The Dead Detective (22 page)

“Are you talking about your father, the retired Clearwater sergeant? He saw this guy too?”

Harry nodded. “Neither one of us made the connection then. Jocko couldn’t make the guy out, but it was obvious he was watching the house. Hell, maybe he followed me home one day. Or maybe he followed me two or three days. I wasn’t exactly looking over my shoulder. But if he did, and he saw me bringing home some folders, it wouldn’t take a genius to figure out what they were.”

“So what are you going to do now?”

“I’m going go have a talk with the young Reverend Waldo.”

“Be careful,” Rourke warned. “The sheriff doesn’t want to piss off the faith community. This is still the Bible belt, and he’s still running for reelection.”

When Harry got back to his desk there was a note to call Walter Middlebrooks. That would be a demand to stay away from his client. He decided he would see Bobby Joe first and save the pleasure of Middlebrooks for later.

Bobby Joe wasn’t at his church office, his secretary explaining that “the minister called in sick.” To Harry’s surprise the short, plump, and extremely prim woman was more than happy to hand over Bobby Joe’s home address. “He lives above the garage at his daddy’s house,” she said, as if that solitary bit of information told Harry everything he needed to know about Bobby Joe.

Harry kept his back to the spy hole in Bobby Joe’s front door. He wanted the benefit of surprise when the young minister opened it and realized who was standing there; wanted to see what tells Bobby Joe would give up. No matter how proficient the lair, there was always something that would show if a cop remained patient and watchful. The problem wasn’t that some suspects were so clever. It was that there weren’t enough patient cops.

Harry turned as the door opened and was met by a look of abject fear in Bobby Joe’s eyes, a look that turned to sudden relief when he saw who it was.

Somebody is scaring the hell out of him, Harry thought. And it isn’t me.

“Expecting the bogeyman?”

Bobby Joe stiffened. Harry took advantage of the momentary confusion and walked past him into a disheveled living room.

“Hey, didn’t Middlebrooks talk to you?”

Bobby Joe said, following him inside.

“Talk to me about what? Are you referring to Nick Benevuto?”

“Is that the detective? Darlene just called him Nick, a real scary homicide detective.”

Harry turned to face him. “Scarier than me, Bobby Joe?”

Bobby Joe swallowed hard. “Look, Middlebrooks already talked to the sheriff and he was supposed to talk to you. My daddy wants to know why you’re all over me about this, all over our church, and nobody’s lookin’ at this cop who was threatening Darlene?”

Harry made his mouth form a slow smile. “We’re looking at him, Bobby Joe. In fact, we’ve been looking at him almost as long as we’ve been looking at you. But you know what, Bobby Joe? I don’t make him for that murder. I make you for it.”

“That’s crazy. I didn’t kill anybody.” Perspiration had begun to form on his upper lip despite the cold blast of air-conditioning that filled the apartment. “Alright, I admit I slept with her. I was seduced. That woman could seduce anyone. But I didn’t kill her.”

“Somebody in your church killed her, Bobby Joe, and if it wasn’t you I think you know who it was.”

“I don’t. All I know is this Nick guy.”

“Bullshit!” Harry shouted. “You either did it, or you can point a finger at the person who did.” Harry jabbed his own finger into Bobby Joe’s chest. “And you better tell me, you little shit, or you’re going down for it.”

“All I know is Nick—”

“We’ve checked Nick. We’ve checked him inside out. And you know what? You’re not gonna be able to hang this on him. But I’m gonna be able to hang it on you. And your lawyer and all his bullshit stories about Nick Benevuto aren’t gonna let you weasel out of it. So you better tell me what you know.”

Bobby Joe tried to light a cigarette, but his hand was trembling and it took several attempts before he succeeded. “If I could help you, I would,” he managed.

“Who else was watching her? Who else was trying to do what your daddy asked everybody to do … to get something on her?” As he asked the question, Harry realized what had been taken from his house. It had been the copy of the church bulletin, the one in which Reverend Waldo repeated the call he had made from his pulpit, the call to his flock to go out and get something on Darlene, to make her pay for her sins. He was now 90 percent certain that it hadn’t been in the file when he checked it this morning. It was the only thing that had been missing. He glared at Bobby Joe, thinking about the pistol whipping Jeanie had sustained. “Did you break into my house this morning?” He waited while Bobby Joe just stared at him. “Answer me!” he shouted when the minister failed to speak.

“No. No. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Somebody broke in and went through my files. If it wasn’t you, then you know who it was.”

Bobby Joe’s face was dead pale. “You’re tryin’ to get me killed,” he croaked.

Harry grabbed him by the arm. “Who would kill you, Bobby Joe?”

Bobby Joe pulled away. “I’m not sayin’ anything more. I want you out of my house. I want you out of here right now.”

Harry returned to his car and sat, staring up at the apartment. His instinct told him to sit on Bobby Joe, to see who he went to see, or who came to see him. But first he had to find out if his memory was correct, that the church bulletin was really missing. He tried to call Jeanie on her cell phone, but there was no answer. He called Jocko’s house and Maria told him that Jeanie had left with Rubio, saying they were going to a movie to try and get her mind off what had happened. She said Jocko had gone with them, but that she decided to stay home and cook everyone dinner. She asked if he was coming to eat. Harry said he would try; then ended the call before Maria could begin an extended guilt trip. He had no choice. He had to head to his house and check the file. He’d also have to check the office to make sure it wasn’t there. In the meantime he’d have to try and get a patrol unit to drive by Bobby Joe’s apartment and keep track of anyone who showed up.

C
HAPTER
S
EVENTEEN

B
obby Joe paced the floor trying to figure a way out
. He called Walter Middlebrooks and got a token pat on the hand, complete with lawyerly assurances that things were being taken care of, the underlying message being: sit tight and let the adults handle things. He lit a cigarette and did another circuit of the room. Fuck you, Middlebrooks, he thought. You don’t have to face the consequences if the adults screw everything up. And right now that smartass Harry Doyle is the least of those consequences.

Bobby Joe slumped into an overstuffed leather chair, stared at the cell phone on the adjacent end table, then stood and began to pace again. He had to call him, had to call and tell him what was happening. If he didn’t and that mean son of a bitch found out later, he’d do just what he’d promised. The other alternative was to get his sorry ass out of town. Go to the bank and withdraw every cent, even the money stashed in the safety deposit box from his days of dealing blow. Get it and head north.

Yeah, sure, he told himself. Do it and that asshole Doyle will put your name out on the wire to every dickhead cop in the country; say you’re wanted in a murder investigation. Then what do you do? Spend every dime you’ve got getting good, usable ID and some plastic surgeon to change your face? He stopped at a mirror by the front door. No way, he thought.

He walked back across the room and stopped, hands on hips, listening to his ragged breath. So tell the man what he wants to know; get him off your ass once and for all. Help Doyle arrest that crazy son of a bitch, lock him up for good, or maybe even kill him. Oh, yes, that would be even sweeter. He raised his eyes to the ceiling and let out a nervous rush of breath. Yeah, and then what do you do about Daddy when Doyle lays the murder at the doorstep of his goddamn church. Well, shit, that’s where it belongs. If Daddy hadn’t sent out the call to punish that bitch, nothin’ ever would’ve happened. Truth be told, he did it to himself with his holier-than-thou, big fucking mouth.

A wrap of knuckles on the front door brought him back. That had to be Doyle, back to bust your chops again, maybe even take you back down to his office. Go ahead and give him what he wants; get him off your ass for good.

Bobby Joe strode across the room and swung the door back without even checking the spy hole. His face collapsed, all the resolve he had conjured up melting away when he stared into the man’s face.

A slow smile formed on the man’s lips but never carried to his ice-blue eyes. “You don’t look happy to see me, Bobby Joe.”

The man walked past him, and with the flat of his hand pushed the door closed even though Bobby Joe was still holding the door knob.

“I’m just surprised. I thought it was that detective. He was here a little while ago and I thought he’d forgot somethin’ and come back.”

“I know he was here.”

“You do?”

“I was watching. Once I found out you weren’t going to work I thought I better come on by and check on who you might be meeting. I parked on the other block and came in through the trees behind your daddy’s house, and lo and behold, there was Detective Doyle coming out your front door.” The man’s blue eyes seemed to turn even colder. “You two have a nice conversation, Bobby Joe?”

Bobby Joe began to rapidly shake his head. “I didn’t tell him nothin’. Not a thing.” He looked into the man’s eyes again and a shiver went down his back. “In fact, I told him to get the hell out.”

The man’s smile returned. “
You
told Detective Doyle to get out … and he did.” He looked past Bobby Joe as if addressing some imaginary person standing behind him. “Now what’s in that picture that doesn’t work?”

“I did, it’s true. I told him to get the hell out and he went right out the door. You see, my lawyer—”

“You curse a lot, Bobby Joe. And I truly find it offensive when you do. I’m certain the Lord finds it offensive as well.”

The shiver returned to Bobby Joe’s spine. “I’m sorry. You’re right. I’m just nervous. Bein’ pushed by that cop and now you not believin’ me. My nerves are just a damn … My nerves are just a mess.”

The man slipped his arm around Bobby Joe’s shoulder and began walking him across the room. “No need to be nervous, Bobby Joe. Did you give him that other detective’s name, the one Darlene told you about?”

Bobby Joe’s head began to nod rapidly again. “I did. I did. And my lawyer called the sheriff and demanded to know why the cops aren’t investigating one of their own people. Why they were tryin’ to pin everything on a minister of the church, instead. He did it. He did it just like Daddy told him to, and he said the sheriff assured him he was gonna do somethin’ about it.”

“But Harry Doyle still showed up at your door, didn’t he?”

Bobby Joe searched his mind for a reason. He felt like a man who had fallen into a raging river and was reaching out for anything he could find to keep himself afloat. “I don’t think the sheriff had gotten to him yet. He seemed surprised when I told him that Walter … that’s the lawyer … had called him.”

The man continued to walk him slowly around the room, one arm still draped around his shoulder.

“What else did you tell him, Bobby Joe?”

“Nothin’, nothin’ at all.”

“Did you tell him about me?”

“No, of course not. I didn’t tell him nothin’ else, not a damn thing.”

The man shook his head. “I asked you to stop cursing, Bobby Joe. You’re a minister of the Lord and you’re cursing like some common riffraff.”

“I’m sorry. I don’t mean to. I really don’t.”

With a movement so deft and quick Bobby Joe never felt it happening, the man slipped behind him, slid one arm across his throat, and pressed his body against his back.

“If you move, I will break your neck,” he hissed in his ear.

Bobby Joe said nothing, and the man could feel his entire body trembling against him. In a way it felt oddly erotic, reminding him of how he had felt when he killed Darlene, how she had begged when he put the knife against her throat, how she had promised to do anything he wanted, give him anything he wanted; how that terrible erection had come, tempting him until he had drawn the blade across her throat and seen her blood gush out into the sand of that sinful beach. He pushed the memories away and realized that his breath had become as ragged as Bobby Joe’s. He removed the six-inch hunting knife from the sheath stuck under his belt at the small of his back and placed the blade under Bobby Joe’s chin, moving it slowly down until it had replaced his arm, allowing him to grab a handful of the young minister’s long hair. He felt himself becoming aroused and pushed Bobby Joe away from his body and pulled his head back exposing the entire length of his throat.

“This is the same knife that killed the whore. The same knife that cut into her throat and spilled her blood, the same tip of the blade that wrote the Lord’s judgment on her forehead. Do you know what she said when I told her she would receive the Lord’s judgment, Bobby Joe?”

Fear had stolen all the breath from Bobby Joe’s lungs and he found himself struggling to speak. He tried nodding his head instead, but the blade of the knife bit into his throat and he felt a small trickle of blood run down his neck. His voice finally returned, breathless and weak. “Oh, please, please don’t hurt me.”

“That’s
exactly
what Darlene said, Bobby Joe. And I’ll tell you the same thing I told her. I’m not going to hurt you. No, I’m not. But the Lord
is
going to judge you. And in a few minutes you’re going to be standing before Him, just as Darlene did, and His judgment will hurt you far more than anything I could do.”

“No, no, no. Please, no. I’m not bad. I’m not.”

He drew the knife firmly across Bobby Joe’s throat and saw the dark, rich, arterial blood gush out in a long stream. Bobby Joe tried to scream but it came out as a loud gurgle; then his hands flew to his throat and the blood began to pulse through his fingers. The man released him and pushed him forward, stepping back as he saw the young minister stagger away. He stepped even further back as Bobby Joe regained control of his body and turned toward him, not wanting his clothes to be washed in the young minister’s spraying blood. Bobby Joe took two steps and then collapsed to his knees. He looked up at the man, his face filled with the horror of his own impending death. Then his eyes began to cloud and he pitched forward, and fell facedown on the carpeted floor.

The man felt the erection pressing against his trousers and was repulsed. It had been the same when he killed Darlene and it made him ashamed of his weakness. He pushed all thoughts of his arousal away and concentrated on Bobby Joe, waiting for the blood to stop pumping from his body. When it finally slowed to a trickle he moved in, turned the body over, and brought the tip of the knife to his forehead. When he had finished he looked down at the young minister and gave a slow, approving nod, then he returned to the front door and retrieved a bag he had left outside. A smile kissed his lips. Now there was only one thing left to do.

Harry had checked his house and determined the church bulletin was indeed missing. Back at the office he went through the official file to make certain he hadn’t inadvertently left it there. Jim and Vicky came into the conference room just as he was finishing his search. Vicky went straight to the chair across from Harry and Jim took the seat next to him.

“It’s four o’clock, any chance you can give me a few minutes,” Jim said.

The written request Jim had made for a four o’clock meeting came back. “Yeah, sure, what’s up?” He glanced across at Vicky.

She glanced out into the bullpen at Nick Benevuto’s empty desk. “Where’s Nick?” she asked.

“Suspended with pay, by order of the sheriff,” Harry said. “It seems my suspect, the kid minister, remembered that Darlene felt threatened by Nick. His lawyer called the sheriff and the big boss decided he should not even be in the office.” He shrugged. “Rourke had no choice. Nick’s gone until we wrap up the case and either charge him or clear him.” He peered at Vicky, letting her know that in the end he still expected Nick to be cleared.

“Harry, we’d like to bring Nick in and formally interrogate him,” Jim said.

Harry winced.

“It’s no more than what you did with your suspect,” Vicky chimed in. Her tone was sharp and held the unspoken comment that he was wasting his, and the department’s time, with Bobby Joe Waldo.

The tone grated, the unspoken comment grated even more. He let it pass. They were right, of course. They had the right to interrogate Nick as many times as they felt were necessary. “You plan to cuff him when you bring him in?”

“That’s procedure,” Jim said.

Harry looked down at the top of the conference table. It was the same treatment to which Bobby Joe Waldo had been subjected, and he knew that doing any less with Nick Benevuto would only open the task force to criticism, possibly even jeopardize any future case against Bobby Joe. Still, Nick was a brother cop, and one he considered innocent. Bringing him in wearing cuffs would rankle every member of the department. He glanced at Vicky and Jim … except two.

“Do what you think you have to do,” he said. “It’s your investigation.”

“But you don’t approve …” Vicky said, the sarcasm still heavy in her voice.

He stared at her longer than necessary. “What the hell difference does that make?”

They all knew that as lead investigator Harry could direct their actions.

But they also knew that his decisions could be appealed to Rourke, who was in overall command. There was little question in anyone’s mind who would win in this instance, especially after the sheriff’s decision to formally suspend Nick.

“When do you plan to bring him in?” Harry asked.

“As soon as we can locate him,” Jim said.

“I’d like to observe the interrogation, so keep me posted on it.”

“No problem,” Jim said.

“And try to bring him in when there are no media types around,” Harry said. “We don’t need to fan speculation that we’ve got killers working in homicide.”

Jim nodded. “Of course. Vicky and I will go out and find him. We’ll let you know as soon as we do.”

“I don’t think you’ll be going anywhere right now.”

They all looked up and saw Diva Walsh standing in the doorway.

She looked directly at Harry. “Bobby Joe Waldo was just found stone-cold dead in his apartment. His daddy’s housekeeper went looking for him and found more than she bargained for. First unit at the scene said the M.O. was identical to Darlene Beckett—throat cut, face covered with another Mardi Gras mask. This time it was a leering devil. You all better get yourselves out there.”