“Officer Pasik should remain here with us.” He leaned over and placed the bag on the table, inches in front of me. “What can you tell me about this?” He tapped his finger twice on the table near the bag, then leaned back again, waiting for my reaction.
The bag was a plastic evidence bag like thousands I’d seen before. No doubt it held a surprise, but I didn’t reach for it right away. I braced myself and didn’t move for several seconds.
Most days, I liked surprises. But based on Schleper’s cocky demeanor, this wasn’t one of those days.
I took the bag off the table. Inside was a pair of sunglasses. I examined the sunglasses and moved them around behind the plastic using my index fingers and thumbs. The screw in the right-side hinge was a slightly different color than the left one, and a scratch was visible on the head. I had replaced the screw a few weeks ago after drinking too many beers and using a screwdriver that was too large.
“It’s a pair of sunglasses,” I said, tossing the bag into Schleper’s lap.
“Do they look familiar?”
I shrugged.
Schleper picked up the bag. “We found these in the rocks near Miss Wilcox’s body.” He fingered the glasses through the plastic. “Would you be surprised if I told you we found fingerprints on the glasses?”
“No. I would expect prints or at least partials.”
“What if I told you the fingerprints were yours?”
Something dawned on me. Just as easy as laying a drill on the seat of my Wrangler, someone could’ve reached in through the window and taken my sunglasses. Or, without me noticing—when I wasn’t home, possibly at the hospital with Arabella—the sunglasses could’ve been swiped from my kitchen counter.
“Would you not find that interesting?” he asked.
I stayed silent.
“You knew where the body was, and your sunglasses were found at the scene.”
“I had a fifty-fifty shot on the direction. Prove I dropped the glasses at that time.” After saying it, I wished I hadn’t used the word prove. “Someone else might’ve put them there.”
Schleper smiled. “I cannot prove anything … yet.” He rocked in his chair and made a point of examining the glasses again. He looked at me. “Did you drop them when you found Miss Wilcox?” He placed the glasses on the table and forced a chuckle. “Or do you think someone on the island wants to frame you?”
My silence was all the answer he needed.
“Where were you the afternoon Miss Wilcox drowned?” he asked.
“Vinny’s, having a couple of beers.”
“Good, then you must have a debit card slip.”
I didn’t say anything.
“No? Bar receipt, then?” he asked.
I sighed.
“I see.” He continued with his notes.
“This is ridiculous. Check the cam outside of Vinny’s. I waved at it. Twice.”
Big Brother is watching.
“Yes, we will check that cam.” He stopped with the notes and touched his chin with the pencil. “Mr. Conklin, we need to explore all leads.”
Follow every lead, no matter how small. Maybe Schleper and Bill had the same desk signs.
“What about the truck?” I asked. “The truck Malfena talked about.”
“Mr. Conklin, do you know how many trucks are on this island?”
“But only three with a seahorse painted on the tailgate.” I paused for effect, then continued. “And one is in the repair shop.”
“We are aware of that. You see, Mr. Jeffrey came in and spoke to us, voluntarily. He was very cooperative.”
I couldn’t hold back a short laugh. “What did he say?”
“I do not think laughter is advised at this time, Mr. Conklin. Besides, you of all people should know I cannot talk about an interview with someone else.”
“Motive. That’s what I used to dig for. What’s mine?”
Schleper leaned back in his chair, this time folding his arms across his chest. He rocked a few times, then straightened and leafed through his notes, shuffling a couple of pages. “Well, Mr. Conklin, it seems Mr. Jeffrey was helpful. He gave us some interesting information.” He raised his eyebrows. “He told us that you are the father of Miss Wilcox’s child.”
For an instant, the world stopped spinning. Then spun out of control. Sweat rolled down my back as his words echoed through the room. I folded my hands on the table and looked at the floor.
“Oh, that is right,” he said. “You are unaware.”
He had maneuvered me right to where he wanted me; as if I were a hooked tuna he needed to pull onto the boat. Schleper laid down his pencil, stood, and walked around to my side of the desk, plopping his butt on the edge in front of me.
“I believe Mr. Jeffrey said that Miss Wilcox wanted to tell you,” he said. “That is why she came to the island.”
“Impossible.”
“Oh?”
“Yes. Impossible.”
“Or maybe she told you, and you were not happy. Maybe the responsibility of a child would destroy your little paradise life on this island.” He jumped off the desk and put a hand on each arm of my chair, leaning in so close I could almost taste his bad breath. I maintained my composure and started a ten count. “Maybe the idea of being a parent was too much for you to handle. Before you know it, you lose it.” His eyes widened. “Sound about right?”
I made it to five when my patience broke. I sprang to my feet, putting a fist in Schleper’s chest, driving him back and onto the desk. Pasik’s shoes clicked against the concrete floor as he approached me from behind. I took a step backward to close the distance and spun, delivering an elbow to his nose. His head snapped back, and he staggered. He shook his head trying to clear the cobwebs and grabbed for his weapon. He cleared the holster as another officer ran into the room armed with a Taser.
Schleper stood and waved everyone off. “Stop,” he said. “Hold everything.” He walked over to the door and said something in Papiamentu to Pasik, who then left the room. Schleper closed the door. He motioned for the other officer, the one holding the Taser, to stay put and walked over to me.
“Innocent, huh? Not the kind of behavior I would expect,” Schleper said.
As my muscles relaxed and the adrenaline subsided, it dawned on me what I had just done. Expecting handcuffs, a cellmate everyone called Tiny, and a monthly postcard from Chuck, I didn’t say anything and waited for what came next. Probably a trip to the Big House. Shaking my head, I finally stole another glace at the mirror.
But only for a moment.
“I do not know what’s going on, but I will get to the bottom of it,” Schleper said.
Throat dry, my voice cracked as I said, “I truly hope so.”
To my surprise, Schleper walked over to the desk and barked some Papiamentu to the officer, who left immediately. He looked at me for a second then flipped through his notes. “We are finished, Mr. Conklin. That is, for now.”
I was speechless. My actions over the last couple of minutes made me look foolish, if not guilty, and I couldn’t take them back. Hard to call Schleper the jerk this time. I should be processed and jailed.
“Schleper, there’s no way that child—”
“That is all, Mr. Conklin.” Lips pursed, he waved me toward the door. “Or should I call in some officers and, how do you say … throw the book at you?”
I turned and walked out of the room. Several cops mulled and watched me limp down the narrow hallway, their eyes penetrating my body like nine-millimeter rounds on a range target. I stared straight ahead and resisted the urge to ask any of them for a ride.
How could Lester think I was the father? Tiffany knew I wasn’t, and she wouldn’t have told him otherwise. Did he assume on his own? If so, that could explain his hostility toward me. In his warped view of reality, maybe he saw me as neglecting my responsibilities to Tiffany and Ozzy.
Or, maybe, he was lying to Schleper. But if so, why?
The sky was clear and blue and the blazing Caribbean heat greeted
me as I left the police station. I shook my head in disbelief. Schleper’s investigation was out of control.
As I walked back to the YellowRock, I couldn’t help wondering who was behind the one-way glass.
And how all of this would affect our relationship.
CHAPTER 45
THE NEXT AFTERNOON a police squad car was parked across the street from the YellowRock. The two officers in the front seat were the same two who had previously escorted me to the station. Small Cop snoozed while Big Cop held his hand out the window dangling a cigarette.
Still hadn’t heard from Penn. I considered calling him again but knew it wouldn’t do any good. My cell rang; Chuck calling. I sighed and plopped into my chair, letting the phone ring four or five times before answering it.
“Any more talks with the cops?” I asked.
“No, but last night, Jan told me they talked to him.”
“Same questions?”
“Pretty much.”
“Jeez … Anyway, what’s up?”
“Tomorrow’s the big day.”
“The big day?”
“Yeah, flying that guy off the island. Ten thousand big ones.”
“Chuck …”
“I’ll cut you in if you want to go along.”
“If I were to go, I’d fly. You can ride shotgun.”
“Fine with me, so long as I get the same cut. Does that mean you’re going?” I could almost see the glee on his face.
“No, I’m not going.”
“Oh, c’mon.”
“Not going to happen. I suggest you don’t go either.”
“I need the money. Besides, it’s a short, easy trip.”
I leaned over and grabbed a beer from the office fridge and opened it.
“Did you open a beer?” Chuck asked.
“Yes.” I took a sip. “Who’s your client anyway?”
“Can’t say.”
“Can’t or won’t?”
“I’m sworn to secrecy. Client’s request.”
Arabella walked into the office, and I motioned for her to lock the door. She twisted the dead bolt, and I waved for her to follow me up the stairs to my apartment.
“Do me one favor, buddy,” I said. “Think this over tonight and call me before you leave tomorrow.”
“Give you another chance to talk me out of it?”
I smiled at Arabella. She wore a T-shirt that happened to be my favorite. It was black and had a white banjo on the front. In white lettering above the banjo, it read, Feel Safe at Night, Sleep with a Banjo Player.
“Go to Vinny’s and get smashed,” I said to Chuck. “You’ll be too hungover to fly.”
Chuck released a deep breath into the phone. “Okay, call you tomorrow.” He hung up.
Arabella sat on a counter stool and didn’t stretch up to meet me as I gave her a peck on the lips.
“You want a beer?” I asked.
She shook her head.
“You notice the squad outside?”
She furrowed her brow.
“Yeah, I guess Schleper wants me watched.” I walked out on the veranda and checked for the police truck across the street. “Yup, they’re still there.” I raised my beer to them. “Going to be a long night, fellas.”
I walked over to Arabella and put a hand on her shoulder. “Okay, what’s wrong?”
She bit her lower lip and looked at the floor.
“Sorry if I got you in trouble,” I said. “You know that wasn’t my intention. I need to figure this thing out.”
“I do not think the squad is watching for you.”
“They’re not?”
She shook her head. “I believe they are watching for one of your guests.”
“So Schleper does believe us.”
“Or at least part. I believe he is covering his butt. He wants to eliminate you as a suspect.”
“‘Covering his butt’? Is that a new technical police term?”
She didn’t smile.
“What’s wrong?”
She wiped her eye, took a deep breath, and said, “I did not come here to talk about the case.”
I waited.
“I came here to talk about us.”
“What … about … us?”
“I heard your talk with Schleper. Yes, I was on the other side of the glass.” She stood and paced in front of the couch. “I heard why Tiffany came to the island. I always teased you about her being your girlfriend, but I never meant it.”
“Bella, you can’t possibly think that I—”
She stopped her pacing and focused deep into my eyes. “That you what? Killed Tiffany?” She shook her head. “Not in a million years do I believe that.”
“Then what’s the problem?”
“Are you the father of her child? I need to know.”
“No, I’m not.”
“Then why would Lester say such a thing?”
“I don’t know.”
She was quiet.
“Seriously,” I said.
She brushed several strands of hair away from her face and hooked them around her ear. “Did you sleep with her?”
“No, never. She’d always been like a kid sister to me. You have to believe that.”
She went to the fridge and got a Bright. She took a drink, then another. I waited. “I was not alone on the other side, you know. There were others. As soon as Schleper mentioned you and the child, everyone looked at me. It was embarrassing.”
“I’m sorry, Bella. Schleper’s a jerk, and he shouldn’t have said that. Please believe that there’s no truth to anything he said.”
Arabella collapsed into my arms. I held her, and we swayed to an internal rhythm for several minutes. I kissed her on the head, and she pulled away.
“There is something else,” she said.
“What?”
“It’s about the suicide.”
“Malfena’s?”
“Yes, Malfena’s … Anyway, it was not suicide. First, Schleper has not let anyone see the note. He claims to have it, but no one else has seen it.” She jabbed her finger at me. “And, Roberto, the first officer there, never saw it. Schleper found it when he arrived.”
“Interesting.”
“Wait, I have more.” She took a drink of beer. “By accident, I saw a report—”
“By accident?”
“Conklin, let me finish. The report said that she was shot, in the head.”
“What?”
“Yes. A bullet was found under the car. She was shot in the trunk, and the bullet went through to the ground.” Her eyes widened. “Guess what caliber.”
“Nine-millimeter.”
“Exactly.”
If I could whistle, I’d have done so. “Has Ruth mentioned anything about Wilbur being missing?”
“She has not said.”
“You should ask her.”
“I will. As far as I know, no one knows about Wilbur except you and me.”
“And all the girls in her front yard the other day.”
“Yes.” Her shoulders slumped. “And Lester.”
“Yes, and Lester.”
“Can they trace it back to Ruth?”
“Maybe, maybe not. It would most likely have her fingerprints on it.”
We both took a drink of beer.
“By the way,” I said, “how did the fire department find the car fire?”
“A call from an unknown cell. We could not trace it.”
Anonymous call. We couldn’t trace it so probably a burner phone. Just like Bill and Marybeth.
“I’m guessing the car was stolen,” I said.
“Yes, it is a rental. Damn tourist left a key in the ignition. It was parked at a resort so no street cams. The resort has security cameras so Schleper will request them.”
“Good. That could point to whoever is behind all of this.”
She smiled. “Ja hoor.”
“I have something for you, too,” I said. “Things have spun out of control so bad lately that I haven’t had
a chance to run this past you.”
“Before you start, I have something to give you.” She walked over and reached into the leather bag that she sometimes carried and pulled out a revolver. She opened the cylinder, eyed the cartridges, and closed it. “I want you to have this for a while.” She gripped the weapon around the middle and handed it to me in such a way that the muzzle was pointed down and away, the handle toward me. “With everything that has happened lately, I need you to be safe.”
She wanted me to take her backup weapon, an older Smith and Wesson snub-nosed revolver, chambered in a .38 Special. I doubted I’d need it but nodded and said, “Thanks.”
“Be careful,” she said, as I opened the cylinder and verified six cartridges. “It’s fully loaded.”
“I hope so. Hate to think you’d loan me an empty weapon.” I smiled and, because Arabella was a stickler for maintenance and proper weapon care, made a point of gently closing the cylinder. TV shows depict people snapping revolver cylinders shut with a flip of their wrist. In reality, that technique causes damage to the cylinder crane and over time can create a loose fit between the cylinder and the body of the weapon. “If Schleper finds out about this, your career is over.”
She bit her lower lip momentarily. “Probably, but I need you to be safe.”
“Okay.” I went to the bedroom and placed the .38 in my top dresser drawer, on top of a pair of socks I hadn’t worn in months. Before shutting the drawer, I ran a finger across the brown, wood-simulated grip.
Her backup piece. Not sure I’d ever loved someone enough to hand over my secondary weapon. Let alone risk my career.
I left the bedroom and walked back to Arabella. “Schleper and your career aside, I feel guilty taking your backup piece. What if you need it?”
“Do not worry, I have yet another weapon I can use.”
Three firearms? Wasn’t sure I realized that.
She smiled. “Always have as much firepower as possible.”
I considered her shirt again. Maybe I should have one made that said, Feel Safe at Night, Sleep with Arabella.
She looked at me, eyes wide. “Okay, now what do you have for me?”
“This is big. Penn, in Rockford, is doing some research for me, so we’ll see what he comes back with, but—”
“Conklin, I can research for you.”
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