being taken care of, the underlying message being: sit tight and let the adults handle things. He lit a cigarette and did another circuit of the room. Fuck you, Middlebrooks, he thought. You don’t have to face the consequences if the adults screw everything up. And right now that smartass Harry Doyle is the least of those consequences.
Bobby Joe slumped into an overstuffed leather chair, stared at the cell phone on the adjacent end table, then stood and began to pace again. He had to call him, had to call and tell him what was happening. If he didn’t and that mean son of a bitch found out later, he’d do just what he’d promised. The other alternative was to get his sorry ass out of town. Go to the bank and withdraw every cent, even the money stashed in the safety deposit box from his days of dealing blow. Get it and head north.
Yeah, sure, he told himself. Do it and that asshole Doyle will put your name out on the wire to every dickhead cop in the country; say you’re wanted in a murder investigation. Then what do you do? Spend every dime you’ve got getting good, usable ID and some plastic surgeon to change your face? He stopped at a mirror by the front door. No way, he thought.
He walked back across the room and stopped, hands on hips, listening to his ragged breath. So tell the man what he wants to know; get him off your ass once and for all. Help Doyle arrest that crazy son of a bitch, lock him up for good, or maybe even kill him. Oh, yes, that would be even sweeter. He raised his eyes to the ceiling and let out a nervous rush of breath. Yeah, and then what do you do about Daddy when Doyle lays the murder at the doorstep of his goddamn church. Well, shit, that’s where it belongs. If Daddy hadn’t sent out the call to punish that bitch, nothin’ ever would’ve happened. Truth be told, he did it to himself with his holier-than-thou, big fuc
king mouth.
A wrap of knuckles on the front door brought him back. That had to be Doyle, back to bust your chops again, maybe even take you back down to his office. Go ahead and give him what he wants; get him off your ass for good.
Bobby Joe strode across the room and swung the door back without even checking the spy hole. His face collapsed, all the resolve he had conjured up melting away when he stared into the man’s face.
A slow smile formed on the man’s lips but never carried to his ice-blue eyes. “You don’t look happy to see me, Bobby Joe.”
The man walked past him, and with the flat of his hand pushed the door closed even though Bobby Joe was still holding the door knob.
“I’m just surprised. I thought it was that detective. He was here a little while ago and I thought he’d forgot somethin’ and come back.”
“I know he was here.”
“You do?”
“I was watching. Once I found out you weren’t going to work I thought I better come on by and check on who you might be meeting. I parked on the other block and came in through the trees behind your daddy’s house, and lo and behold, there was Detective Doyle coming out your front door.” The man’s blue eyes seemed to turn even colder. “You two have a nice conversation, Bobby Joe?”
Bobby Joe began to rapidly shake his head. “I didn’t tell him nothin’. Not a thing.” He looked into the man’s eyes again and a shiver went down his back. “In fact, I told him to get the hell out.”
The man’s smile returned. “You told Detective Doyle to get out … and he did.” He looked past Bobby Joe as if addressing some imaginary person standing behind him. “Now what’s in that picture that doesn’t work?”
“I did, it’s true. I told him to get the hell out and he went right out the door. You see, my lawyer—”
The Dead Detective Page 22