February's Regrets (Larry Macklin Mysteries Book 4)

by A. E. Howe

  “I’m looking.”

  “And how’s that going?”

  “I hear you. Are you having any luck?” I asked, changing the subject.

  She pulled up an Excel spreadsheet that had twenty-two names on it. “It’s slow work. I’ve got a couple that look promising and another dozen that are pretty iffy… then a few in between. I’m probably missing a bunch who have sealed juvenile records.”

  “Nothing you can do about that. If he’s in there, we’ll just have to hope we come up with a witness or informant. Pete and I looked in on Tonya.”

  “She’s doing better. Got a lot of memory loss and real bad headaches, but thank the good Lord she’s alive. I still get chills thinking about what could have happened.” Shantel locked eyes with me. “You found her. Saved her. That’s why I’m not letting you quit.”

  An uncomfortable silence followed.

  “I’ll take the names you’ve got now and follow up on them,” I said, looking for an escape.

  Shantel printed them out and went over the details. I agreed that two in particular looked like real nasty characters. The good thing about people who are as bad as these two is that they usually have very short lives or, if they survive, they become permanent residents of the Florida State Prison at Raiford or some other quality government-run housing. Unfortunately, these guys had managed to reach the ripe old age of forty and forty-two, respectively, and had spent a surprising amount of time on the loose. Both had just missed being picked up in the original investigation because they were considered too young.

  I decided to shoot from the hip and hit the best suspects first. Not that we weren’t going to have to go through the whole list, but I wanted my dessert first. Besides, maybe my insightful questioning would cause one of them to throw up his hands and shout: I did it! Hey, a man can dream.

  Chapter Eighteen

  I picked the younger guy first. He wasn’t hard to find. He was serving six months’ probation and his probation officer was happy to share that he worked on the loading dock of the AmMex trucking company.

  When I walked up to the dispatcher, she glared up at me. “Eddie doesn’t work here anymore,” she barked.

  “I’m looking for another one of your sterling employees, Rake Gunther.” I had to admit that the poor guy was doomed to be a career criminal with a name like that.

  “You know we’re doing a good thing by giving guys a second chance, right? You all should just leave them alone.” She kept those ice-cold eyes focused on me, then said, “He’s in the back. I’ll call him up.”

  I had an urge to tell her some of the things that this guy had done. That might have changed her mind about how much she wanted to defend him. But she did have a point. Ex-cons need jobs, and if AmMex wanted to employ them, who was I to stir the pot? Of course, it did make me wonder what AmMex was up to. I’d been a bit surprised when they weren’t caught up in the DEA bust last month.

  Rake came out of the back looking like the ex-con he was. He kept his angry eyes looking everywhere but at me. He was a little shorter than my six feet even, with a receding dirty blond hairline. Around his arm was the obligatory barbed wire tattoo. Another tattoo was peeking up out of his shirt collar, but I couldn’t tell what it was supposed to be. A goatee and mustache finished off his crime-life look.

  “Yeah?” he said when he got close enough for us to talk.

  I looked over at the dispatcher, who was obviously trying to listen to our conversation. “Let’s step outside,” I said.

  “What do you think I did?” he asked as soon as we were out of the building.

  “I don’t know. Probably something criminal. But I’m here to figure out if you were involved in a very specific crime. If I can eliminate you as a suspect, I’ll be on my way and you can get back to work.”

  “Sure.” He didn’t believe for a minute that I’d leave him alone if he answered my questions. Luckily, being on probation, he didn’t really have a choice.

  “Where were you last Saturday?” I asked.

  “I don’t know,” he grumbled.

  “Try harder,” I suggested.

  He sighed and looked back toward the door. “Okay, I don’t know, maybe with some guys.” He said it like he’d given me an answer.

  “You aren’t that stupid. You’ve been around the block a few times. You know what I need.” I was getting a bit pissed.

  “Yeah, well, how stupid are you? I don’t want to tell you ’cause it would get me in trouble with my probation officer,” he shot back. His angry eyes swept past mine, making contact for only a second.

  “Do you really think I came out here to cause you trouble with your probation officer? If you’ve got an alibi for the time, I’ll cut you loose. A solid alibi,” I added. “And I don’t need to tell you that not cooperating with me will definitely get you into trouble with your probation officer.”

  “All I was doing was partying with some friends. A buddy has a couple acres off of Sawgrass Road. We had a fire, some refreshments and some girls for entertainment. I was there all night.” He looked past me, his body stiff and defiant. I understood his reluctance. There were at least a couple of parole violations right there.

  “Names?” I asked, taking out a pad.

  “Shit,” Rake spat, but he knew that he didn’t have a choice. A change came over him. His body relaxed and his face became an odd parody of a nice guy. “Look man, you sure you’re not going to mess with me and my friends? We weren’t doing anything. Just having some fun.”

  You see this all the time—an asshole reverting back to asking mommy and daddy to go easy on him. My skin was crawling.

  “I told you the truth. Give me the names and, if everything checks out, we’ll part ways.” I didn’t tell him that his fellow felons would have to do a pretty good tap-dance routine for me to believe them.

  He gave me the full names and phone numbers of two of them and the nicknames of half a dozen others. I promised to go easy on them so they wouldn’t feel like he’d ratted them out. Like I cared.

  “What type of vehicle do you drive?” I asked. Shantel had found old DMV registration records for him, but nothing that was up to date.

  “That’s my truck over there.” He pointed to an old black Chevy pickup at the back of the parking lot. “Actually, it’s my brother’s. He’s letting me use it.”

  On my way out, I stopped and looked in the back of the truck. The bed was pretty clean, which seemed odd. It wasn’t what I expected from Rake, but then it was his brother’s truck.

  I looked at the address of my other prime suspect. Conveniently, his house was on the way to Sawgrass Road, so it would be easy for me to check him out first and then follow up on Rake’s alibi.

  Brad Thompson was one of the vast Thompson clan, but apparently not one of the better connected ones. I’d never heard his name associated with the group run by Daniel and Justin Thompson. That was a good thing. Any business with them right now while they were awaiting trial and the outcome of several DEA and FDLE investigations would have involved me having to jump through all sorts of hoops.

  Brad lived in a decent enough place, with a few toys in the front yard of the small vinyl-sided house. When I knocked on the door, a man wearing sweatpants and an FSU sweatshirt answered. He had a big smile that I thought couldn’t be for me. His age was right, and he kind of looked like his mugshot, but I’d expected another variation on Rake.

  “Brad Thompson?” I asked, expecting to be told that he had moved.

  “That’s me,” he said, still sounding cheery. I showed him my badge. The smile faded, but didn’t disappear all together. “Guess you want to come in,” he said, backing out of the way.

  The house was neat and clean with a slight odor of jasmine. He offered me a seat in the living room. “I know my past won’t ever go away, but when it resurfaces it always comes as a kick in the gut.”

  “You seem to have made some changes in your life,” I said. His record included two assaults, a laundry list of domestic
abuse calls and an arson. That last was the one that got Shantel’s and my attention.

  “I found the right woman. Oddly, it was my wicked past that brought her to me. God’s mercy.” He sounded sincere. “What can I do for you?”

  “We’ve got a violent crime we’re looking into, and I’m afraid that when we were going through the records, your name came up. If you can tell me where you were last Saturday night, maybe we can all move on.”

  This was one of the things that made being an investigator so difficult for me. I wanted Rake to be in trouble, but I was hoping that Brad was clean. Fighting those biases was difficult; easier when you recognized them, but still a challenge.

  “Okay, last Saturday. I was at an AA meeting. Saturday is at the First Baptist Church. I don’t skip Saturday nights. Just something about the day of the week is a real trigger for me. About a dozen people were there. I can give you my sponsor’s name, or you can come by this Saturday. The same people are usually there.”

  “How late did the meeting last?”

  “We get done about ten. Stand around and talk for a while, and then I always help fold chairs and clean up. I must have left about ten forty-five. Something like that.” It sounded airtight, but I would have to follow up.

  I stood and he held out his hand. We shook. Was I just being manipulated? Our killer was a psychopath, so he would be capable of putting on a show like this. Check and double-check the alibi, I told myself.

  It was late afternoon and the weather had started to change. Last night’s cold front had stalled, but now the wind was picking up and dark clouds were blowing in from the west. We were in for more rain and temperatures below freezing by tomorrow night. Winter in North Florida ran the gamut from intensely beautiful to how-can-it-be-so-damn-cold-in-Florida? I figured I had just enough time to run out to Sawgrass and check on Rake’s alibi before the weather turned wet.

  The area was a collection of old trailers and small neglected houses. Mixed in was the odd house that looked like someone had received a windfall of money and built an addition or two before the money ran out. I had dispatch look up the address of the fellow Rake had said hosted the party.

  The house was a shack that didn’t have the ambition to fall over. I’ve seen crack houses that looked more habitable. In front of the house were two pickup trucks and an old K car parked haphazardly in the overgrown yard. As soon as I got out of the car, I could smell wood smoke and hear loud music—something I’d classify as hillbilly acid rock. I skipped knocking on the front door and walked into the side yard.

  Three guys and a girl were sitting on improvised chairs around an oil-drum fire pit. The pit was about one hundred feet from the house, which was good since the house looked like a single spark would have given the neighborhood an amazing bonfire and an evening of entertainment.

  The group was laughing, drinking beer and smoking as I walked closer. When they noticed me, two of them flicked whatever they were smoking into the fire. All of them looked at me like I was a warden come to check on his prisoners.

  “Gentlemen, ma’am,” I said congenially, but loud enough to be heard over the music playing on a jerry-rigged speaker set with someone’s phone plugged into it. When I was twenty feet away, I stopped to give them all time to adjust to my presence. There was uncomfortable shifting and exchanging of looks between them. I recognized one of the men from a disorderly conduct and possession charge when I was on patrol.

  “This is private property,” grumbled a big guy with a full beard and ball cap.

  “I just want to chat with you all about a friend of yours,” I said with a smile that was met with grim stares.

  “We don’t talk to cops.” This was from the fellow I’d arrested.

  “Talking to me might help out your friend,” I informed them.

  “You think we’re stupid. You don’t want to help any of us,” Beard said. The third guy and the woman both kept their eyes on the ground. It was pretty obvious that they were the ones who were most afraid of getting into trouble.

  “How about you two? Would you all like to talk a little so that I can go away, and we don’t have any issues?” I directed this at the last man and woman. Neither responded, but they were looking very twitchy.

  It was a tough crowd. I decided to take another tack. “I’m investigating the Swamp Hacker. That’s the only criminal matter I care about today.”

  When I mentioned the Hacker, all four of them looked at me. Beard’s eyes shifted as he thought about this. “You’re really after that son of a bitch?” he said, more thinking out loud than asking a question.

  “That’s all.”

  “Guess we can answer a couple of questions,” he allowed grudgingly and everyone, including me, relaxed. “Lil, turn the music off.” Lil turned out to be the woman. She unplugged her phone and reflexively checked it for messages.

  “I appreciate that. This looks like a regular thing. You all sitting out here,” I said. “Were you out here last Saturday night?” Looks were exchanged as they tried to figure out where I was going with this.

  “Yeah,” Beard said.

  “I’m Deputy Larry Macklin,” I said.

  The third guy grunted. “Name’s Diesel.” I didn’t press him for a real name, or point out that I’d known a Rottweiler named Diesel.

  “Who was here?”

  There was more thinking and exchanging of looks.

  “I don’t care if anyone was breaking parole or breaking any other laws. I’m like a bloodhound on a track. Nothing is going to distract me from who I’m hunting,” I reassured them.

  “I was wasted. Lil, you’re the only one who doesn’t have shit for memory. Who all was here Saturday?” asked Disorderly Conduct.

  Lil looked shocked to be in the spotlight. “I don’t know.” I was afraid that was all she was going to say, but then she went on to prove herself wrong. “I was here, you three, David, Tucker, Joelle… Mad Dog and Missy came by for a while.” She stared up at the sky, which was getting darker as the clouds moved in and the sun dipped below the horizon.

  The fire felt pretty good. Diesel added a few more pieces of wood to the flames. Some of the scrap wood they had set aside for fuel looked like it was pressure treated. I thought about warning them about burning it, but figured the brain cells they’d lose to the burning of chemically treated wood was the least of their health concerns.

  I was just about ready to prod Lil again when she seemed to remember more people. “Oh, yeah, Rake was here, and Gator. There were a couple more that came and went. I don’t know all of their names.” She looked at me for the first time.

  “How long were most people here?” I was trying to avoid asking about Rake in particular. If they knew who I was focusing on, they might lie.

  “Most of them got here in the afternoon and were so shitfaced they couldn’t go anywhere else,” she said with a little smirk.

  “Okay, who got here and stayed the whole time?”

  “Diesel, me, Tucker, Joelle, Rake, Gator.”

  “They didn’t go anywhere?”

  “Hell, they were mostly still here in the morning.”

  “Didn’t go get any drink, or food or other recreational substances?”

  “Didn’t need to. I told you, Mad Dog came by and brought…” Lil turned red. “Nothin’,” she said in a not-so-clever attempt to cover up the fact that she’d almost admitted that Mad Dog brought drugs to the shindig.

  “Rake was here from Saturday afternoon to Sunday?” I couldn’t put off asking a direct question any longer.

  They all looked up at me again. It didn’t take them long to come to terms with the idea that Rake could be the person I was interested in.

  “Yep,” she said, sounding very sure.

  “Rake,” Diesel said, shaking his head. “He can be mean as a snake, but he doesn’t have the attention span to stalk and kill people.”

  It’s always good to get an expert’s opinion, I thought. Aloud I said, “I appreciate your help.” I meant it an
d was pretty sure Diesel was right. Being a bastard didn’t equate to being a murderer. “I might have to come back and talk with you all again.” I turned to go.

  “I thought he was going to ask about that creepy-ass van,” I heard the woman say. It took me a couple steps before it registered.

  I turned around. “What van?” I asked, walking back toward them.

  “Now you’ve done it. He was almost gone,” Beard said to her. She looked at him, trying to tell if he was kidding her or not.

  “You thought I was going to ask about a van?” I prodded her.

  Again she looked at Beard before answering. He must have given her a sign to go ahead, as she eventually said, “Yeah, I seen it a couple times.”

  “What did it look like?”

  Lil shrugged. “It was white, or at least light. Could have been silver or something. I only saw it at night.”

  “Why did you think it was creepy?”

  More shrugging. “It just, like, hung around. Never saw a driver. But it was weird. I came out of the house and saw it once. Saw it again when I was parked with a guy. Maybe again by the In and Out.”

  The In and Out was one of three liquor stores in the county.

  “What kind of van was it?” I asked. She gave me a confused look. “Was it a family van or a work van? Big or small?”

  “Like big… Kinda work type.”

  “Did it have windows down the sides?”

  “No. I know ’cause I tried to see if someone was in it.”

  “Any writing on it? Maybe the name of a business?”

  “No. I don’t think so. I looked at it real close,” she finished. I figured I wasn’t going to get too much more out of her. The information was interesting, but not very useful. I might be able to get more out of her by showing her pictures, if I had any. Maybe later.

  “Thanks. We might need to talk to you again.” I got her phone number.

  One good part about being a reserve deputy—I didn’t have to go back by the office and deal with any other cases. As I drove through Calhoun on my way home, I kept seeing white vans. Every plumber, electrician and AC contractor must have owned one. Many of them had writing on the sides, but some just had magnetic signs that could be easily removed. Why couldn’t Lil have said she saw a DeLorean or a Tesla lurking in the neighborhood?