The Night Watchman (19 page)

41

I
T TOOK EIGHTEEN AND A HALF
excruciatingly long minutes to make it to Ashley's apartment from mine, as I serpentined through traffic with no regard for the laws.

Crevis struck his head on the roof as I didn't slow for the speed bumps in her parking lot. I called her home phone and cell several times and left messages for her not to open the door for anyone but us.

I slid to a stop in front of her building. Her car was parked in its spot; she had to be home. Crevis bounded up three flights of stairs. I lagged behind him but carried my lame self up the stairs as best I could, practically hopping on one leg from the second to the third floor. Once at the top, I fought for oxygen; my lungs were spent. I nodded to Crevis, who pounded the door.

“Ashley,” I called in between gasps. “Open up.”

Nothing.

Crevis beat the door again.

Still nothing.

I drew my pistol. “Kick it in.”

Crevis smiled as he retrieved his brass knuckles from his pocket and slid them onto his hand. He launched his foot into the door, cracking the frame. The door swung in and smacked the wall.

I stepped through, my pistol raised high.

“Awwk!” Big Bird squawked at us. The apartment was dark. A light was on in the back. I followed it.

“Ashley!”

My call was met by silence. I hurried toward the back room; Crevis trailed me with his fists up. Her bedroom door was open a crack. I eased it open the rest of the way with my cane while training my Glock on the room.

“Ashley it's Ray Quinn. Is everything all right?”

I entered her bedroom and answered my own question. Ashley lay facedown on her bed with a pink belt wrapped around her neck.

I lowered my gun and gimped closer to her. I touched her elbow. She was room temperature. She'd been down for a few hours, maybe more. I looked around the room. Nothing else appeared disturbed.

“Crevis, call 911.”

“I can't,” he said, covering his mouth. “I'm gonna be sick.” He sprinted into the bathroom off the hallway, where he promptly purged what little cereal he'd eaten earlier. I would have to explain that to the crime scene techs.

I made the call. And for the second time in two days, I waited as the sirens approached. No way was I getting out of this. If Oscar was hot yesterday, I couldn't imagine what he'd look like today. I pulled out my cell phone and snapped a picture of Ashley and the room. I knew I wouldn't be able to come back inside or have access to the file. I snapped a few more of the living room and front door. I snapped away until the patrol units arrived.

“Ray Quinn,” Oscar said as he scaled the last flight of stairs. “You are the last person I wanted to see today.”

I just gazed at him. The sky was darkening as an afternoon storm was rolling in, a common occurrence around Orlando this time of year, but the weather merely mimicked my mood—gloomy and foreboding. Crevis and I stood out on the third-floor walkway.

“What?” he said, hands out. “No witty comeback?”

“I'm not feeling real witty today. A dead girl is in there, and she's dead because she talked to me.”

“We'll find out about that. I'm going to get a statement from you about this and everything else. If you hold back on one thing or lie to me, Ray, I'll charge you with every statute under the sun. No more of your games or stupid comments.”

“I'll shoot straight with you.”

“You'd better.” Oscar pulled out his notepad. “Where were you last night?”

I could see the small red light flashing through his shirt pocket. He was recording me; this was official.

“I was at home.”

“Alone?”

“No. He stayed over at my place.” I pointed to Crevis, who was leaning over the railing, looking as if he'd hurl again, his face the color of curdled milk.

“He a friend of yours?”

I paused. My life was such that now Crevis was not only my friend, but my best friend. “Yes.”

“He'll vouch for you?”

“Yeah, but go easy on him. He's just a kid, and I don't think he's ever seen a dead body before. He's not doing so hot.”

I ran Oscar through the series of events that led up to Crevis and me finding Ashley. I told him about talking to her before about Jamie and her working at Club Venus. I didn't mention the Lion's Den or other aspects of my investigation that didn't involve Ashley.

I didn't care if I did some time for it. I wasn't revealing everything I knew to anyone at OPD, even Oscar. I didn't know who would get ahold of my statement. And with that look in his eyes, it wouldn't have mattered what I told him. There was nothing in his gaze but utter contempt for me.

“Raise your right hand,” he said. “Do you swear that everything you told me is the truth, the whole truth, so help you God?”

“I do.”

He reached in his pocket and flicked off his recorder. “I bet.”

He ambled over to Crevis, still leaning on the rail. He led Crevis farther down the walkway and looked back at me. He wanted to be sure he was out of earshot.

As they talked, Pampas, Stockton, and Bowden all showed up. No one came my way; it appeared orders had been given not to talk to me under any circumstances.

I couldn't blame them. Pampas smirked and hissed as he passed. I kept quiet. I had too much on my mind to get worked up by such a lowlife like him.

Oscar and Crevis talked for about ten minutes, and then they both headed back my way.

“You can leave… for now,” Oscar said. “Keep your cell phone on, should I need to get in touch with you.”

“Who's lead on the case?” I said.

“Given all the drama already around this thing, I should be the one working this.” Oscar stowed his pen and notepad back in his pocket. “I'll have Bowden as backup. Anything else you need to tell me?”

I shook my head. In all the years I'd worked with Oscar, he'd never taken lead on a homicide. He always managed them but never assigned one to himself. A twinge of hope wiggled into the back of my mind. Maybe Oscar had listened to some of what I said and would try to link the cases. The thought faded quickly as he shared a disgusted look with me.

“Then you both can—and I would suggest that you do—leave,” he said. “We've got a lot of work to do.”

“Sorry about the mess, Oscar.”

“Aren't we all.”

Crevis and I headed down the stairs as Katie and Dean hiked up with gear in tow. Again, no one spoke. I was being shunned—officially.

“What did Oscar have to say?” I said as we got into my truck.

“He was pretty nice.” Crevis stared out the window. “He just asked what happened, and I told him.”

“That's it?”

“Pretty much.”

“Wanna grab something to eat?” I said. “My treat?”

“I'm not very hungry.”

Neither was I. A young girl's life had just been snuffed out because she committed the heinous crime of talking to me, thinking no one else would ever know. She trusted me and even called me “nice.” I didn't feel so nice. I couldn't feel anything but the deadness of my soul.

Oscar, the only person on the planet who stood by me after the shooting, now considered me a scumbag and a liar, someone to loathe and detest. Maybe he was right.

42

T
HE
O
RANGE
C
OUNTY
commissioners' chamber was less than a quarter full. The five-hundred-seat auditorium was in a half-moon shape and faced the commissioners' seats, which were raised, of course.

I'd dropped Crevis back off at my place. After everything with Ashley, he needed some time alone. I could cover most of this meeting and then make it back in time to pick him up for our shift.

A dozen reporters lined the first row with their cameras situated for the best view. Other civilians dotted around the room. The proceedings would be about as fun as watching an algebra competition and seemed to be a nonevent to most people. It was the most important public meeting I'd ever attended.

Ben Scott sat off to the right of the commissioners. Mort Connelly and Judge Garcia huddled together up front near the journalists. Commissioner Vitaliano was perched in a prominent place on the dais—right in the middle. His gray hair was perfectly combed, his suit tailored, his smile as phony as his life. He folded his hands in front of him and listened to the speaker at the podium. He nodded his head at appropriate times and feigned concern and attentiveness.

The image of Ashley's lifeless body, as well as David's and Jamie's, kept scrolling through my thoughts. Every time I'd focus back on Vitaliano's smug mug, I wanted to just hobble up to him and bludgeon the truth from him with the business end of my cane.

Chance's buddy Carl filled a seat on the right side of the room, attempting to keep his gargantuan frame from being conspicuous. It was a bit like hiding a bear in a bathtub. I didn't see Chance anywhere, which shouldn't have surprised me. He'd had an inside track on the goings-on since long before this public meeting was held, so he sent his minion to keep an eye on things, probably to gauge public reaction to the announcement.

The speaker at the podium prattled on about the water district's concern over potential flood levels in the county. They were getting the normal business out of the way before they discussed the ordinance.

I stayed near the back. A person came from behind me and posted to my right—Gordon Kurfis, the good commissioner's chief of staff. He tucked his hands in his pockets and rose to his tiptoes and then back down.

“You seem to have an ever-increasing interest in politics, Mr. Quinn.” He faced the podium, not even looking at me. His bulbous middle peeked out from his blazer, as if he were carrying a beer-belly baby to full term.

“Just keeping that public service thing going,” I said. “You never know, I might run for office someday.”

Kurfis chuckled and shook his head. “That would be a sight. I don't think you have any idea of everything that goes into managing a county like this or what goes into being a great leader. But you're in for a treat tonight. You get to watch one up-and-coming politician at his finest.”

“Really?” I panned the table with my finger. “Which one are you talking about?” I had to jab him a little.

“I know what you think, Quinn. And you're dead wrong about the commissioner. That man is one of the most moral and genuine people I've ever had the privilege of knowing. I'm not the only one who recognizes his potential either. He's going places.”

“Well, if he's the most moral person you know, then you need to hang in better circles. Because the only place that man is going is prison.”

Kurfis snorted like a bull preparing to charge. “You played that line when you came to our office. I don't know what your game is, but it's my job to run interference for the commissioner against troublemakers—even if they're disturbed ex-cops. You're way off base here, so I would suggest you get some medication for your posttraumatic stress disorder and stay far away from Michael Vitaliano.”

The man at the podium must have said something funny because the room erupted into laughter. His Haughtiness Vitaliano laughed, clapped his hands together, and regarded his comrades at the head of the chamber. He then glanced our way, and his smile evaporated the moment he noticed Kurfis and me together. He trained his gaze on us for a few seconds, then turned back to the speaker, his pseudo smile returning.

Maybe it was a lucky guess about the posttraumatic stress disorder. Or maybe Kurfis had been digging into my police file or talking with someone at OPD. I was betting on the latter. Kurfis did what I would do: he checked up on me.

“Whenever your boss wants to sit down and tell me all about Jamie and his relationship with her, then maybe, just maybe, I'll get out of both of your lives. But now I'm looking for a killer. If the good commissioner had anything to do with Jamie's or anyone else's death, I'm going to hang it around his neck for the world to see.”

“If you want to get into the private-investigator business, I would suggest you stick to chasing cheating husbands and serving subpoenas. You are way out of your league right now, Quinn.”

“I've been there before. And don't think for a second your Ivy League education can keep you from being an accessory to murder. That doesn't look good on a résumé.”

Kurfis faced me. “If you think—”

“Shhh.” I held my finger over my lips. “Your meal ticket is about to speak.”

Kurfis straightened his power tie and marched toward the other side of the auditorium, flashing me a look that murdered me a hundred times. I was beginning to think he didn't like me.

“I'd like to thank everyone who has come tonight,” Vitaliano said. “As you know, County Attorney Ben Scott, Judge Raphael Garcia, Morton Connelly, and I have worked diligently over the last year to draft the most restrictive ordinance in the state to limit the adult entertainment industry in Orange County. The supreme court has ruled that we can't exclude these businesses from coming into our towns and counties, but we can certainly limit where they operate and restrict their business practices. I think we've done that here.”

The applause was less than thunderous, more of a pat.

“I'd like to propose the following ordinance with a severely limited section of the downtown area and two other locations, off the main thoroughfares. We've also limited the signs and advertising those businesses can produce. When visitors come to this county, we want them to remember us for wholesome entertainment and the best of what central Florida has to offer.” As he unveiled the map of the proposed locations, he posed for the camera shot from Channel 6 News.

Several small squared-off sections of the county and the Orlando metro area were plotted on the map. It was no coincidence that among the portions of the county set aside, J & M Corporation just happened to own properties there. Outreach Orlando Ministries was also within the boundaries—an unexpected surprise.

I had motive: a lock on all the adult entertainment locations within the county. The competition would be all but eliminated. Chance and his group knew well ahead of time where the limited locations specified by the ordinance were going to be, because they picked them out. They then gobbled up the properties with different corporations and subcorporations. They'd rake in the money.

Smart business planning, until something went wrong and people had to die.