As we were finishing the pot of coffee and talking about going inside to get breakfast, I said, “I know we’re supposed to see those bodies at the medical examiner’s office, but today’s Sunday. They won’t be open on a Sunday, will they?”
PJ cocked her head to one side. “I thought you were a prosecuting attorney once upon a time. Or, maybe they don’t kill people on the weekends up in Michigan.”
The visits to the medical examiner had been more a function of the police. Well, exclusively a function of the police. I had viewed an autopsy once, but only so I could see the process. It wasn’t a case of mine, never wanted to take a chance that somehow the defense could subpoena me as a witness. I had never really thought about it, but I guess they would have hours every day of the week, at least in a metropolitan area like this. A little embarrassed, I quipped, “Guess it makes sense that they’re open seven days.”
We ate breakfast and while I cleaned up the kitchen, PJ got dressed. She gave me one of her disposable razors, so I could shave for the first time since Thursday. It was the first time ever with a pink razor. PJ called the detective and they agreed on a meeting time at the medical examiner’s. Then she called Dispatch and verified that we would be able to get into the area of Cap’s Place. I called Moe and gave him an estimate of when we could pick him up and then called Marge and told her when I expected that we could be at Cap’s Place. I told both of them that I would call when we left Fort Lauderdale and firm the time up.
Turned out that even though the Broward County Medical Examiner was located in Fort Lauderdale, it was only a couple of miles from PJ’s Hollywood condo, if that far. Most of the trip was taken on residential streets through nice neighborhoods arrayed around man-made lakes. I had the feeling that PJ had followed this route on many occasions in the past. The buildings and surrounding parking area were shielded by mature trees and from the roadway the building looked like any other one-story professional building. Of course the vehicles clearly marked as Medical Examiner and the police cars in the parking lot tipped off the fact that this was not just any professional building.
PJ explained on the drive over that this wouldn’t be like on television. That viewing of the physical body was not allowed at the medical examiner’s office. If, for some reason, identification of the remains had not been accomplished through government-issued photo identification, such as a driver’s license, or fingerprints, family members or friends were shown photographs of the deceased as a means of identification. The only reason we were meeting the detective there was that at the time the bodies were brought in, it wasn’t known that they were connected to the armored truck robbery and so the detectives didn’t have any photographs yet. Given the proximity of PJ’s condo, it seemed easier to meet the detective there.
We entered the glass door under the sign Medical Examiner and Trauma Services. I thought the name should be reversed. If trauma services fail, the medical examiner comes to your assistance. Things were going so well with PJ that I decided to keep my sick joke to myself. The lobby was a nondescript government issue. PJ identified us to the receptionist on duty and we were directed down a short hallway to a small conference room. The detective was sitting at the round table in one of the six surrounding chairs. The table and chairs consumed at least ninety percent of the floor space. The walls were a pale blue color and adorned with absolutely nothing. Obviously the purpose of this room was functional not social.
Seated with the detective was a small man with shocking white hair and tired brown eyes. His white lab coat had Dr. Wu embroidered on it. Introductions were made and we sat down. Dr. Wu slid a large white envelope across the table to the detective, who withdrew two photos from it and, after quickly glancing at them, pushed them across the table to me. Every word and action of the detective were those of a bone-weary man. His eyelids were drooping, like a man who hadn’t slept a full night in a very long time.
I looked at the two pictures, head shots, and immediately said, “This is the guy we knew as Ty and this is Mooch,” as I tapped the photos. The detective turned the photos over and read a number from the back of each asking me to repeat the name I attached to each photo. He jotted notes on a legal pad in front of him.
Dr. Wu rose and said, “You don’t need anything additional from me. I’m going to get back at it.” He didn’t say what “it” was, but I could guess. With the number of deaths Hurricane Ella had caused in the area, I didn’t envy anyone around here their jobs.
After Dr. Wu left, the detective told us that they had made positive identification of Ty and Mooch through their fingerprints. Both had served lengthy prison sentences and had extensive criminal records. He said the duffle bag I had described had not been found, or if found, had not been turned into the authorities, but that following my statement explaining where the one assault rifle had been hidden by Justin at Cap’s Place, it had been recovered. The ballistic examination had not taken place yet, but they were confident it was one of the weapons used in the robbery-murder. He also told me that my 9 mm had been found as they searched the kitchen and was being held for safekeeping. I could claim it whenever I wanted to.
We walked out of the medical examiner’s office not more than ten minutes after we had walked in. The brief visit was fine with me, the place just didn’t give off a good vibe. At least not an upbeat vibe, but I don’t know what I should have expected. After all, you have to die, and usually traumatically, to find your way there. I also realized that part of the downer I was feeling was the absolute knowledge that Ty and Mooch were cold-blooded killers. The realization of how close we had come to being four more of their victims. The thought launched a cold shiver that radiated throughout my body.
PJ looked over at me from behind the wheel and said, “You okay, Jack?”
“Yeah, I’m fine. Just remembering our encounter with those two. Thinking how lucky we were.”
With just a touch of moisture in her eyes, PJ said, “Between the hurricane and those two, somebody was definitely watching over you.”
I nodded, glanced at the crystal clear sky out the window of the car and murmured, “Thanks, big guy.”
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
After we left the medical examiner’s office, I suggested we grab a cup of coffee. I didn’t know if I really needed a cup or if I was just stalling before facing what I knew awaited us. My foggy recollection was sufficient to warn me that what we were going to find at Cap’s Place would not be good. From her facial expressions, I suspected that PJ knew exactly what I was doing, but she didn’t say anything. She drove us to a small donut shop located in a nondescript strip mall on U.S. 441. A joke about a cop in a donut shop occurred to me, but I chose to keep it to myself. Besides, as long as we were there, I might just opt to indulge in a donut myself.
The place was nearly empty, so we had our choice of tables. PJ led us to a table against the back wall, old cop habit, no doubt. She ordered a fountain Coke, telling me she was trying to work into the coffee thing at a measured pace. She declined my offer of a donut. Of course she did, she’s a woman in public. I ordered coffee and a plain fried cake. I had rejected the chocolate on chocolate that looked so good in the display case as we walked in. After all, I am on a physical fitness regime.
The talking heads on the television mounted on the wall were droning on and on about the unusual behavior of Hurricane Ella. How the storm had remained constant in intensity, but shrunk dramatically in size, just before making landfall for the first time. Evidently that, coupled with the erratic path, explained why pockets of the state were devastated while nearby areas were virtually untouched. The why of it all was probably very interesting to many people, but for me it just reminded me of how little I had focused on the danger we were facing, until it was too late.
As we were finishing, and I knew I couldn’t stall any longer, I called Marge and told her we would be at Cap’s Place in forty-five minutes. Then I called Moe and told him we were on our way to pick him up. He said he’d be waiting out
side. I knew Moe had moved into a rental house a few months ago, but had never been there. The address was between Dixie Highway and I-95 in a neighborhood that abutted an area of light industrial businesses. The houses were small low-slung stucco sided structures, sited on equally small plots of grass. The only obvious differences, one to another, was exterior color. True to his word, Moe was standing on the narrow front stoop when we pulled into the short driveway.
Grinning as he folded himself into the backseat, he said, “Hi, PJ. Hi, Boss. You look better than the last time I saw you, Boss.”
I turned in my seat to look him fully in the face. “Yeah, I’m fine. Well nearly fine, but I’m not the one with the concussion. How are you feeling?”
“I’m doing fine. Head still aches some and every once in a while I still get a little dizzy if I move too suddenly. Otherwise I’m almost back.” PJ regarded Moe for several seconds in the mirror, no doubt making her own assessment of his condition.
Pointing to the small piles of debris at the edge of the street, I said, “Things don’t look too bad around here. Looks like people are getting things cleaned up already.”
Moe nodded. “Working folks around here. If they don’t get it done today, it’ll have to wait ’til next weekend. They aren’t going to miss a work day to clean up after the storm. That’s the ones who have work to go to. Talking to a guy across the street who said the place he works got hit real hard. He doesn’t know when he’ll go back.” A statement like that could describe everyone who works at Cap’s Place, too. Damn.
PJ asked, “You didn’t get much damage around here, Moe?”
“No, not that much. Biggest problem was flooding. Hard to tell now, but my neighbor told me the water was up to the front stoop of my house. Bunch of houses on the next block got two to three inches inside. Just enough to make a mess of things.” When you looked closely, you could see the high water mark in the yards, where the water had deposited small windrows of debris as it receded. In many yards it was less than a foot from the houses that all sat on slabs, barely above ground level.
As we worked our way east, the evidence of the hurricane became more and more pronounced, but even then it was sporadic, as if it was bouncing along the coastline like a pin ball on its journey north. After passing through the police checkpoint on the west side of the bridge, we crossed the Intracoastal via Hallandale Beach Boulevard and turned north on A1A. Now there was no denying the hurricane. The high-rise buildings looked no worse for wear, but much of their lush landscaping was in ruins. The smaller buildings had not fared nearly as well. All that remained of some were their cement slabs with pipes sticking up like errant hairs on a balding head. Many of those that still stood looked to be in such distress that razing would probably be the only possible resolution. The streets were lined with six-foot-high piles of debris consisting of everything from palm trees to twisted and broken building materials. I was surprised how much progress had been made in clean up, but as we passed buildings with gaping openings in the roofs or walls, I realized that the efforts had only been focused on the debris that blocked the streets.
As we passed the location where the Prices’ car had been swept into the Intracoastal, the flashback made me shudder. I looked around thinking I might spot my car somewhere, but of course it was gone. No doubt hauled away long ago to clear the street. As we approached Cap’s Place, I could feel my stomach begin to roll and bile surged midway up my esophagus. Debris littered the parking lot, so PJ pulled up to the curb and parked behind a white Chevrolet Tahoe I didn’t recognize. The doors opened, Harry Ward got out from behind the wheel and Marge came out the passenger side. We all met between the vehicles and said our hellos.
Marge thoroughly interrogated both Moe and me before deeming us recovered enough to be here. She then scolded both of us for “nearly scaring the life out of her.” We took our reprimanding like men. We might not be smart enough to avoid a hurricane, but we’re smart enough not to go up against Marge when she’s got something on her mind. Just shut up and listen.
In an effort to change the subject, I blurted out, “Well, let’s go see what we’ve got left.”
The five of us walked around the opening in the wall of debris that had been left to afford access to the parking lot and got our first real look at Cap’s Place. I stopped in my tracks. My stomach did flips. I heard just the slightest gasp from Marge. Harry summed it up. “Aw shit, look at this place. It’s a damn wonder you guys made it out alive.”
I felt PJ grasp my arm. I didn’t know if it was to steady me or her. I slipped my arm around her waist and we leaned into each other as we stood and stared. From our vantage point we could see across the front and down one side of the building. A significant portion of the front wall had caved outward and lay in a heap in the parking lot. The front area of the upstairs floor, my apartment, had partially collapsed when it lost the support of the wall and formed a chute, funneling most of my living room furniture into the heap of rubble created by the collapsed wall. Much of the roof on the front of the building was gone and what remained appeared perched as if it was a bottle cap partially twisted off. I felt my stomach roll as I vividly recalled the sounds when some of this was occurring.
Moe was the first one to move from our little group. He walked carefully, picking his way around debris, to where his car was still sitting alongside the building. It seemed to be sitting at a weird angle and farther from the back door than I remembered. He had parked much closer to the rear door than that as we fled back into the building. Moe opened the car door and immediately turned his head away, “Whew, it stinks in there.” No telling how deep the water had been inside the car during the storm, and the hot sun beating on it the last couple of days had no doubt created some type of biology experiment run amok. From his movements we could see that he was attempting to start the car. For some reason, that sight struck me as hilarious and I laughed out loud. Moe exited and shrugged, “Well, you never know.”
Watching Moe I realized that the truck that Mooch and Ty had been driving was no longer there. No doubt the police had removed it as evidence. I took a few steps toward Moe and said, “Let’s take a walk around the entire building before we decide whether to go in or not.”
There were so many boats in the back parking lot that you could have thought we were hosting a boat show if it weren’t for the fact that most were smashed and scraped and all were resting at precarious angles on one side or the other of their hull. The only exception was the forty-five-foot cabin cruiser that had crashed through the deck on the back of the building and come to rest against the shuttered windows. The broken deck was holding it in an upright position as if it was in dry dock.
The back wall appeared to be intact, except for the area where a utility pole had evidently toppled into it and gouged out a large bite. The pole with a heavy transformer attached was laying on the ground outside the wall. I had a vague recollection of PJ telling me that we had been trapped in the cooler by a utility pole. This was no doubt the culprit.
We threaded our way around the boats until we reached the other rear corner of the building. This side wall, like the other, seemed to have weathered the storm. The only odd sight was the fact that the eave of the roof was much deeper in the front of the building than the rear. This confirmed my suspicion that the entire roof structure had been twisted and nearly blown off. For some reason, the parking lot on this side of the building was surprisingly devoid of debris. We easily made our way to the front corner and took a wide birth around the debris pile in front, ending our little tour where we began.
PJ said, “I hate to be a party pooper, but I don’t think we should go inside. I don’t think it would take much for the upstairs and the remaining roof to collapse.”
Marge spoke for the first time since we started our journey around the building. “I was hoping that we could get some of the business records, if they’re still there and haven’t been blown halfway to Jacksonville. It would make things a lot simpler in dealing
with the insurance adjusters.”
Turning toward me, Harry said, “Yeah, Marge said you don’t have any offsite storage for backup of your business records. Once this is past us, we should talk about that sometime, Jack. I can tell you from experience how important that is.” My stomach flipped again as I realized I was probably going to learn exactly what Harry was talking about, the hard way.
Moe said, “I agree with you, PJ, but the back of the building looks pretty stable. I’ll take a look and see if the back door still opens. If so, we should be able to get across the back to the storeroom. From the looks of things out here, I’m hoping the storeroom is still there. All of the important records are in tubs in there. We moved them at the last minute.”
Harry said, “We’ll need a light in there. The back half of the building is probably pretty dark. I’ve got one in the truck. I’ll go get it.”
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
While Harry was walking to his Tahoe, Moe and I went up to the back door. The side wall looked sound. It had some superficial damage, no doubt from flying debris, and the outside staircase leading to my apartment had been ripped away and was nowhere to be seen. Otherwise, the wall looked no worse for wear, so I expected the door to still operate. Sure enough, when Moe reached out and grasped the handle, the door swung open with ease. PJ handed me a chunk of broken concrete block and said, “Here, prop the door open, in case we need to beat a hasty retreat.”
I did as she suggested and said, “There’s no need for all of us to go inside. Moe and I’ll go in and take a look around. If we can get the tubs of records we’ll bring them back here and you guys can carry them out to Harry’s truck.” Turning toward Marge, I asked “Was that your plan, Marge? You and Harry would take the records to your place?”
“That’s what I was thinking, unless you’ve got another idea?”
Chaotic Be Jack Page 23
