Murder at the Canaveral Diner (A Florida Murder Mystery Novel)

by Jay Heavner

  “Yes,” she said. “The case was all over the local newspaper, Florida Today. I’m really sorry about your family. I know what it’s like to lose a loved one close to you and get screwed over at work. I’m sorry.” They said nothing for a moment. She asked, “Was the information in the paper correct?”

  “For the most part, but they left a lot out and had to hide some truths in plain sight among a bunch of gobbledygook. There were some ‘national security’ issues I’d rather not go into.

  Probably better if you don’t know.”

  “Probably right. Sounds about right with the news media today. I ran into some situations like that down in Miami.”

  Roger said, “Yeah, that’s right.” “You spilled your guts. Now it’s my turn to clear some air. Seems we were enjoying ourselves too much in Vegas and never got around to talking about our personal lives. My father and mother escaped from Cuba. The rest of the family’s still there just getting by in that Communist hellhole. They were Jews that left Spain during the Spanish Inquisition, and when Castro came to power, they saw the writing on the wall and felt it was wise to leave. They couldn’t have any kids, and I was adopted in Miami. My adopted mom died when I was a teenager. She just never woke up one morning – died in her sleep. I don’t know who my real parents are or were. Maybe one day I’ll look into it.

  She continued, “My adopted dad was one of the first Cubans on the po - lice force in Miami. The old guard didn’t like him, or the fact Miami was becoming mostly Cuban, but they needed him because he was bilingual. Mom and Dad always spoke English in front of me. They felt it was important to adapt to their new home, so I never learned much Spanish. He got me into the police force and shortly afterwards was killed in a shootout with the cocaine cowboys on a highway in busy Miami. He was in the wrong place at the wrong time, and it cost him his life. I got my sense of justice from him. The bad guys have to go down, pay for their crimes.”

  “Guess we’re alike on that,” Roger said. “I’ve found a bunch of things in my work I wish I hadn’t involving human depravity and corruption.” “Tell me about it. Miami has it all and more. Makes you sick at your stomach sometimes. They’ve even come out with a TV show recently, called appropriately, ‘Miami Vice,’ but the show’s tame compared to some of what I’ve heard and seen.”

  “You would know. Probably be more shows about all that went on.” She said, “About the same time, the Feds were looking and finding mega corruption in the police force down there. When I finished my training in police work and forensics, I wanted to get the hell out of Dodge before I got tainted by simply being there. Brevard County was looking to start a forensics unit, and I’m it so far. I’m overwhelmed, understaffed, and un- derfunded, but what else is new with police work?”

  “You forgot unappreciated.”

  “Yes, that too, and a woman with a Latino name doesn’t help with this crowd.” “How are they treating you here?” Roger asked.

  She shrugged. “Better than Miami. It’s not all bad. Times are changing.” “So what have you got to show me for records on the cold case Bill sent me here about?’ “Old Bill, he’s a charmer.”

  “That he is, and a little scoundrel thrown in for good measure.” A little laugh escaped his lips. “I had that feeling. I’ve learned to read people really well, Roger.” “So what’s your impression of me today?”

  “Good heart, a believer in justice, and a man who would like to escape the burdens of his life or conquer them.” “You read all that from our talk here?” Roger asked.

  “Yes, and some things that are coming back to me from our time in Vegas,” she said. “I believe you were a very good father to your child.” “I wish I’d died instead of him and his mom.” “I believe you would.” She stopped. “You ready to see the rest of the evidence on what’s been called the Missy McCoy case?” “Sure. What’s you got?”

  “Not near as much as I’d like. My general impression is a very casual investigation was done of the crime. They did secure the area as is procedure, but forensics could have been done better. We have a few pictures, and I think there was more paperwork done. There seem to be gaps like some things were lost or possibly removed from the evidence before I got here.

  Seems like anyone wearing a badge or having clearance could just walk in, and no records of the coming and going were ever kept.” Roger’s eyebrows rose. “Woo. That’s not at all good. If word about this were to get out, every defense lawyer would have an orgasm with that information.”

  “True. It is what it is, and we’ll have to deal with it, bitter or sweet. Take a look at what we have.” She handed him a large manila envelope which he opened.

  “Okay, let’s see what we have here. I’ve seen the summary before. It was the teaser Bill gave me to draw me in, but not the photos. Someone had a lot of pent-up hatred for her.”

  “Twenty three stab wounds post-mortem. I’ve seen worse, but I agree. What else do you see, Roger?”

  “Nude and the report said there was possible sexual assault, correct? “Yes, also postmortem and no semen. We think the perp wore a rubber.”

  “No sign of forced entry into the building. My impression is this was planned out in advance.”

  “We’re on the same page.”

  “She’s missing her left nipple. Looks like it was cut off also post-mor- tem?”

  She nodded. “That was my conclusion also.” “Souvenir to keep and remember?” “My thought also.”

  “This helps, but it seems there should be more records than this.”

  She said, “I believe the deputy first on the scene, a fellow named Miller now retired, should be able to provide more information. Evidence has disappeared in the last five years. It may have been misplaced. The evidence room was a mess when I arrived here, all disorganized and very poor security. Miller moved some place up north. We’re trying to track him down.

  We’re hoping he can provide us with more details on what happened. Roger said, I’d like to talk to him, in person if possible. A phone call would work, but face to face is better. Could you see if that could be arranged?”

  “I’ll do that, and would you like to see the Canaveral Diner? It could help you picture the scene of the crime and how it went down.”

  Roger said, “Yeah, please do both of those things and make it ASAP. My curiosity is up, and it needs satisfied.”

  A little smile came to her face. She went to say something, but held back at the last moment. Her face went neutral, and she said, “I’ll do that.” “Do you have anything more?”

  “No, that’s about it, but here’s my business card so you can contact me when you need to.” “I’ll do that. Thanks for the coffee. Can I take these with me?” he said. “They’re copies. Just follow the standard procedures for evidence.”

  “Will do. Hope we can find who done this. Not much to go on, but you never know where one little seemingly insignificant detail will lead.” “I can see why Bill wanted you for this case, Roger.” “I’ve known him since we were kids back in West Virginia. With Bill, there’s the obvious face value, but often there’s another motive or motives not so apparent.”

  “One reason he has the reputation he does,” she said. “Yup. I’d better go. Thanks for the coffee. I’ll be in touch as needed.”

  “Roger, Bill gave me your phone number and I’ll contact you about the Canaveral Diner visit and Miller as soon as I have something.” “Okay, I’m counting on it. Bye.” Roger got up and left the room. Deputy Hernandez sat at her desk. That was about the last person she ever expected to see. She put on latex gloves, got a paper sack, and walked to the trash can. Carefully, she picked up the discarded coffee cup and put it in a paper bag. I wonder. Only one way to know for sure.

  CHAPTER 3

  It was 9:30 p.m. when Roger pulled in to the parking lot of the Canaveral Diner in Titusville, Florida. The diner was easy to find at the east end of State Route 50 where it t-boned US 1.

  Roger looked across the broad Indian River Lagoon
and could see several structures lit up against the horizon. The massive and tall Vehicular Assembly Building was easy to identify as were Launch Pads, 39A and 39B, where the civilian-run Space Shuttle was launched. He could see several other tall buildings further south on the Cape Canaveral Air Force Station. The US Military had their launch facilities there. The two agencies were separate, but often cooperated on programs.

  He stepped out of his truck. The stiff breeze from the river blew at his hair and kept hungry mosquitoes at bay, more or less. One buzzed at his ear, and he swatted it. This was his first time to the Canaveral Diner, and he was impressed by the outside. The building was square with lots of glass on the sides that faced the Space Center and the highways. It had the shiny chromed metal exterior he’d expected and lots of neon strip lights, red, white, and blue, circling the top of the building. A huge sign sprang from the roof. “Canaveral Diner,” it said in huge letters. Below that in smaller print he could barely read, “Best Grub in the Universe.”

  Roger looked at his watch, 9:45. He wondered where Hernandez was. She’d told him to be here no later than 9:15. He’d been worried about being late. Now she wasn’t here. A truck he recognized pulled off the highway and parked next to him. Roger looked at Canaveral Flats Chief of Police Bill Kenney. “Hey flatfoot, aren’t you a little out of your jurisdic- tion?” asked Roger.

  “You were expecting Agent Hernandez?” Bill said.

  “I was. She’s a lot better looking than you, old buddy. What are you doing here anyway?” “She couldn’t make it. She was heading out the door when she got a call. Seems someone stumbled onto some bones, probably human, out near the Ag Center on Highway 520, and she had to go there. Called me and asked me if I’d cover for her, so here I am. If you’re disappointed, suck it up, buttercup.”

  “You can be a real pain, you know, Bill?”

  “Yup. You can always depend on me. Let’s get to work. Quit your yammering, and let’s head over yonder.”

  “Alrighty. They’re expecting us aren’t they?” he said as they walked toward the building. “Yup. We can grab a bite to eat if you want. They’re closing soon, and we can have the place to ourselves while they clean up. The manager and owner is here and has agreed to stay till we’re done. Hernandez said he wants to see this crime solved. Seems he’s considering selling out to a gas station chain.”

  They walked in the building and sat down. A blond haired woman who sat with her back to them was the only other customer. A door opened from the back, and a portly man fiftyish came out and went to the men. “Hey, Bill. What’s you doin’ here? I was expecting some young Hispanic lady named Hernandez. No way you fit that bill, Bill.”

  “Something came up, and she asked me to help out. Pete, this is Roger Pyles. He’s been asked to look into this case. Tell him anything you know about what happened here five years ago.”

  Pete stuck out his hand, and Roger took it. “Pleased to meet you, Lt. Pyles,” Pete said. “And pleased to meet you also, Pete….? What’s the last name?” “Bertella.” “Good Italian name if I ever heard one. And it’s Mister Pyles. Right Chief Kenney?”

  Bill looked surprised by Roger’s question. “Yup, that’ll work for me. Work for you, Roger?” “Guess it will have to for now.” He gave Bill a dirty look. “So tell me, Pete, how’d you end up in Florida and owning this diner?” “My dad had a diner up in Pittsburgh downtown near the Golden Triangle area not too far from where Three Rivers Stadium is now.”

  “Go Steelers,” Roger said. “Pirates too,” Pete said. “It’s the usual story. He was tired of the winters, and when the state needed to build a four-lane highway right through his business, he held out till the price was right, sold out, and purchased this piece of property dirt cheap when Titusville had more mosquitoes and alligators than people. He bought the last prefab diner Mountain View Diner Company made and had it trucked down from New Jersey just about the time the Space Center was really starting up. People would jam this place whenever there was a launch. I can remember many days we were open 24/7 when there was a delay. We prayed for them and cursed them. We made lots of money, but were dog tired and thankful when the bird finally did launch. The old diner built on a trolley car frame wasn’t big enough and was falling apart so in 1978, we had the old place torn down and this new, modern diner was built. Glad we did.

  What do you think of it?”

  Roger said, “It’s very nice. Sure a lot bigger and fancier than the originals.” Bill nodded in agreement.

  Peter said, “We went whole hog in the use of stainless steel, neon, mirrors, and ceramic tile. You guys want anything before I close?”

  “Yeah,” they said in unison. “You first,” Roger said.

  “Thanks,” Bill said. “About time you showed some respect for your boss.” Roger gave him a sarcastic look. “Whatever.”

  “Okay, now we got that straight, how ‘bout getting me two eggs over easy and two strips of bacon well done and an English muffin.”

  “Got it,” Pete said. He looked at Roger. “And you, Roger?” “I have one of what he’s having. Sounds good, but make my bacon still limber, not stiff, okay?”

  “Gotcha,” Pete said. “I’ll have it out in a jiffy. We close in ten minutes to the public. When you guys are done, I can show you the place, and you can try to figure out what happened.”

  “Okay,” Bill said. Pete left and went into the kitchen. The lady who’d been sitting got up to leave. As she passed the men, she stopped. “Well, hello Bill. Long time no see. Where have you been keeping yourself?”

  Bill turned to the woman. A look of surprise came to his face followed by a knowing smile. He seemed taken back. “Why, hello Shirley. It’s been a long time. Guess our paths have just not crossed. It’s been a while. How you been doing?”

  “Oh, life’s had its ups and downs. You did know I’m separated from B. J. and filed for divorce?”

  “Yeah, I heard it through the grapevine.”

  “It was a hard decision to make, but I think it will be better in the long run,” she said and looked at Roger. “And who’s your friend?” Bill said, “Where are my manners? Shirley, this is Roger Pyles. He’s helping with the investigation on the murder which took place right here five years ago.”

  “Roger Pyles,” she said. “It’s good to meet you. Are you by chance the same Roger Pyles who the local paper mentioned on the Windover dig and also the Stiltsville fire?”

  “Yup, that’d be me.”

  “Thought it might be.” She looked at Bill and said, “Bill and me go way back.” A knowing look came to his face. “Yeah, it’s been probably a decade or more since we first met. Roger, Shirley was married to B. J. Harden. He was a county commissioner, and our paths crossed often. That’s how I met Shirley. Lotta water passed under the bridge since then, Shirley.”

  “Yes, there has.” She said, “Some bitter, some sweet, and some polluted.” “That pretty much sums it up.”

  She started to say something, but the door to the kitchen clanked open, and she stopped. Her eyes were on Bill, and Roger noticed him mouth the word, “No.” Roger turned his eyes back to the approaching Pete. Something had happened here, but he wasn’t sure what.

  Pete said, “Guys, we’re totally out of bacon. The supplier said there was some kind of recall, and we won’t have any till tomorrow. Would two hickory smoked ham steaks work for you?”

  “Sure thing,” Roger said.

  “Yeah, I haven’t had one of those in a month of Sundays. Make sure it’s well done,” Bill said

  “Mine too,” Roger said. Pete gave a thumbs up and disappeared back into the kitchen. “Guess I better be going,” Shirley said. “Give me a call, Bill and don’t let it be so long as it has been.” She directed her eyes to Roger. “Good to meet you, Roger, and if there’s any way I can help, please feel free to get in touch. Enjoy yourselves. I sure did. Bye.” And with that, she was off.

  “Bye,” Bill said.

  “Please to meet you, Shirley,” Roger said. “I�
��ll remember that.”

  She turned slightly as she left. She had a coy smile on her face, but tried not to let it show. She said no more and left. The two men said nothing for a moment. Bill cleared his throat. “I ah, I got in touch with Miller. He agreed to meet, but he wants it at his house, and he would like both of us there.” “Wonder why?” Roger asked.

  “He said he could be more candid that way and wanted to see me again. He’s an old friend.”

  “Okay. When?” “I’m still working on that. It’ll take eight hours to drive there. I had to rearrange some things here before we go, and I knew you aren’t doin’ nothin’ productive, so I said yes for you too, Roger. We’d come at a time when convenient for him.”

  “Well thanks, old buddy. You sure know how to hurt a guy. Not doin’ nothin’ productive, huh. For all you knew, I could have had an audience with the Queen.”

  “Crown Royal, I could believe.” “Okay, maybe a doctor appointment.” “Who?”

  “Oh, don’t get started on that again.” “I won’t. Besides, Who’s on first.” Roger rolled his eyes in mocking disgust. The kitchen door sprang open, and Pete came out carrying two steaming hot plates of food. He placed them on the table and said, “Enjoy fellows. It’s on the house.”

  “We can’t take that,” Roger said.

  “But I insist,” Pete said. “It’s the least I can do to help you finding out who killed Missy.”

  “Well, thanks. I wasn’t expecting it,” Bill said.

  “Enjoy boys,” Pete said. “I should be about done cleaning up by the time you’ve finished that off. I’ll help you in any way I can. Just let me know.” “Sure thing. Thanks,” Bill said.