The Night Watchman (27 page)

60

C
REVIS AND
I were fashionably late. Not that I liked those kinds of dramatic entrances, but it would amp up the tension for the suspect—and that's what I hoped to do. Draw out the stress on the guilty one.

The door to David's apartment was unlocked, so we let ourselves in. The condo hadn't been sold yet, and the carpet still hadn't been replaced in the master bedroom. Everyone was there in the unfurnished living room, waiting for us.

“Sorry I'm late,” I said.

“What are you so decked out for?” Pampas said. “You look like you're going to a funeral.”

“Just happy to be alive.” I hurried past him. “We've got some evidence to collect.”

“You'd better not be playing a game with me, Ray,” Oscar said. “I don't have any energy for that today. It's been a long week already. Let's see your evidence.'”

“Well, let's get started,” I said. “Can everyone follow me to the back bedroom?”

We huddled in the small master bedroom where a hideous event took place nearly two months before.

“I was wrong about a couple of my initial assessments of David's and Jamie's murders,” I said.

“You were wrong?” Pampas said. “What a surprise.”

“Get to the point, Ray.” Oscar placed his hands on his hips, pushing back his coat, exposing his pistol and badge.

“Please be patient.” I held up a finger. As much as I was ready to pounce, this kind of thing had to be done with precision and a certain amount of finesse. “This evidence will answer all the questions we have about the murders.”

“Ray,” Oscar said. “The point.”

“Oscar,” Pampas said, “why do we have to listen to him babble on? All the other Lion's Den stuff isn't related to this. This was a murder-suicide. David Hendricks killed that girl here. The gunshot residue proves it.”

Pam flashed him a warning look, but I spoke before she could.

“That, again, is where you're wrong, Pampas. The person who killed Trisha and wounded me was at the suicide of Clarence Stowe before all this went down. The suspect used his gun, which should have been in Evidence.”

“But you still didn't answer the question,” Pampas said. “What about the gunshot residue?”

“That's why I asked Dean to join us. Because in your anemic and clumsy search of the apartment, you overlooked the one aspect that could have tied all these cases together.” I turned to Dean. “There's a piece of evidence in this air-conditioning vent that will lead us right to the killer. Unscrew the faceplate next to my leg. It's in there.”

Dean raised an eyebrow at me but didn't move.

“Go ahead.” I pointed to the vent with my chin.

Dean got on his knees, pulled his Leatherman tool from his pocket, and flipped out the Phillips head screwdriver. He loosened the four screws and removed the faceplate. He reached into the vent.

“And in doing all this,” I said, “I'm going to give Pampas a case so simple that even he can solve it.”

“What's that?” Oscar said.

“There's nothing in here.” Dean looked up at me.

“The murder of Dean Yarborough.” I rested my pistol on Dean's pathetic cranium.

“What are you doing?” Dean said, his voice cracking. He inserted his hand back in the vent and searched frantically.

“There's nothing in there, idiot. I just had you do that so I could get an easier shot at you. I'm taking you out for killing Trisha, David, Jamie, and Ashley, you disgusting little reptile. You're gonna finally pay for what you've done.”

“Ray, put the gun down,” Oscar said.

“I will… when I'm finished. But don't come any closer.”

“I didn't kill her, Ray, I swear!”

“You were at Clarence Stowe's suicide. You lifted the gun from Property and Evidence,” I said. “Chance got you locked into his clutches using Jamie. When you saw that we were checked out on the board with Dante's address, you headed there to cut Trisha and me off. You saw your opportunity and took it. Did you kill Trisha because you were afraid she'd figure you out? Or are you just a vicious troll who likes to kill women?” I pressed the pistol against his head. I heard Pampas break leather. He'd be on target—my head. Perfect.

“Pampas was at the suicide too.” Dean cowered at my feet, unable to look up at me. “He worked the Hendricks murder. He's always hated you. He's been jealous of you and your work. He wanted you dead. He had access to Property and Evidence. He's the one who did all this.”

“That all might be true,” I said. “But whatever else Pampas is, he's a very good shot. He would have killed me for sure, at least the second time, in my apartment. He would've never missed me at that range and would have finished the job. The person who shot me at Dante's and again at my place was sloppy with a firearm. That rules cops out. With everyone at the Stowe suicide, that leaves only you and Katie.”

“But what about the gunshot residue on David Hendricks's hands?” Dean said. “It was confirmed by the lab.”

“I was getting to that,” I said. “The gunshot residue tests did test positive. Problem is, that doesn't mean the tests you submitted actually came from David's hands. I'd bet everything I have that you dabbed the test kits on your own hands, then pretended they were David's so no one would be the wiser. But you didn't think anyone would ever figure this out. You messed up bad there. When they test the kits you submitted, we're going to find
your
DNA and hair follicles all over that test, not David's. His DNA won't be anywhere on them. You were the only one in a position to manipulate that evidence. And you killed
Trisha.”

“I wasn't trying to kill her, I swear,” Dean said.

“When you shot me, she drew down on you but paused.” I pushed the barrel harder against his skull. I could feel him tremble. “I didn't imagine that. She didn't pull the trigger because the attacker was someone she knew—you! She couldn't believe that you were the one attacking us. Because she was good and decent, she hesitated just long enough for you to shoot her first.”

“That wasn't supposed to happen,” he said, his hands quaking.

“Then why is she dead?!”

“I was trying to kill
you,”
Dean hissed. “I didn't know she would be there. She wasn't signed out on the board, only you were. I swear I didn't know. I was going after you. When I saw that you were going to Jamie's and Dante's address, I thought you had found out about me. I called Chance. He told me to stop you… however I could. Chance made me do it.”

“Are you going to blame Chance for killing David and Jamie too?” I said. “Jamie was just trying to get the trash out of her life—namely you and Vitaliano. Once you started killing, you couldn't stop until everyone who could put you behind bars was dead. It's time to pay, you toad.”

“Chance made me kill them all,” Dean whimpered. “I didn't want to do it.”

“I don't really care who or what made you do it,” I said. “Pam, Crevis, and Katie, you all need to leave. Wait outside in the hallway, please. It's payback time.”

“Ray, don't,” Oscar said. “You can't do this.”

“What are you doing, Ray?” Crevis said.

I knew I shouldn't have brought Crevis; it wasn't fair to him. My peripheral vision caught some nervous shuffling, but no one dared approach. Nearly fourteen months and agony beyond anything I could have imagined boiled down to this one second.

I had fantasized again and again what I would do to the person who murdered Trisha and stole my life. Now he knelt at the business end of my pistol, one muscle twitch away from receiving the revenge I'd yearned to give. I savored the moment… until she spoke.

“Ray,” Pam said in a calm and controlled voice. “You've caught David's killer. No one else could have done that. Now it's over. Let the police and the courts deal with Dean.”

“This is what you wanted too,” I said. “Revenge for the murder of your brother.”

“I wanted justice, not vengeance.” Pam took a step toward me. “Don't do this. You're not the person to carry out that judgment.”

“I'm exactly the person to do this.” I clenched my jaw tight enough to crack a molar. “I have every right to take out the man who killed so many people and destroyed my life. You gonna tell me now that God wouldn't want me to?”

“Yes,” she said. “God doesn't want you to take vengeance. That's His job. But Trisha wouldn't want you to, either. You're alive, Ray. She'd want you to have a life, not end it like this. She'd want you to move forward, and you know that's true. Now you can.”

Trisha's face flashed to my mind, and the time on the beach when she told me she loved me washed over me. I imagined her standing here next to me, watching this whole ordeal. What would she think of me now? Would she like what I'd become? I could almost hear her voice telling me, “Don't do it.” I lowered my pistol and stepped back.

Pam rushed forward and wrapped her arms around my chest, squeezing tight. Her body rocked as she sobbed. “Thank you.”

Steve Stockton hurried to Dean and grabbed his arms, standing him up. Pampas joined him but gave me an embarrassed look as he cuffed him.

“I'll take this.” Oscar eased the pistol out of my hand. “You did well, Ray. It's gonna be all right.” He rested his mitt on my shoulder.

Stockton and Pampas whisked Dean out of the room, probably fearing I'd have another meltdown. Pampas gazed at me with a disappointment I could only assume came from not being able to shoot me. Or, more important, what his own future held.

61

O
SCAR LET ME WATCH
Dean's interrogation at the station. Bowden did the interview, and a solid one at that. After hearing his Miranda rights, Dean gave a detailed statement of his murder spree, mostly while sitting in a near fetal position in the chair, his legs drawn up to his chest. A vile creature, to be sure.

He'd ambushed Trisha and me out of fear of being discovered, supposedly on orders from Chance, as if that mattered now. He killed Jamie because she was leaving him, Vitaliano, and her life, and she was the one link to Trisha's murder, as well as possibly exposing the Lion's Den. He couldn't take those risks.

He'd followed Jamie to David's apartment, broke in, and killed them both. He used the pillow to muffle the noise. David tried to fight to protect her but was shot while on his knees, which explained the abrasion. The trajectory of the round in the room made sense now.

Dean then tried to kill me… again. When he'd read about Ashley's statement to me, he broke into Ashley's apartment and murdered her because she told me about a police involvement. He feared that she knew his name but hadn't told me it yet. He couldn't risk that—one murder or many all added up to the same end if he was caught.

He removed Jamie's phone records to protect the Lion's Den and himself, and he had, indeed, tested his own hands for the gunshot residue.

After Dean was finished, Oscar drove me to Lakeside Alternatives, a mental-health facility where I stayed for three days and three nights for a mandatory mental evaluation called a Baker Act—against my will, of course, although I didn't put up much of a fight. I should have been angry with Oscar for that, but I wasn't. I didn't seem to have any anger left. It was probably still hanging around apartment 419 at Coral Bay Condos.

Besides, I think Baker Acting me was more of a tactical decision for the case as well. When the evidence of Dean's confession was challenged in court, Oscar could testify that I was acting on my own and had nothing to do with the department—making Dean's statements, even under duress, admissible. Time would tell on that one. He could also say that I was mentally unbalanced at the time and suffering from posttraumatic stress disorder, muddying the waters for any potential criminal charges coming my way later.

Crevis, Pam, and Oscar visited me each of the three days. Patients normally couldn't have visitors, but Oscar had some clout; he was getting things done.

The best part of my stay there was I got to read the paper every morning, uninterrupted. Dean's booking photo covered the front page in an exposé of Commissioner Vitaliano and the whole sordid story. A very satisfying read and some of the finest reporting I'd seen from the
Orlando Sentinel
in a very long time.

But it was the next day's edition that held my attention the most—David Hendricks's picture occupied the front page along with a story that vindicated him and his reputation. The Outreach Orlando Ministries was highlighted with some choice quotes from Mario and Pam. Her picture was taken next to him. It made me smile.

Later that day, Oscar sat on the concrete bench in Lakeside's courtyard, a serene little spot with a small walkway and several benches. “We wrote a search warrant for Dean's apartment,” Oscar said. He still wore his work suit and had taken a few minutes away from the investigation to update me. “We found the .45 cal he used to shoot at you. Some ammunition matches the brand of the ammo from Trisha's shooting. The lab will have to confirm the actual ballistics, though. We also found some correspondence with Jamie confirming what he said, and a phone that was listed to J & M Corporation. He had press clippings from your first shooting there as well. And we sent the test kits for the gunshot residue off to the lab for a DNA comparison. You called that one right. We have a boatload of evidence now.”

“That's great, Oscar.” I was in my blue jeans with one of those pajama-type smock tops. I had a plastic bracelet around my wrist in case I fled the facility so everyone could tell that I was a maniac on the loose.

“You did good work, Ray.”

“Thanks. I go home tomorrow. I think they fixed my head.”

“So you won't be a smart aleck anymore?”

I smirked. “I'm not that fixed.”

62

S
EVERAL NEWS SATELLITE TRUCKS
blocked the street in front of Outreach Orlando Ministries, and a throng of reporters crowded the front door. I had difficulty finding a parking spot. Pam and Mario were addressing the crowd. She caught my eye and broke away to greet me.

“Ray”—she hugged me—“I'm glad you came by.”

“Wouldn't have missed it.”

“This is even better than I could have imagined. The mayor and other city officials are getting a tour to see how they can help the ministry.” She took my hand and squeezed it. “Nothing can bring David back or heal that wound, but I know I'll see him again. You cleared his name, Ray. And whether you realize it or not, when you caught David's killer, you saved his ministry. God is using you in mighty ways.”

“So your God can use heathens too?”

“Absolutely. He once spoke through a mule. Using you wouldn't be that different.” She grinned.

I placed my hand over my heart. “I'm sure you meant that in the kindest way.”

Mario was speaking with several reporters when he glanced our way. He stopped his interview and hurried over to us.

“Ray,” he said. “Thanks for coming.”

“I'm glad things seem to be working out.”

“You have no idea. Fox News and CNN have done nationwide stories about what happened to David. An investigative show has contacted us as well to do a follow-up story. Not only are they clearing his name, but donations have been coming in nonstop. It's amazing. I just can't believe what God is doing here.” Mario, true to form, got choked up, and a tear ran down his ex-felon cheek. I cut him a little slack, though.

“I think David would be pleased,” I said.

Mario wiped his eyes. A reporter called his name. “Well, I gotta get going.” Mario hugged Pam, dipped his head toward me, and turned to walk away.

“Hey, Mario.” I extended my hand.

He looked at it for a second, then seized it tightly. “Thank you, Ray. God will bless you for what you've done here.”

In a rare moment of temperance, my filter remained on and kept me silent.

“I talked with Sergeant Yancey earlier today,” Pam said. “He told me he found some of your stuff at the police department. He wanted us to come by and pick it up.”

I nodded. “Sure.”

Pam and I arrived at OPD, and I punched in the code to the back gate, surprised it hadn't been changed yet, even after my meltdown. The lot was packed, more than usual. I figured most of the detectives would be following up on the numerous leads with the Lion's Den and the homicides. Maybe they were having a meeting, which occurs all too often in major cases. But meetings keep the powers that be feeling like they're doing something.

I rapped on the back door because my security card wouldn't work; Bowden let us in. He wore his normal long-sleeve shirt and tie but had a black band around the investigator badge clipped to his belt.

The homicide unit was jammed with investigators sitting on tables. Uniformed officers were scattered throughout the building, all of them with black ribbons over their badges—the sign that an officer was killed in the line of duty.

“What's going on?” I said to Bowden, who dummied up and grinned. I had been led into some sort of ambush. I just wasn't sure what was happening.

“Ray.” Oscar stepped from his office. “Come over here.”

“I thought you said you found something of mine? What's really going on?”

“Oh, I did find something.” He handed me a black stapler with my old ID number on it. “I think this was yours.”

“You called me here for this?”

“You can use it at your new job,” he said. “These things cost two or three bucks. You wouldn't want to waste that.”

“Wow. I get to keep my City of Orlando stapler.” I squeezed it once to make sure it still worked. “It's my lucky day.”

The officers pressed in closer. Something was definitely amiss. Pampas was the only one who didn't gather around. He was in blue jeans and a T-shirt, filling a cardboard box with the personal items from his desk. I'd heard from a little birdie that he'd been transferred back to Road Patrol—midnight shift.

“There's one more thing.” Oscar stepped into his office and returned with a plaque.

I hissed. I had been duped.

“You think you're the only one who can be sneaky?” He pushed his glasses up on his nose and cocked his head back.

“Did you have anything to do with this?” I said to Pam.

Her smirk told me everything I needed to know.

“‘For heroism and investigative prowess above and beyond the call of duty. On this date, the City of Orlando Police Department recognizes Detective Ray Quinn with a Department Commendation for his part in the clearance of four homicides.’” Oscar handed me the plaque and shook my hand. “You did real well, Ray. No one else could have pulled that off. Trisha would be proud of you. I know I am.”

I took the plaque as the room erupted in applause. It's rare when I don't know quite what to say. “Thanks” was all I could manage. I started for the back door. Time to go. I was hitting overload.

“No, no.” Oscar stopped me. “You don't ever leave here by the back door again. You walk out the front, Detective Quinn, with your head held high.”

Police radios and shuffling feet reverberated from the hallway just outside the door to Homicide, the hallway that led out to the front of the building. A crowd had formed there also.

“What's out there?” I said.

“There's only one way to find out.” Oscar smiled.

Pam hooked her arm in mine and led me to the doorway. I hobbled out. Officers in their dress uniforms lined the hallway. The black ribbons must have been to honor Trisha's memory one more time. Her case could be closed now. So could mine.

“Company, attention!” Oscar said. All the officers came to attention. “Detective Ray Quinn is leaving the building.” He turned to me. “This is how a detective should retire.”

I lowered my head, lest I give a good Mario impression. Pam walked with me out of the building as the entire force stood at attention.

The constant tap of the brass tip of my cane on the terrazzo floor was the only sound in the hallway save my heartbeat.