38
I
T TOOK
O
SCAR
all of twenty minutes to make it to my apartment; I figured he'd be coming. The officers on the scene had taken my statement, which didn't consist of much. I found three .45 cal casings on the living room floor. A lot of cops carry .45s. That reality hadn't escaped me.
The suspect must have fired from the beginning of the hallway to my room, maybe fifteen feet away. It was close, especially the first round. Missed my head by inches. My ears were still ringing. I supposed the other two shots were to keep me in the room while he made his escape. No signs of forced entry, and I know I locked my door. I always do.
Katie and Dean arrived and worked their way around the crime scene.
“Are you okay?” Katie slipped on a pair of latex gloves.
“I'm fine.”
“So someone tried to kill you,” Dean said as he breezed by. “What a surprise.”
“Good to see you too, Yarborough.”
I showed them the scene. I had already marked the locations of the spent shell casings with three paper cups from the kitchen. Some habits were hard to break.
Oscar stepped under the crime scene tape. Oscar, like most people, can be read as soon as he enters a room; he wasn't much for concealing his emotions. Oscar was livid. He had a file tucked underneath his arm.
A patrol officer named Rodriguez approached Oscar. “Sergeant Yancey could you please sign in?” He held out a clipboard with the crime scene log on it.
“Leave us for a minute,” Oscar said.
“But the crime scene log—”
“Leave!” Oscar's exhale rumbled like an agitated grizzly bear's. Something was up.
Officer Rodriguez made a hasty retreat out of the apartment. Doug and Katie scurried down the hallway to my bedroom, leaving Oscar and me alone in the living room.
He examined my wall and what was left of my homicide flow chart. A deeper growl emanated from his innermost being as he squared up on me. “Guess who I talked to this morning?”
I shrugged, figuring silence was my best ally at this point.
“Doug Farnham. He wanted to make sure that your restored e-mail account and computer access were working well.”
Remaining mute, I raised an eyebrow in protest.
“He said I had sent him an e-mail to activate your account, which happened to be sent the exact date and time you were in my office.” Oscar stabbed my chest with a raging finger. “You used me and lied to me!”
Technically, I only used him, but quibbling over semantics wouldn't help. “There's more to the murder at Coral Bay than everyone thinks. It was no murder-suicide. It's a double murder, and the killer is on the loose.”
“You've really lost it, Ray.” He waved his hand across my murder mosaic. “You need to go back to the psychologist. This isn't healthy.”
“The Coral Bay murders are linked to Trisha's and my shooting too. I can prove it.” I had no choice now; I had to share more than I wanted to.
“You're crazy. The shooting messed up your head, big-time. And why would I believe anything you say? You lied to me!”
“That's the second time you've said that.”
“Because it ticked me off,” Oscar said. “You've always been difficult to deal with, nearly impossible to manage, but I could always trust your word and your motives—without question. You always did the right thing, although in strange ways.”
“Jamie DeAngelo was dating Dante Hill when Trish and I were shot at Dante's house. Check it out yourself.”
He tossed his file on my table. “I had Doug run a report to track everything you ran through
our
system. I saw the report with Dante and a girl named Jamie. Do you know how many Jamies there are in Orlando?”
“Dante confirmed it was Jamie DeAngelo.”
“He did what? How in the world did he do that?”
“I went to see him,” I said. “He confirmed they were dating, and he said he didn't shoot Trish or me. I believe him. What he said made sense.”
Oscar paced in front of me. “How did you manage to get in to see him?”
Feeling a sense of impending martyrdom, I saw no good reason to toss Porter under the Big O bus heading straight for me, so I shrugged. A nonanswer if I've ever given one.
“I bet you wiggled your way into the prison just like you've been sneaking around the department. That's going to end. Now.”
“Oscar, whatever else has happened, I know what I'm talking about. These are not two independent, unrelated cases. They're deeply intertwined, and I'm on the verge of breaking the whole thing wide open. I'm asking you to trust me on this.”
“Trust you,” Oscar said. “You manipulated our friendship and used department resources for your own witch hunt. Not only am I
not
going to trust you, but I'm considering going to the state attorney's office and pursuing charges against you for obstruction in an official investigation.”
“The Coral Bay case is closed, so that won't work.”
“But Trisha's murder is still an active case.” Oscar clamped his hands on his hips. “If you don't back off and get some professional help, I'll find something to charge you with and lock your butt up. That's a promise.”
“The only activity in Trisha's case has been what I've found out. I lied, manipulated, and whatever else you think, and I don't really care. I've also found solid information to move the case forward.”
“You've found nothing but speculation. You're on some vendetta against Pampas or a crusade to redeem yourself or whatever.”
“If that's true, why has someone tried to kill me… twice?”
Oscar's eyes narrowed. “You said the first time was just a mugging.”
I paused, not feeling so slick at the moment. “Okay, I left a little bit of pertinent information out of the first report.” I raised my hands. “You got me. I admit that. But the guys who attacked me knew my name and told me to back off from asking any more questions. I'm sorry I didn't tell you that to begin with, but it's true.”
“What's happened to you? It's like I don't even know you anymore. You've let this thing destroy your life.”
“Look at my apartment. Obviously someone is so concerned about what I've uncovered that they'd risk a daytime burglary to steal something I've come across and try to murder me in the process. Doesn't that count for something?”
“Ray anyone who's spent even five minutes with you would want to murder you, so that isn't evidence of anything. How do I know you didn't set this whole thing up for some sick, unknown reason? I'm ordering you to stay out of both of these cases.”
“You can't do that.”
“Why not?”
“Because I don't work for you anymore,” I said. “Your orders don't mean a thing to me.”
Oscar lunged forward with his fist loaded, stopping short of popping me in the mouth. I didn't move. It gave me no pleasure to fire up Oscar like that, but I wasn't going to quit now—not for him, not for anyone.
“You're so selfish.” Oscar eased back and straightened his tie. “I've held off saying this to you because of everything that happened, but now you need to hear it. You think you were the only one devastated when Trisha died?” His voice cracked.
He paused and then regained his composure. “I'll let you in on a little secret. A piece of all of us died that night. Every single day I've wondered what I could have done differently. How I could have stopped what happened to you both. I've been sitting back for a year now hoping you could move past this, get a life outside of police work. But your heads way too messed up. And you're too stubborn and arrogant to get the help you really need.”
“My head might be messed up, and I know I'm difficult and a liar, but forgive me if I don't feel too sorry for you. You might have lost a little bit of you that night, Oscar, but
every
bit of me died on that sidewalk next to Trisha. The cases
are
linked. Just look at the evidence.”
“Stay out of this, Ray, or you're going to jail.” Oscar got in my face. “And you
can
trust my word.”
“All I can say is, you better reopen the Coral Bay murders and find the person responsible for both these cases, because if I get to Trisha's killer before you do, you'll have a very good reason to arrest me.”
39
O
SCAR
, D
EAN, AND
K
ATIE
cleared my apartment, and I made vain attempts at straightening the mess. As I surveyed the disaster that was my living room and the hub for my investigation, I seethed at the notion that whoever did this thought they had stopped me and sidelined the case. Not by a long shot. They only ensured that I'd never, ever quit until I found them… and made them pay.
I had to replace my stolen items as soon as possible, so I thrust myself headfirst once again into the ever-swelling excesses of my credit card debt. I purchased an upgraded laptop with an aircard, a camera, and a battery-powered wireless security system to attach to my doors and windows—all at an interest rate that gave me a migraine. But I wouldn't be taken off guard like that again.
I picked up Crevis at his place and filled him in on the goings-on. We had a shift to cover soon, but there was much to discuss. I couldn't tell if my attacker was one of the two who jumped me in the parking garage. I suspected so but didn't have anything to back it up.
“If I get my hands on whoever did this, they're toast.” Crevis punched his fist into his hand.
I admired his guts, but he didn't have any idea of what we were facing. The Lion's Den grew in scope and stature, and a rogue cop was at work in the mix. Sometimes ignorance truly was bliss.
Pam was waiting at the apartment as I arrived; the crime scene tape remnants lay on the ground just under my window. I opened the door and let us all in, then placed my new laptop on the counter. I would have been crazy upset with losing my other computer, except I'm neurotic about backing up my information. My external hard drive was in my room with all my case notes and copied files still intact.
I didn't reveal that to Oscar or the responding officers. It was better for whoever stole my stuff and shot at me to think he slowed me down by stealing my notes, pictures, and reports. I guess if Oscar discovered I left that part out, he'd consider it just another lie.
“I'm sorry I've dragged you into this,” Pam said. “I had no idea people would try to kill you.”
“I'm a big boy. You didn't drag me anywhere. I went willingly. Besides, a little murder attempt can keep a guy on his toes.”
“I don't understand you at all, Ray Quinn,” she said, my attempt at humor bouncing off her. “But this is getting out of control. I want you to catch David's killer, but I'm scared that something's going to happen to you, and it would be my fault for asking you to help me.”
“Pam, we can't quit now, even if we wanted to. Whoever did this will not stop until anything that can link them to the murders is destroyed—including all of us. The only way we can protect ourselves is to catch this person and stop them forever.”
She agreed, although this was taking a toll on her. She felt responsible for me like I felt responsible for Trisha. It never seemed to end.
“We're going to have a more difficult time from this point on,” I said. “Oscar caught me using the department database and resources, so I'll be even more limited in the information I can access. I imagine that I'm persona non grata at the station as well. I'll have to figure a way around that.”
I shared with them that I believed the Lion's Den was made up of at least two of the four members of the adult entertainment ordinance committee.
“But what difference would that make?” Pam said. “It's just a county ordinance.”
“If Chance Thompson has his hooks into these committee members through his girls, he can control how the ordinance is written and the locations these clubs will be restricted to. Suppose Chance can corner the market on adult entertainment in all of Orange County by buying up land he knows will be zoned for this purpose—his clubs would dominate the prime locations. He could do this through different corporations and silent partners so no one would catch on. That's a huge market, and Chance and his associates could stand to make millions of dollars.”
“So Commissioner Vitaliano can talk about limiting the impact of these… clubs while he's having an affair with one of these girls on the side and lining his pockets with the money?” Pam said.
“That's about it.” I nodded. “He's playing both sides of the fence. Looks like Ben Scott is doing the same thing.”
“How do we stop them?” Crevis said, the hubris of youth ringing in his voice. “They can't get away with this.”
“The only way we can stop them is to somehow set them up.”
“How do we do that?” Pam said.
“I'm working on it,” I said, which was my pat answer for “I have no idea.”
40
B
Y ANY REASONABLE STANDARD
at this point in my investigation, I should have met with the Florida Department of Law Enforcement agents in Orlando, turned over the evidence I had uncovered, and let them take over the investigation—while I remained in my happy world as the night watchman of the Coral Bay Condos, waging my valiant battle against boredom and sobriety Maybe they would catch the suspects and someone would go to jail for the murders, county kingpins would be toppled, and the political landscape of Orange County would be in a cataclysmic upheaval.
While it all sounded good in theory, several problems presented themselves in practice. For one, I wasn't sure if the FDLE would take me seriously, considering my relationship with Trisha, and that I was one of the victims, although the extent of our relationship wasn't public knowledge.
But there was still a greater concern. Even if FDLE found the people responsible and they went to prison, would they truly pay for the pain they caused? Could a comfortable prison cell, three squares a day, an exercise yard, free medical and dental care, and a fully stocked library be the payment for crippling me, murdering an innocent pastor and a young woman, and butchering the only woman I ever loved?
In my economy and what was left of my so-called life, I was inclined to say it wouldn't be nearly payment enough. A much heavier toll must be exacted for that kind of evil, and comfort played no part in my vision of how this thing would end. I wasn't turning this case over to anyone.
I checked my e-mails and received a Google alert for the names “Ben Scott and Michael Vitaliano.” I had set my e-mail account to notify me if those names appeared together on fresh postings anywhere on the Internet. A story appeared in today's
Orlando Sentinel
A public hearing was being conducted tomorrow night at the Orange County commissioners’ chambers regarding a reading of the newly drafted ordinance and a rezoning hearing on the possible locations of the adult entertainment district. Since it was open to the public, I figured I'd have to drop by and say hello.
I also reset my new computer to see if my connection with the GPS unit on Brigitte's car was still running. Not only was it working, I had a good bead on her. She and Ben must have ended their weekend rendezvous because she was back at her house. The battery life on the GPS unit had about three more days on it.
Crevis had stayed the night on my couch. We were up well past sunrise and watched
Rio Lobo
, an amazing John Wayne flick if there ever was one. It was my duty to introduce Crevis to the greatest hero of all time. They seemed to get along. I nearly fainted when Crevis said he'd never seen a John Wayne movie. I informed him that you did not simply “see” a John Wayne movie, you experienced it.
We had popcorn, and I tossed back a fair amount of Jim, enough to wash away most of the concerns from earlier in the day, while Crevis stuck with soda. I think Jim was insulted, but he'd get over it. It was a bizarre slumber party, but Crevis said if he didn't stay on the couch, he'd sleep on the patio in front of my door. He wasn't going to let anyone attack me again. In the long run, he might be cheaper than a guard dog. And I think Crevis has had all his shots.
Crevis had already eaten and was taking a shower. I flipped on the coffeepot and grabbed a bowl from the cabinet. As I poured some cereal, I considered the foolishness of whoever broke into my apartment. He spent a fair amount of time gathering the laptop, my notes, and camera first, instead of trying to kill me in my sleep. If he would have entered my room without making all that racket, he would've had a fair shot at finishing the job, assuming he's the same one who shot me the first time and attacked me in the Coral Bay garage.
But why did he just want to steal the stuff? I could retrace my steps and glean the same info anyway. It didn't make sense.
I chomped on my cereal. What had I learned so far? Ashley's information was a boon to the case and had turned me on to the Lion's Den. I paused and then dropped my spoon in the bowl, milk splashing onto the table. I was such an idiot. He wasn't simply stealing my notes to slow my investigation. He wanted to know what I knew and who I talked to—so he could silence them too.
“Crevis,” I hollered, pushing my chair back. “We've got to go. Now!”
In less than two minutes, Crevis and I were tearing out of the parking lot. For the first time in my life, I prayed. I prayed I was wrong.