“You think Camille knows?”
“Camille knows what Camille wants to know.” He sighed. “That is, when she's not stoned.”
“More than booze?”
He shrugged.
“Why would Nicky be carrying cocaine? You think she's strung out too?”
“No, sir. Not that little girl of yours. She's too tough for that.”
“She says she knew nothing about it.”
He thought for a moment. “Maybe … maybe not.”
“So you're saying you think Nicky's capable of getting involved in a deal to move product.”
The big man's face turned sad. “Under the right circumstances, she gets into a situation over her head … who isn't?”
“But what for? She wouldn't need the money.”
He said nothing.
“You think it might have something to do with Weems?”
“Hey, you the detective, partner. I is just a poor patrolee.” He struggled to extricate himself from the booth. “Listen, I got to get back to work. Why don't you and Jake come on by for lunch tomorrow? We got a private room in back and we can talk some more.”
“Sure.”
“Save your appetite. I'm pickin’ the menu … how's the oatmeal?”
I made a thumbs-up gesture. “First-rate.”
“Hard to mess up porridge.” He stood staring at me for a moment. “By the way, you still miss it?”
“Miss what?”
“Bein’ a cop.”
“I don't know. I don't think about it too much anymore.”
“That makes me feel good, cause I do.”
“That reminds me, there was a message on my machine last night from Rashid Fuad.”
“Fuad?”
“You know, the ballistics guy Jake and I used to work with. From New York. The one who sent you the letter.”
“Oh yeah, yeah.”
“He said he's going to be in Charlottesville for a conference this week. He's got some new information. Maybe to do with that software of his or something.”
“Them machines is black magic, ain't they?”
“Jake and I are thinking of going over to have a drink with him. Want to ride along?”
“Nah. I got a restaurant to run. Besides …”
“What?”
“Old wounds, buddy. What's gone is gone … Old wounds.”
I nodded then swept the air with my spoon. “ ‘ ‘Tis but the fate of place, and the rough brake that virtue must go through.’ ”
He shook his head as he lumbered back toward his kitchen. “Gotta ask Kerstin what she put in that oatmeal today,” he said.
11
The bright sunshine on the sidewalk outside the jail almost blinded me. A skinny man riding a lawn mower and chewing a cigar cut the public grass, and the smell of it made my nostrils twitch. A rare autumn haze draped the town. Jake was correct: it was going to be a warm one all right.
I didn't notice the young woman barreling down the walkway toward me until it was too late.
“Oh.” She stumbled to an abrupt halt. “I'm sorry, I didn't see you.”
“No, it was my fault.”
She was dark-skinned with a willowy figure and cocoa eyes. Perspiration dotted her forehead, though she looked anything but disheveled—in fact, she smelled faintly of perfume. Her straight hair was pulled into a headband with a few strands falling to either side. A navy-colored suit clung to her as if it were tailor-made, and a big pile of manila folders with one of those lawyerly briefcases occupied her arms.
“You look like you could use a hand.”
“No. No thank you. I'm late for an appointment.”
“Okay.”
She stared at me for a moment. “You're not Nicole Pavlicek's father, are you?”
“I am.”
“She told me you would be coming.” She reached out a hand from beneath the pile of folders. It felt cool despite the heat. “I'm Priscilla Thomasen, Commonwealth's attorney.”
That a black woman her age had been elected to such a position from Affalachia County spoke volumes, not only about changes in the county, but about the kind of person who had just shaken my hand.
“She mentioned you, Miss Thomasen. You sure I can't help you with some of those?”
“I'm sure … but thanks.” She turned back toward the building.
“Wait. I mean, can you give me some idea about your case against Nicole?”
She stared at me. Then she asked: “How long have you and her mother been divorced?”
“Quite some time.”
“Do you see Nicole often?”
“I try to …” Her look forced my hand. “From time to time.”
“I understand from Sheriff Cowan and state police that you're also involved in another problem,” she said. “Having to do with Dewayne Turner's body being found?”
Seemed like Cowan's suspicions were making the rounds. I wondered why the sheriff hadn't mentioned anything about the Commowealth's attorney. Were they at odds?
“Right,” I said. “I'm the one who found it. Not on purpose, you understand. I was out hunting, working with my bird.”
“So I was told. You're a private investigator, aren't you?”
“That's right.”
“Were you just in talking with Nicole?”
“No. I was on my way to see the sheriff about listening to the tape of the tipster who turned her in. Then I was hoping to see Nicky again too.”
“I'll be questioning your daughter myself, along with her attorney, in a little while.”
“Any chance I might sit in?”
“I know your background. Mr. Pavlicek.” Oh, boy. Who didn't? “Since you used to be a police detective, I may allow it. As long as your daughter or her attorney don't object.”
“Thank you.” From what I knew of Nicole's attorney, I couldn't imagine him objecting to anything but a price increase in white lightning.
“Good. Right now I really must—”
“Listen, Ms. Thomasen.” I reached out and touched her arm. “Just one more thing … I understand there may be suspicions about Dewayne Turner's disappearance, allegations that the police may have somehow been involved.”
She hesitated. “You understand correctly, but I'm not at liberty to discuss it at the moment.”
“Okay, maybe later. But do you, by any chance, know any of Turner's family?”
“Of course. Good people. I know them well.”
“I would really appreciate it if you would be willing to arrange a meeting for me with them,” I said. “Maybe you could even go along. I know they must be grieving right now, but—”
“Let me get this straight. Your daughter's in jail, maybe mixed up in drug trafficking. And you want me to set up a meeting for you with a murdered man's family and then accompany you? To what, help overcome the black/white thing?”
“Well no. I didn't mean—”
“Look, Pavlicek, as far as I'm concerned, you're on your own if you want to go around bothering Carla Turner. The sheriff needs to talk with her and I've told him so—that's what would really help clear the air around here about Dewayne's disappearance. Right now I'm late and—”
“Do you have any idea if he was still selling drugs?”
She looked at me with suspicion. “From what I understand, no. He'd turned his back on all that.”
“Maybe someone from the crowd he used to run with took exception and murdered him.”
“Maybe it wouldn't be so shocking, either, if your daughter turned out to be involved with his death.”
Wow. Her subtlety was killing me.
“After all,” she said, “the apple doesn't fall …” She stopped in mid-sentence.
“Too far from the tree?”
“I'm sorry,” she said. “I have to go.”
The deep voice on the sheriff's department recording was hollow and indistinct. The call had been traced to a pay phone at a gas station on the outskirts of town so it could have come from almost anyone. The voice was very clear, however, about one thing: he specified Nicole by name and he described her car.
“Not much to go on.” Cowan pushed the button to rewind the tape. “Guy's probably a doper himself. Probably settling a score. Be lucky if whoever owns that coke don't find him before we do.”
“Maybe.” But I was thinking the sheriff might be right.
“Who's side you on in all this anyway, Pavlicek? Just ‘cause that daughter of yours tells you she's innocent, don't mean she wasn't mixed up in something no good.”
“I'm interested in finding out what really happened.”
“No bias? No prejudice at all? You know we're big on that down here now, eliminating prejudice, I mean.” He smiled and leaned back in his chair, placing his feet on the desk, and clasped his hands across his stomach, twiddling his thumbs.
I said nothing.
“So, have y'all had any great revelations since our get-together last night?” he asked.
“I found out Camille's new boyfriend is about as talkative as a Sphinx, which concerns me.”
He grunted in disgust. “Really? Well maybe we'll just have to check that boy out.”
“I also bumped into the prosecutor just now out on the sidewalk. She told me you were going to be taking a statement from Nicole later and she gave the okay for me to sit in.”
“S'that a fact?”
He stared at me. Then he lifted his big feet down from the desk. “She's the boss. But just remember when it comes to most other things around here, I am.”
“Look, sheriff. I'm not the enemy, okay? You say you and your men had nothing to do with Dewayne Turner's murder and I say I believe my daughter when she says she knew nothing about the drugs found on her car. Let's just take each other at face value for the moment.”
“All right. But that won't stop you nosing around to see if there's any evidence of Turner being beaten ‘fore he was killed, will it?”
I shook my head.
“And don't expect me to stop putting the microscope on who you are and where you come from, Mr. Pavlicek. And that includes your buddies Toronto and Cahill. I know what you boys testified about that night up in New York. I also know the trial went nowhere and a lot of cops still believe you and think you and your partner didn't get a square deal.
“But I'm here to tell you, I ain't one of them. You and your partner fucked up, that's all. Fucked up good. Far as I'm concerned, you both got what's coming to you. Just thought you ought to know that.”
I guess the thing about genuine prejudice is, it cuts all ways.
“By the way, your friend Special Agent Ferrier called me again this morning. Seems they found some residue on Dewayne Turner's clothing. Traces of coke in both pockets. Ferrier wants a sample of the powder we took off of your daughter to test for a match. …”
Could this get any worse?
“You think I'm riding a loser here, don't you?”
A painful look crossed his face. “If you're really asking, yeah, I do. Ferrier also says he's waiting for you to call him. Said you'd know the number.”
“Okay.”
“You going to?”
“Call him? Yeah, I will. They figure out what kind of gun was used on Turner?”
He smiled. “You don't give up, do you? It was a nine-millimeter. Which fits my theory,” he said.
“Which is?”
“Like I said before. Killed by his own kind. Gang-related.”
“You see the paper this morning?”
He nodded and looked toward the ceiling then back at me. “They don't do me no favors,” he said. “This department's got three black deputies now. You'd think that'd be enough to satisfy somebody. …”
He paused as if he were weighing his words. “We got a few minutes until your daughter's statement. Let me ask you something. I probably shouldn't, but I'm goin’ to anyway. The name Boog Morelli mean anythin’ to you?”
I sat up in my chair. Fuad said there was an old link to Morelli. But how could Cowan know anything about that?
“I doubt there's a cop in New York doesn't know that name,” I said. “He's one of the biggest drug kingpins around, or at least he was, last I heard. Why?”
“His name has come up in relation to Dewayne Turner.”
“Ferrier know about it?”
“I haven't discussed it with him yet.”
I suddenly remembered the man in the rental car with Maryland plates in the parking lot outside Cahill's the other night. “Listen to me, sheriff. I know you may not think much of me, but if Boog Morelli or any of his people are involved, you should watch very carefully where you step.”
For a moment Cowan and I shared something in common. I saw it in his eyes. I remembered seeing it in Toronto's eyes the night we'd faced the shooters in the dark.
But it passed too flippantly from the sheriff. “Always do … You want my advice, Mr. PI?”
“Not particularly, but I'll listen.”
“Pack on up and head back to Charlottesville. Nicole's your daughter, I understand, but it's not like you raised the girl or nothin’. Why you want to go make it harder on yourself? A drug dealer's dead and we arrested her carrying coke. Who knows? Maybe the Turner kid had something over her. Maybe she was muling for him. But she's young, the family's got money, and she's …” He looked down at his desk.
“White?”
“You said it. I didn't.”
“Boog Morelli's white too,” I said.
We took turns staring out his office window.
“Ferrier said he and his partner will be down here day after tomorrow,” he said. “You'd best come clean with us, Pavlicek. I've told him, either way, I want you out of my hair by then.”
12
Nicole's wrists were cuffed again. She was seated, elbows propped on the table, chin resting on her thumbs and chewing on one fingernail, when they brought me into the room. Sheriff Cowan stood off to one side, leaning on the wall with his arms crossed. Shelton Radley sat next to Nicole and Priscilla Thomasen was across the table; both had pens and pads in front of them.
Radley was a wisp of a man in a blue suit with graying temples to match what was left of his graying hair. He looked fairly sober this morning. Nonetheless, I thought I caught a trace of Scotch in the air.
The Commonwealth's attorney's hand was poised over her tape recorder. “Now you understand, Ms. Pavlicek, this is not a trial. But anything you say from here on out may be admissible as evidence and used against you.”
“Yes.” Nicole looked at me, fear in her eyes. “Are you going to get me out of here, Daddy?”
“We're a ways from that right now, hon,” I said. “Just tell them what happened.”
I looked at Radley. Little beads of perspiration had already collected on his forehead. I hoped he was up to the task.