Crossing the Line

by Hugh Macnab

  The more I think about it, the more convinced I become. I now have Chico Vegas firmly in my sights. This is personal.

  After that, it’s another rough night trying to sleep and failing.

  When I open my eyes, it’s five-thirty and Alexa isn’t due to kick-off until six. My butt hurts, head is throbbing, my nose feels huge, and worst of all, my knee is coming out in sympathy with what seems like every other part of my body. What a wreck. I need a shower.

  Twenty minutes later, I’ve got as far as pulling underwear on, when Alexa starts playing the same smooth jazz loop from the night before. I’ve forgotten to give her new instructions. I tell her to lower the volume and leave her playing as I force some muesli and plain yogurt down. I don’t feel hungry, but know I should eat. It’s going to be another busy day.

  My plan starts with borrowing a pool car and driving up to see my mama. Papa will be at work, but at least I can tell her personally before she finds out some other way. I’m not looking forward to that. I was supposed to be helping Joey, not getting him killed.

  Realizing I need a pool-car again, reminds me I’m planning to talk to the garage owner’s wife about the car he promised me. I’ll need to fit that in somewhere.

  I finish dressing as a fresh coffee brews in the background. I love the smell. As bad as I’m feeling, it lifts me - at least a little.

  Two cups later and I’m downstairs, into a cab and off to the office. First stop, duty sergeant. I’m hoping he’ll be in a good mood. I’m lucky. He is. Ten minutes later I have keys to a patrol SUV in my pocket and am upstairs looking to update Dan. He isn’t in his office and no-one has seen him yet, so I call him. He’s actually driving in when he answers. I tell him about Joey, and where I’m going. He gives me his condolences and promises to cover for me in the office if anything urgent comes up. That I should go take care of my family.

  I worry about breaking the news all the way up to my parents’ house, but needn’t have. Mama has already heard through her sister and has already cried herself out. She gives me a big hug when I arrive. I tell her a little about trying to help Joey, but skip a lot of the details. There’s no need for her to know what a mess he had been in. I leave her thinking he had just taken some bad drugs. Something that happens all the time. I don’t share my suspicion that he has been murdered. If that’s true, I’ll deal with it later.

  I stay with her the rest of the morning and we visit my aunt. She seems more accepting than I expect. But I suspect she’s more in the know than my mama. We all eat a light lunch together before I drive mama home, then head South again. En route, I called Jerry and discuss my theory with him.

  He agrees with me that Chico ‘finding’ Joey so quickly was at least highly suspicious, and that it was possible he had found out that we had both Joey and The Joker in the Sheriff’s office at the same time. He could easily have put two and two together all on his own. Then, when he found out Joey had turned up again at the Precinct, desperate for a fix, it would have been easy to have given arrange for him to have a lethal dose.

  I feel good that Jerry agrees with me, but bad because I can’t think of any way we can possibly prove it. Chico is going to get away with murder, and there doesn’t seem to be anything I can do about it.

  Accepting that for the moment, I decide rather than go straight back to the office, I’ll swing round and talk with my late garage-owner’s wife. See if she knows anything about me being offered her daughter’s Honda.

  I take Castello drive off Tamiami and think I’ve fallen into dental wonderland. Island Coast Dentistry is on my right, then another Dental specialty center, a Dental group and Towncare Dental all within a block. Nowhere for knees, head-bumps, or fractured butts. At least I’ll know where to come if I ever have toothache.

  Jonny’s place is a small detached property on West Lake Boulevard. I pull up outside, aware of the attention my SUV is drawing from neighbors. Looking around, the houses are tightly packed but pretty well maintained. It must be trash collection morning as everyone has their multi-colored bins out waiting. Some have extra black-bin-bags and piles of cardboard. It’s messy, but will all be gone by lunch.

  Jonny’s wife, Alice, opens the door. I can see her eyes go to the SUV first, then back to me. I introduce myself and tell her that I’ve known her husband for a few years since moving into the area. Then give her my standard condolence speech. She invites me in.

  Having seen how Jonny kept his shop, it’s obviously his wife who rules the roost at home. The decor isn’t my taste, but it’s clean, tidy and smells fresh. Alice tells me she’s just made some fresh coffee and asks if I would like some. I accept.

  As she disappears into the kitchen, I look around. There are several pictures of Jonny, Alice and a young girl I assume to be their daughter. The most recent looks like it was taken at a coming-out prom. She’s an attractive young lady. There’s a picture of the happy couple on their wedding day. It’s an old black and white, but has lost nothing for that. It’s an excellent picture that caught the auspicious moment perfectly. Alice had been an attractive catch for Jonny when she was that age.

  I’m just replacing the frame when Alice returns and confirms that it had been taken on their wedding day back in nineteen eighty.

  I run the math and wonder why their daughter is only now going to college, but I obviously don’t hide the thought very well. Alice answers before I can ask.

  ‘We tried for kids from the day we married. Both of us wanted a large family, but it wasn’t to be. We tried everything until we ran out of cash. Jonny even took out a bank loan, but nothing took. It devastated us. Then, I lost my sister and her husband in a car crash. We took their little one in and made her our own.’

  ‘You adopted her?’

  ‘Initially we were only keeping her in care, but then, yes. We adopted her.’

  ‘And now she’s about to go to college?’

  ‘You know about that?’

  ‘Yes. Your husband told me. That’s why I’m here, really.’

  ‘You’re not here about the robbery then?’

  ‘No, Alice. I’m sorry. I’m not.’

  ‘It was you that disturbed him, wasn’t it? Is that what happened to your face?’

  I had forgotten how my face would look to someone else. But confirm both her questions, then explain how I know her daughter is starting college.

  ‘Your husband had just offered to sell me her car.’

  ‘The Honda?’

  ‘Yes. I was to pick it up the day he died.’

  ‘I see. And do you still want it?’

  ‘If you don’t mind. Yes, I would.’

  ‘How much did he say he was going to sell it to you for?’

  ‘Four hundred.’

  ‘Four hundred,’ she repeats. ‘Why would he give it away?’

  ‘I don’t know Alice. He helped me out several times in the past with my previous car. I guess he realized I was down on my luck.’

  ‘But you’re a detective?’

  ‘Yes. But I’m still paying for two degrees, and will be forever at the rate I’m going.’

  She seems to take that on board. Perhaps realizing how expensive her own daughter’s further education’s going to be. I hope that might do the trick. But just the opposite happens. I think the realization makes her worry about how to afford her daughter’s college fees. She asks me to wait for a moment and disappears into the kitchen, before returning with an old laptop.

  Sitting back down, she powers up and waits for it to connect to the wifi. Then I watch her access Autotrader and type in some details.

  ‘Six grand for the car in excellent condition. I guessed a hundred thousand miles,’ she told me.

  I choke. I know Jonny was being generous with his offer, but I didn’t understand how generous.

  ‘Mmm,’ is all that comes out of my mouth.

  ‘I’m guessing that you’re not so interested now?’

  ‘I’m afraid not, Alice. Thanks for seeing me though, and again, I�
��m very sorry about what happened to your husband,’ I say, standing to leave. ‘He was a really nice guy.’

  ‘Sorry about letting you down detective.’

  ‘No problem.’

  Then, just as she’s showing me out the door, she throws me a lifeline.

  ‘Tell you what. If you find the little shit who broke in and emptied the register while Jonny was laying dead right in front of him, I’ll let you have it for four hundred.’

  20

  It’s gone three before I get back into the office. Dan asks me how it had gone with my parents, but I’m not in a mood for conversation, so tell him everything went fine, and keep going to my cubicle.

  First thing I do is check back through the incident reports until I find the one when my coccyx suffered, not to mention my face. There’s my report, which I don’t bother reading. But there’s also a report from the first officer on the scene. Reading through that, I learn two things. They found the padlock intact. And the hasp it had been through, cleanly severed. Whoever had broken in, had used bolt cutters on the softer material of the hasp. He knew what he was doing. He’d done this before.

  I need to find a detective. Someone who will want to suck-ass with a second-grade detective. Someone who won’t mind chasing down a kid with a pair of bolt cutters. I have the perfect choice in mind. Our newbie, George Jimisson, or Jimi as we call him. They promoted him from patrol while I was out on my nine-month garden-leave. Fresh, enthusiastic, still trying to make his mark. Perfect.

  As luck would have it, George is at his desk twiddling a pencil when I stick my head over his cubicle wall.

  ‘You busy?’ I ask, carefully keeping the sarcasm out of my voice. It isn’t so long ago that I was the newbie, although given everything that I’ve been through since, it feels like forever ago. It’s only three years and a two-year-old-shot-dead ago.

  I explain what happened at Jonny’s place, and my theory that whoever had broken in has done it before. Perhaps many times before. That it’s time a detective tracks him down and puts a stop to his career.

  I can see George sit up like an eager puppy. This is too easy, I almost feel guilty. I don’t mention I’ll get a Honda for four hundred bucks if he catches the guy. Sometimes it’s better to keep some things to yourself.

  Back in the office, I have to decide whether to find out where following the leads from the cell phones will take me with solving Pamela’s death, or to bring in Xavier and Tyler for a grilling about her assault. Much as I would love another go at the drinking buddies, I have to stay focused on my homicide case first.

  I decide Xavier and Tyler aren’t going anywhere for the time being. Besides, if I leave them for a while, they may think I’ve dropped the ball and become complacent. I opt for following up on the information in the cell phones from Pamela’s safe.

  Nine cells. Nine names. I have to find a way to prioritize. I go back to my previous thinking about why anyone would pay the ransom sum for anything up to ten years before suddenly deciding to kill their blackmailer. It makes little sense. So, I start with the most recent model I have information from - the iPhone 6S.

  I recheck AFIS to make sure one more time, but there’s definitely no match in the system. The cell is owned by a Wade Dooley. I have an address for him down in Marco Island, half an hour south. I don’t particularly want to wander into any of these people’s lives with the information I have until I have good reason to do so. They’ve already paid enough for what is merely a personal choice in how they like their sex.

  I must admit that I’m still intrigued about the bondage and whipping thing, but it’s more out of curiosity than sexual interest. There’s that author who became one of the world’s most published authors with her Fifty Shades of Grey and the follow-on books. I’ve never read them. They got crap reviews, but people bought them by the bucket-load. Again, curiosity. A human trait around the world.

  So, I start my investigation by looking into Wade’s life.

  Born in Cincinnati, Ohio, he went to school there and afterwards studied finance at Pittsburg State. After that, he married a Florida girl and moved to live in Naples around twenty-five years ago.

  He landed a job with Bank of America on Fifth, and as far as I can see, is still with them.

  He and his wife have three kids, either at high-school or college. Another three reasons I won’t be trampling through his personal life unless I’m absolutely sure I need to do so.

  At one point, he took a career break for three years’ military service with the Finance Corp. up in Fort Bragg, where he worked in Payroll. There was no break in his household records for that period, so I guess his family stayed here in Naples.

  There’s no Facebook page, but both of his daughters have them. I look through and conclude this looks like a happy family. I just can’t see this guy slitting Pamela’s femoral. I put him to one side and select the second most recent model of cell - the Samsung Galaxy.

  Owned by Chris Lover. Interesting surname, given the context of my search. I start the same as I have before, but quickly stop short with surprise. Chris is a woman. Full name Christiana. It seems my prejudices have no bounds. I would never have thought of a woman going to a dominatrix, but yet, why not? Sex is sex. What’s good for the goose and all that.

  Chris was born in Paducah, Kentucky, where she grew up on a farm. Her school records show she was a modest performer, but good athletically. She was awarded an athletic scholarship at Louisiana State, and she played in both the Varsity hockey and basketball teams.

  Her career started with Collier County public schools, as a part-time boys coach. Having seen her DMV photo, I can imagine her being popular with pre-adolescent boys.

  After that she held various jobs until ending up working in Human Resource in Costco, where she’s still employed. A sad end to an athlete’s career. Still, it happens. Some folks I saw up in the Precinct the other night could tell much worse stories, I’m sure.

  Married with one son at senior high. Her husband’s a car salesman at Sterns on Airport Road. I wonder what he could get me for four hundred bucks?

  Again, looking through what I’ve discovered, I just can’t see Chris as a femoral slasher. There again, I wouldn’t have expected her to be enjoying the services of a dominatrix either.

  I start on the third most recent model - the Sony Xperia. I had one of these for a while when it first came out. I thought it was cool at the time until I sat on it and snapped it in half. Now I’m a Samsung girl and will never go back.

  The proud owner of this cell is one Denis Meaker. Fifty-five year old, single, successful entrepreneur. Born in New Orleans, son of a famous Jazz musician. He studied at Tulane Campus in uptown New Orleans and achieved both a Degree and Masters in Business Administration. After that he studied and graduated from Indiana School of Optometry. This guy has more qualifications than I have.

  After working in a couple of eye-clinics, he managed to raise some private funding and started opening a chain of his own eye-clinics mainly in the Southern States. These were a major success. So much so that he made the front page of Business Week.

  This guy isn’t having any problem paying off his student loans. He’s seriously wealthy.

  The headquarters of his eye-clinic empire is here in Naples, in a residential district by the coast. I figure he lives in one of these super-expensive villas I’ve seen, and works from home. With the money he undoubtedly has, he can afford to hire a dozen dominatrixes to whip him into a lather. I can’t see him being responsible for Pamela’s death. If he’s paying some monthly contribution to Pamela’s retirement plan, I doubt he’ll miss it.

  Three down and six to go. I need coffee, so head to the place we laughingly call the recreation area. The coffee jug isn’t just empty. It’s cold. I know it’s sexist, but men are hopeless at things like this. They would walk in, see the jug is empty and decide they didn’t really want one anyway - rather than make a fresh brew. Too much trouble for them.

  If it’s too much
trouble for them, I can play that game too. I can look into the other cell phone owners in the morning.

  I look out the window. It’s pitch dark, which means it’s at least after seven and I’m hungry. I can’t think of anything exciting I have in the apartment, so a takeaway kebab is the way to go.

  I still have the patrol SUV, so I sneak past the duty sergeant on the way out. Kebab store, here I come.

  Half an hour later, I set out two kebabs on a plate, pop the cap off a cold Corona and determined to cheer myself up after the death of my cousin, I settle down to watch an episode of MASH. This one turns out to be where Hawkeye is trying to repair the stove in their tent, and it blows up in his face. He wears bandages over his eyes through the entire show after that, but still gets one over on Frank who is running a scam taking money from people betting on a baseball game back home, where he already knows the final score.

  These shows never grow old for me. I love the characters.

  I’m actually managing to laugh when my cell rings, and I have to pause.

  It’s Jerry.

  ‘Hi, Sammy. Sorry to disturb you. A couple of things I thought you might want to know.’

  ‘Don’t you ever go home, Jerry?’

  ‘Hey, you can talk. Anyway, first thing is I had to release The Joker. You should watch your back. I don’t think he liked you looking up his ass, Sammy.’

  ‘A feeling we share. What was the other thing?’

  ‘We’re clearing out the Project early tomorrow. I know it’s not directly your bag, but I wonder if seeing as how that’s where Joey died, you would be interested in joining us?’