by D P Lyle
“Back to the hotel. We had a meeting in my room. Did some computer work, made a couple of phone calls.” Ray held Clark’s gaze, looking for some reaction. He got nothing. But then, Clark was a cop. Trained to show no reaction. “Went to bed after that.”
“Except for me,” Pancake said. “I met Laurie Mae. We hung out until two or so.”
“What time was he killed?” Ray asked.
Morgan leaned forward, elbows on his desk. “Doctor McGill said his best guess was sometime between ten p.m. and two a.m.” He sighed. “Based on the body temp, rigor, and lividity.”
“What kind of weapon?” Pancake asked.
Morgan hesitated as if considering the question. “Don’t know yet. But, from what I saw, I’d guess a mid caliber. Not a pop gun, not a cannon.” He looked at Ray. “I take it you guys have weapons with you?”
“Just one,” Ray said. “A Sig Sauer P320. Forty caliber.”
Morgan looked at Pancake. “You?
“Nope. Don’t need a gun.”
That was true. Pancake was a more break-your-head-with-a-fist kind of guy.
“Look,” Ray said. “I get it. I know how it works. We’re not local. We were apparently in the neighborhood. But, I think you have to ask why? What earthly reason would we have to do anything to Tommy Lee Kovac? We barely knew him.”
Morgan’s shoulders relaxed. “Been asking myself the same things. Ever since Frank told me he saw you over there.”
Ray scooted forward to the edge of his chair. “We didn’t. We wouldn’t. And we have no idea who did. Or why.”
Morgan stirred his desktop with an index finger as if thinking things over. Finally, he glanced at Clark, shrugged, gave a deep sigh. “Don’t see no reason to hold you guys. ’Least not yet.”
Ray stood. “Then, we’ll get out of your hair and let you guys get to work.” He locked his gaze on Clark for a beat, then turned toward the door, Pancake following. He stopped in the hall, letting Pancake pass, and looked back toward Morgan. “If we can help in any way, let us know.”
Morgan raised an eyebrow. “I think we can handle it.”
Ray nodded.
Morgan returned the nod. “Just don’t plan on leaving town.”
Ray smiled. Morgan obviously liked old Westerns.
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
BY THE TIME Nicole and I made our way out of the station and to the street, I saw Angus half a block away. Not exactly holding a steady course. Sort of wavering along the sidewalk. We caught up.
“Angus,” I said.
He listed to his left and wobbled a step as he tried to apply his brakes. I thought he might fall. He spun and looked at us. Then, smiled. “You scared me.”
“Sorry. Mind if we ask you a few questions?”
“About what?”
A woman ushered two kids, boy and girl, maybe four and five, past us, nodding and flashing a brief “morning” as she passed.
“Maybe we can sit somewhere.”
Angus looked past me, then across the street. Hesitating, buying time. I got the impression he was headed somewhere. Home? Breakfast? When he rubbed his chin, I saw a slight tremor in his fingers.
“Maybe buy you a drink?”
“It ain’t even happy hour yet.”
“I guess it is a little early.”
He grinned. “I’m just messing with you. Ain’t never too early for a drink.”
“Then, it’s settled,” Nicole said. “We’ll buy you breakfast. Or lunch. Your choice. Wherever you want.”
“Lots of places to choose from.” He brushed his hair from his eyes. “Maybe over at McGee’s. They make a mean Bloody Mary.”
“You like Bloody Marys?” she asked.
“Me? No. I’m a whiskey man.” He grinned. “But you look like a Bloody Mary kind of girl.”
Nicole laughed. “I’ve been known to knock back a whiskey or two myself. But, a Bloody Mary sounds good.” She hooked arms with Angus. “Let’s go.”
I followed behind. She got her sway on, making sure her hip bumped Angus from time to time. She was good. Getting him softened up. More likely the opposite. Maybe pliable would be a better word.
At McGee’s, we found a small round table near the back. Nicole and I had the Bloody Marys and they were great. Actually, better than that. Angus woofed down ham and eggs and a pair of biscuits and was now working on his third drink.
He swiped his chin and mouth with a napkin. “That was good. Thanks.”
“No problem,” I said.
“What you want to jaw about?” he asked.
“That night. When the shoplifters were brought in. Clark and Munson tossed you out of your cell. You said they were extra angry.”
“They were. And not very nice.”
“You also said something else happened.”
“I did?”
“Come on, Angus,” I said. “You remember.”
“I remember he didn’t want me around those girls,” Angus said. “Like I was some pervert.”
“But there’s more,” I said. “Right?”
His brow wrinkled and he took another gulp of whiskey. Then a slow nod. “Yeah, I remember now. I needed to pee.” He glanced at Nicole. “Sorry.”
“I’m familiar with the term,” she said, smiled.
His head bobbed. “I would’ve gone back inside, but Clark and Munson weren’t in no good mood. I didn’t want to chance aggravating them any too much. So, I stepped into the shrubbery. There alongside the station. While I was doing my business, Clark and Munson came out. It was dark so they didn’t see me.” He stared at the table for a couple of seconds, as if picturing the scene. “Clark went off on a couple of kids skateboarding along the sidewalk. Told them he’d lock them up if they didn’t get out of folks’ way. Followed them half a block giving them hell the whole way.”
“He was under a good deal of stress,” Nicole said.
Angus gave a head bob. “I suppose so. Munson, too. While Clark was going all Dirty Harry on the kids, Munson was on the phone giving somebody the business.” He leaned back. “He was mad. Like a hornet.” He grinned. “I was glad I wasn’t the only one he was pissed at.”
“How come you remember this?” I asked.
“Well, I was squatting in the bushes, these two all worked up, and ranting. I was afraid if they saw me, I’d be slammed in the slammer for sure.” Angus laughed. “I should be a poet.” Another laugh. “Besides, I remember all kinds of stuff. Mostly random happenings.” He gave a headshake. “Things pop in and out of my head all the time. I remember the oddest stuff.” He grinned. “And forget all sorts of stuff, too.”
“How far away were you?” I asked.
He shrugged. “Ten, fifteen feet. I sort of ducked down in the shrubbery. Didn’t want him to see me. Maybe think I was was eavesdropping.” He sat silently.
“And?”
“I couldn’t hear him all that good.”
“What did you hear?” Nicole asked.
“He was upset, all right. Like he was mad at the person he was talking to.” He glanced toward the front of the cafe. “Not just mad but sort of frustrated. He was cussing and all. Like the guy wouldn’t listen.”
“Guy?” I asked. “He was talking to a guy?”
“Yeah.” Angus nodded but then stopped. “Well, I assumed it was a guy.”
“Why?” Nicole asked.
“The way he talked. Seemed all pissed off. Curt.” He smiled. “I like that word. Anyway, he shouldn’t’ve been talking to no lady that way.”
“But, you’re not sure?” I asked.
Angus’ gaze hit the ceiling above me, his brow knitted. “No. I ain’t.”
“I take it he didn’t use a name or anything like that?” Nicole asked.
“Not that I heard. Or remember.”
“Anything else?” I asked.
“Like what?”
“Well, you remembered the event so it must have made an impression. I was just wondering if maybe something else happened.”
“I’ll tell you what I remember most. I was glad he was mad at someone besides me. And I damn sure didn’t want him to know I was squatting in the bushes.” He laughed. “I didn’t move for a long time. Clark came back up the street, and they climbed in their car and left.” He shook his head. “I stayed low for another five minutes in case they might’ve forgotten something and came back.” His shoulders bucked. “That’s what I remember most.”
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
“WHAT DO YOU think?” Morgan asked Clark and Munson.
He had Frank Clark’s handwritten crime-scene report spread before him on his desk. They had already discussed, and dismissed, Ray and Pancake as viable suspects. Not impossible but extremely improbable was the consensus. Though Clark added that they had the means and opportunity if not clearly the motive. At least, none that any of them could see. So, since they still stood at square one, Morgan steered the inquiry to other possibilities.
Clark slipped off his jacket and finger-hooked it over one shoulder. His other hand rested on the butt of the service weapon that clung to his right hip. “Not sure what to think. The scene, for sure, didn’t offer any clues. Unless either of you saw something I missed.”
Both Morgan and Munson shook their heads.
“Far as I know, Tommy Lee didn’t have any real enemies,” Munson said. He stood next to Clark, hands resting on the back of one of the visitors’ chairs.
“Roy Polk?” Morgan asked. “Any friction there?”
Clark shook his head. “Not that I’ve ever heard. We’ll have a chat with him, but honestly, I don’t see that going anywhere. He and Tommy Lee have been friends a long time.” His hand left his weapon and he hooked a thumb in his belt.
“Friends do have issues sometimes,” Morgan said. “Anyone else we should be looking at?”
“I’m not entirely ready to give up on Ray Longly,” Clark said. “All I do know is that those two, him and his partner, were in the area. Out for an evening stroll. And they don’t seem the strolling type.”
“I agree,” Munson added. “Ray Longly doesn’t impress me as a guy who does anything without some purpose.”
Morgan’s fingers drummed his desk. “I thought we’d already put that to bed.” He sighed. “I don’t see a good motive. And like they said, they don’t even know Tommy Lee.”
“My feeling is they know more than they’re letting on,” Munson said.
“How so?”
Munson shrugged. “Me and Frank talked about this. This whole deal seems a little off. I mean, a documentary? They come in here sniffing around our work.” He shook his head. “Never felt comfortable about that.”
“Me, either,” Clark added. “Nicole Jamison, I get. She’s movie people. Even Ray’s son, Jake. I’ll buy that. But two P.I. types? I don’t like it.”
Morgan rubbed a finger along his nose. “Anything specific? Anything they’ve done seem out of bounds?”
Clark and Munson looked at him but said nothing.
“Yeah, I haven’t either,” Morgan said. “Fact is, everyone I’ve talked with that had any interaction with any of them said they’ve been very polite. Professional, friendly.”
None of the three said anything for a good half a minute.
“So, what now?” Clark asked.
“Work the case. Like you usually do. Start looking for anyone with a grudge, or issue, even minor, with Tommy Lee. And maybe keep a closer eye on Ray Longly and his sidekick.” He shrugged. “Just in case.”
Clark nodded and he and Munson left.
Morgan sat back in his chair. His head cocked back, gaze directed at the ceiling. He sorted though his mental files on every conversation he’d had with Ray Longly, with any of the folks he and his crew had talked with. He got nothing.
Okay, so they were researching a documentary on Billy Wayne’s victims. To tell their stories. An interesting slant. He’d never seen or even heard of anything quite like that. He liked it, he really did, but was there another agenda at work here? And if so, what was it?
His experience told him that when things don’t add up, they don’t add up. It was that simple. And to grab the right thread, to unravel the ball of twine, you needed to go back to the beginning.
The trick was finding the beginning.
The simple truth was that everything started when Billy Wayne Baker decided to plant his flag right there in Pine Key. He knew Jake Longly had talked with Billy Wayne. He’d told him as much. Even said Billy Wayne looked too mild, passive to be such a brutal killer. But he was. No doubt there.
But so what if Jake Longly had a chat with Billy Wayne? If the intent was to dig into Billy Wayne’s world, it only made sense to talk with him. See what he might share. Maybe give some insight into why Billy Wayne came here. Chose this town. Chose the three victims that Morgan knew so well. Of course, from everything he knew about Billy Wayne, he wasn’t the most forthcoming person on the planet.
Something niggled in his brain. Something about Billy Wayne making waves about his confession. He had no details on that. And Billy Wayne did confess to all the killings. Not to mention, he more or less had to. DNA don’t lie.
Again, so what? What could any of this possibly have to do with Tommy Lee getting his head blown off?
He leaned forward, thumbed through the small notebook where he kept all his contact info. He found the number he wanted and picked up the phone.
It took a couple of minutes to get Ralph Keaton, the Union Correctional warden, on the line. He’d known Ralph for a few years. They’d first met at a conference up in Tallahassee and had had several conversations during the whole Billy Wayne investigation.
“Chief,” Keaton said, “been a long time.”
“Sure has.”
“How are things down there?”
“The usual. Chasing the bad guys.”
Keaton laughed. “When you catch them, send them on up here. I got a spot for them.”
“I heard you might be adding a new unit.”
“Maybe. If I can get the suits over in Tallahassee to pony up the funds.”
“Glad to know I’m not the only one with such problems,” Morgan said.
“I get the sense this isn’t a social call,” Keaton said.
“It is and it isn’t.”
“What can I do for you?”
Morgan explained the reason for his call. Jake’s visits with Billy Wayne. The documentary. The murder of Tommy Lee Kovac. His inability to connect the dots.
“Yeah, I heard about the documentary. Sounded like a good idea to me. That’s why I approved Longly’s visits.”
“You know anything about those conversations?”
Keaton sighed. “Is this off the record?”
“We never talked. And if we did, it was about fishing.”
Keaton hesitated. “One of my guards overheard part of it.”
“And?”
“Why don’t I hook you two up. Better if you get it from him.”
“I’d appreciate it.”
“His name’s Nick Swanson. Good man. He’s out in the yard. I’ll get him in here and have him give you a call.”
“That’d be great.”
“Give me fifteen minutes.”
The call came twenty minutes later. Swanson told his story. He’d been outside the room but heard bits and pieces. But what he heard was interesting. And very troubling.
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
“WE’RE GOING TO head out,” I said to Angus as Nicole and I stood. “You want another drink?”
“Sure wouldn’t say no,” Angus said.
“You got it.”
Our waitress loitered near one end of the bar, chatting with the bartender, a cup of coffee in her hand. We headed that way.
“Take care of Angus over there.” I nodded his way. “Whatever he wants. Put it on here.” I handed her a credit card.
“You sure? He can put them away.”
I smiled. “That’s fine.”
She laughed. “Why can’t I find a guy lik
e this?” She looked at Nicole. “He’s a keeper.”
Nicole smiled. “He’s not without his faults.”
She’s funny. She really is.
“Don’t they all have them, honey,” the waitress said.
She ran the card, leaving the total open. I signed it and we left.
“Did you hear that?” I asked as we walked up the street.
“What?”
“I’m a keeper.”
“Never said you weren’t.” She slapped my butt. “What now?”
“Let’s go see Betty Lou. I want her take on Tommy Lee’s murder.”
“I might want another Bloody Mary,” she said. “Or maybe one of those killer margaritas.”
“You trying to keep up with Angus?”
“Not sure that’s possible.”
As we headed down The Boardwalk toward Woody’s, I called Ray. “How’d it go with Chief Morgan?” I asked.
“Interesting. I’ll bring you up to speed later. Anything with Angus?”
“Not sure. He went on about how Clark and Munson had treated him that night. How Clark went off on some skateboarders and Munson had a rather angry phone conversation with someone.”
“Any idea with who?”
“No. And I’m not sure it means anything. Like you said, Clark and Munson were stressed to the max that night. Anyway, we’re heading over to talk with Betty Lou,” I said. “Get her take on Tommy Lee. You and Pancake come by and we can compare notes.”
“Sounds good,” Ray said. “But first, me and Pancake are going to see Roy Polk. He’s one of Tommy Lee’s deck hands.”
“Any issues there?”
“I guess we’ll see. Later.” He disconnected the call.
In the end, Nicole settled on the Bloody Mary. I did, too. Betty Lou ferried them to the table.
“Got a minute?” I asked.
“Sure do.” She sat down.
“I guess you heard about Tommy Lee Kovac?”
“Everyone’s heard. It’s buzzing all over town.” She shook her head as she wiped her hands on the bar towel she held before wading it and laying it on the table. “I hope we don’t have another Billy Wayne rearing his head.”
“I don’t think so,” I said. “Tell me about Tommy Lee.”