The Dead Detective (12 page)

“Oh, no. Oh, no. I always record every visit.”

“Is it normal to visit a client that many times?” Vicky asked.

Rolf raised his hands defensively. “Look, this woman was notorious, a very high-profile case. Sure, I visited her more than usual. If anything went wrong with her, if she got involved with another kid, say, well, my butt would be on the carpet big time.”

Bennie was sweating now. His eyes were blinking rapidly and his stutter wasn’t about to go away. The man had so many tells going you could hardly keep track of them, Vicky thought. She remained silent, knowing instinctively that Bennie would fill the void. She glanced at Morgan, letting him know she wanted him to follow her lead. The silence didn’t last long.

“Look,” Bennie said, “if this was a drug dealer, or some petty hood that somebody offed, you guys wouldn’t even be here. I’ve had plenty of clients who’ve ended up dead, but I can count on one hand the number of times you guys have come to me with questions.”

Vicky and Morgan continued to stare at him. Finally, Vicky leaned forward as if expecting him to say more.

Rolf obliged. “Okay, maybe I was a little intrigued with her too. For crissake, she’d become a media star, hadn’t she? So just like everybody else, I took a special interest in her.”

Vicky nodded as if she understood completely. “Tell us about the ankle monitor, Bennie.”

“Oh, no. Oh, no.” Bennie waved both hands in front of himself as if it would ward off what Vicky was suggesting. “I’ve got no idea how she got that off. The last time I visited her I checked it—just like I did every time I saw her—and she had it on just like she was supposed to. That’s right there in every one of my reports.”

“How do you think she got it off?” Morgan asked.

“How the hell do I know?” Bennie caught himself and made his voice less defensive. “Look, this isn’t the first case I’ve had of somebody getting one of those off. It’s not foolproof, for crissake.”

Vicky looked toward the window. Disbelief mingled with disgust and Bennie picked up on it immediately.

“Hey, if you’re trying to say that I had something to do with the monitor coming off, that’s bullshit. Why would I risk my career, my pension, everything I have, for that slut?”

“You married, Bennie?” Vicky asked.

“What? No. What does that have to do with anything?”

“Yeah, law enforcement, it’s a lonely life outside the job,” Vicky said.

“Sometimes that’s all you’ve got, the job and the people you work with every day.” She looked back at him. “You find that to be true, Bennie?”

“Hey, I don’t like where you’re going here,” Rolf snapped. “You’ve got no proof I did something wrong. If anything, what you’ve got shows I worked extra hard to keep an eye on Darlene. And that’s
all
it shows.” Perspiration began to gather on his upper lip. “But if you even suggest what you’re hinting at here, you could cause me a lot of grief. You know that. We have the equivalent of an internal affairs division in our department too. And they get on your case, they start going through
all
your files, interviewing
all
your clients. And when they do that, they can always come up with something. Hell, the clients will claim you did all kinds of shit. You’ve been breaking their chops and suddenly they have a chance to get back at you, and they take it. You better believe they take it.”

“We don’t want to cause you any trouble, Bennie. We just need to know what went down with Darlene Beckett.” Vicky made the claim with as much sincerity as she could muster.

“Nothing went down with her. Not with me. I did my job the way I was supposed to. If anything, I did it too well, and now I’m getting slammed for it.” Bennie took out a handkerchief and wiped the sweat from his face. “God it’s hot in here,” he said defensively. “That damned air-conditioning system must be on the fritz again.”

“I was just thinking it’s a bit chilly,” Vicky said. “But forget about that, Bennie. Let’s get back to our original question. Did Darlene ever express any fear about anybody—ex-husband, boyfriend, the guy next door, anybody at all?”

Bennie shook his head emphatically. “All she ever did was whine about the restrictions the court put on her.”

“Did she ever express any remorse about what she did to that young boy?” Morgan asked.

“Darlene? Are you kidding? She never expressed remorse about anything. She was just like all the others I deal with every day. The only thing she regretted was getting caught.”

Vicky stared at him, wondering if the man saw that the same description fit him as well.

“I need a complete rundown on where you were and who you were with on the night Darlene was killed,” Vicky said, her voice becoming very cold.

Bennie Rolf closed his eyes momentarily and nodded. “Sure,” he said, “whatever you want.”

Back in their car, Vicky took a few minutes to jot down some additional observations in her notebook. When she finished she glanced at Morgan. The line of his jaw had a hard set to it. “So, what do you think?” she asked.

Morgan stared straight ahead. “I think Darlene Beckett talked her P.O. into taking that monitor off, and I think she paid him off with sex whenever he came by.”

“Yeah, I agree. I think she made him the proverbial offer he couldn’t refuse. It was probably a dream come true for that poor, pathetic slug. But I don’t think we’ll ever prove it.”

Morgan turned to face her. “Are we at least going to recommend that his department investigate him? He’s probably doing the same thing with every female client he has.”

“Could be. But that’ll be up to the state’s attorney when we close the case and hand over our final reports. I’ll sure include my suspicions. But after that it will be up to powers greater than me.” She let Morgan chew on that before adding, “Just don’t be surprised if nobody wants to raise that issue. Law enforcement agencies don’t like to piss on each other. They all worry about being tarred by the same brush. So, unless there’s some political advantage to be had, or they’re forced to do something, they usually prefer to look the other way.”

“That stinks,” Morgan said.

“Yeah, it does.”

Harry returned to the Halls’ Temple Terrace home promptly at six-thirty. He had spent the intervening hours confirming Mrs. Hall’s alibi, running background checks on all members of the family, and trying to trace the origin of the gold cross he had found at the Tarpon Springs crime scene.

Mrs. Hall opened the door, looked at him, and sighed. “My mother-in-law told me you stopped by to see her,” she said.

“Just routine, Mrs. Hall,” Harry said. “I’m just dotting all the I’s. Are your husband and son at home?”

“As promised,” she replied. “Come in. My husband’s out on the lanai cooking some burgers. You know the way. I’ll tell my son you’re here.”

“I’d rather talk to your husband alone and talk to your son when we’re finished.”

Betty Hall eyed him suspiciously. “Back when this all started, our lawyer told us we had the right to be present whenever Billy was interviewed by the police.”

“That’s true,” Harry said. “And if that’s the way you want it, that’s the way it will be. But I do want to talk to your husband without your son being there. I think he’ll be able to talk more freely if we do it that way. I can take him to my office if you’d rather.”

Betty Hall glared at him. “Do it your way. That’s the way it’s been since this whole thing started.”

Joe Hall was a big, burly man, who worked as a supervisor for one of the area’s larger construction firms. He was easily six-three, a good two hundred and forty pounds, and dressed as he was now in shorts and a T-shirt, he looked like someone who could have played middle linebacker for a Division I football team. There was no question in Harry’s mind that he could have overpowered both the “cowboy” and Darlene Beckett. But all of that was dispelled when he turned to greet Harry. He had a high widow’s peak over the softest brown eyes Harry had ever seen in a man, and his voice was so equally soft and gentle that Harry had to listen carefully to be sure he caught every word. He was as far from homicidal as any man Harry had ever met.

“I hope you’ll take it easy on my son Billy when you talk to him,” Hall began. “He tries to cover it up, but all this has hit him pretty hard. We thought he was starting to come out of it, but now with her being murdered and all, it’s just started up for him all over again.”

“I’ll do my best not to make it worse,” Harry said. “But right now I need to ask you some questions.”

“Sure. Fire away.”

Harry took him through their activities on the night of Darlene’s murder, and the alibi he had already established. All of Hall’s answers squared with what he already knew.

“At any time since this all began, did anyone ever say anything to you that made you feel they wanted to do harm to Darlene Beckett?”

Hall shook his head. “No, never. The only people who really spouted off about her were the people at our church.” He let out a weary breath. “But they spout off about a lot of things. It wasn’t like they were ready to burn her at the stake or anything.”

“What do they spout off about?” Harry asked, more to keep him going than to get any specific information.

“Oh, you know, they’re anti stuff. They’re anti-gay, anti-abortion, anti-immigrants, anti the way kids dress today, especially girls, anti the music they listen to. It’s like they know just how the world should be, and anything less than that is sinful.”

“So why go to the church if you find it offensive?” Harry asked.

“I just never worried about it that much; I sort of tuned it all out. My wife liked the church. They had a really good youth program and she thought it was helpful for the kids to have that religious influence.” He shook his head. “I guess it didn’t take for my son. But God knows, I don’t know what I would have done if I’d faced that same situation at fourteen. I’m pretty sure I’d have been just as scared as he was.”

“He was frightened?”

“He told me he was,” Hall said. “And I believe him. But I don’t expect him to admit that to you. That would break the code. You know what I mean?”

Harry thought of his gangsta friend Rubio Martí. “Yeah, I know what you mean. When was the last time you saw Darlene Beckett?” Harry asked, changing tack.

“In court, the day the plea deal was approved by the judge.” Anger came to Mr. Hall’s eyes for the first time since they had started talking. “She walked out of that courtroom and she smiled at us. Can you believe it? She hurts my son like that, and she turns all of our lives to shit, and she smiles about it.” Hall drew a deep breath. “I’ll tell you, Detective Doyle. Right then I wanted to hurt that woman, and if I was ever gonna kill her I would have killed her right then and there. And I would have done it with my bare hands.”

Billy Hall sat at the small outdoor table, flanked by each of his parents. Through the sliding glass doors Harry could see his six-year-old sister peaking out at them from far back in the house. Harry studied the boy closely. Because of his age, no photographs of him had ever run in area newspapers, so this was the first time Harry had seen him. He looked like a typical fifteen-year-old Florida teenager, thin and lanky with tanned skin and sunbleached hair. He had none of his father’s size, although his bone structure hinted that he might one day grow into it. His blue eyes came from his mother as did a longish nose and wide mouth. There was nothing exceptional about him. He was neither particularly attractive nor unattractive. Right now his eyes were wary, almost frightened, and his lips trembled slightly when he spoke.

“Billy, when was the last time you saw Darlene Beckett?” Harry asked.

“In court,” Billy said. “The last time she was in court.”

“Did you speak to her?”

The boy shook his head vehemently.

“When was the last time you spoke to her?”

“In school.” The boy blushed deeply. “You know, just before the police got involved and arrested her.”

“What did you talk about?”

“She told me we both had to deny everything, and that I had to get my cousin to take back the stuff he told the cops.”

“Did you do that?”

Another shake of the head. “My mom and dad told me I had to play it straight with the police, and that I’d just get Randy—that’s my cousin—in trouble if I got him to lie.”

“And you never spoke to her again.”

“No.”

“Did she ever try to get in touch with you?”

“No, not after that last time in school.”

“Did you ever hear anyone make threats against Ms. Beckett?” Harry asked.

The boy shrugged. “I heard some people say some bad things about her.” He glanced furtively at his mother. “But I never heard nobody say they were gonna kill her or beat her up or anything. Some people at the church said she’d burn in hell for what she did.” He twisted nervously in his chair. “They said I’d burn in hell too, if I didn’t repent. I told them I already had, but they said I had to do it publicly, like in front of the whole congregation. I told them, no way.”

“Okay, Billy.” Harry handed him a business card. “That has my office phone and my cell numbers on it. If you think of anything else, I want you to call me. Straight?”