On the bright side, he was now sitting in a booth in Gladesville’s only all-night diner, with Renee Chin sitting across from him eating a fruit plate. He couldn’t hide his fascination as she finished the last scraps of a peach.
She looked up and giggled as juice ran down the corner of her mouth. “What’re you staring at?”
“Nothing. Just happy you could meet me. Sometimes shooting scenes take a long time to clear.”
“Things are simpler out here. One corpse. One city detective. One hour to wrap up. It took me twice that long to forward a report to our headquarters in Tallahassee.”
“Norton seemed pretty calm.”
“Been here before. He shot an escapee at Glades and shot two inmates in a fight at Union Correctional.” She looked at him with those clear dark eyes. “Why weren’t you involved in the investigation? I thought FDLE could look into anything?”
“Not me. I called Miami and they said for me to focus on the death investigation of Dewalt. Nothing else. They said someone would catch up with the Gladesville detective to review everything.”
She nodded.
Tasker asked, “You know the homicide guy for Gladesville?”
“Homicide guy, burglary guy, fraud guy. I know ’em all.”
“Good guys?”
“Same guy. This isn’t Miami. Gladesville only has twenty-two cops. One of them is the detective.”
“Okay, is that guy any good?”
“Yeah. Tough, too.”
“Really, what’s tough mean to you?”
“He gave me this.” She smiled and pointed to the chipped tooth he had noticed earlier.
His head popped back in surprise. “You were arrested?”
“In love.”
“It was a domestic? He hit you and he’s still a cop?”
“Actually, it was more like I hit him. Several times.”
He stared at her.
“With a shovel.”
Tasker remained silent.
“And then a rake handle.”
He kept his gaze, sensing something else coming.
“The handle broke in half on his head, flew up and hit me in the mouth.” She smiled again, feeling the broken tooth with her tongue. “Then the bastard even drove me to the dentist.”
“Hate to ask what he did.”
“Fooled around on me.”
“On you? He must’ve been deranged.”
She gave him a sly smile. “It’s hard to tell when you’re being sarcastic.”
“Because I’m not. He’d be a fool to cheat on you.”
She shrugged. “All ancient history now. I avoid the woman. In fact, I never even met her. Just saw her in his apartment. And now I slug him every chance I get.”
“At least he knows you still care.”
“Only happened last Thursday.”
Tasker nodded, somehow sensing that laughing might be inappropriate.
Just then, the man who had accosted Tasker in the sports bar his first night walked in the front door and immediately saw them together. He turned and marched in their direction. Even from across the room, Tasker could see the bruise around his eye from where Renee had clocked him Saturday night.
Tasker tensed and put his hand on the belly bag containing his Sig Sauer.
The man said, “Wondered where you’d gotten to, girl.” Even using local phrases, he sounded like he had just left Yankee Stadium.
Without a word, Renee flicked a back fist at the man’s nose and caused him to take a step back, then bump a chair and lose his balance. Renee looked at Tasker and said, “Sometimes instead of a simple slug, I use a back fist.” She looked down at the man. “And that’s Gladesville’s ace detective.”
Luther Williams lay in his bunk silently looking up into the dark shadows on the tin roof above him and listening to the sounds outside as men returned to their posts from the search for the escaped Leroy Baxter.
Luther wasn’t sorry the armed robber had been killed in the escape. The man needed to be. More important, the guards would think that killing the escapee would be a good enough message to others and wouldn’t worry about increasing the security. He was still upset that they had reacted so quickly. He had already heard the rumors that Nasty Norton had killed the man. Word was that Leroy had fallen on him with a foot-long shiv and tried to carve out his eye, when the captain had blown his face off with one of their new Remingtons.
This was still not an issue. He had had his questions answered and decided that they might not expect another escape attempt immediately. He’d prove them wrong. He still wasn’t sure if he was better off using his trustee status and leaving from the admin building, or using some other mode. As he lay there in the dark, he considered his many options.
Tasker felt crammed against the wall as Rufus Goodwin filled them in on what he thought about the death of the escapee early that evening. The short, wide man hadn’t hesitated to join them despite Renee’s repeated physical assaults. His light, splotchy complexion and oddly arranged freckles made it difficult to guess his age. His hair had almost a red tint to it.
Rufus, in his gravelly voice and sounding like a local color announcer for the Jets, said, “Clearly a good shoot. The homemade knife, the shiv, was next to the dead man’s body. Old Norton put all nine pellets from the buckshot round right in his face. He wasn’t fuckin’ stabbin’ nobody.”
Tasker nodded and said, “You sound like you had some experience up north, maybe NYPD?”
“Me, nah.”
Renee chimed in, “New Yorkers. You can’t even get away from them out here.”
Rufus said, “And still I become the town’s first detective.” “By outshouting everybody else.”
“By puttin’ perps in jail.”
Tasker listened but was more interested in how this average looking small-time cop had landed a girl like Renee and then made her mad enough to keep smacking him.
Rufus slid out, making no effort to pay for his coffee, and turned back to Tasker.
“Sorry for the misunderstandin’ the other night.”
Renee cut in, “Sorry ’cause your eye is sore?”
“No, just sorry.” He looked at Renee like he knew he’d screwed up a good thing. She returned a look that meant Don’t come too close.
Renee couldn’t resist and said, “How’s the new girlfriend workin’ out?”
Rufus dropped his head and said, “Told you it was a mistake. Not a girlfriend and never will be.”
“A little young for you anyway.”
He looked at her and said, “So were you.”
Tasker rolled up to his apartment about two in the morning. He planned to race into West Palm tomorrow and pick up the girls. Donna had agreed pretty easily. He figured she had a hot date and didn’t mind him taking them for one night. First thing in the morning he’d drop off the mouse, which from now on would be called a hamster, at the vet’s to make sure it had no diseases.
He took the rickety steps slowly, his tactical belt with his service Beretta in the holster, slung over one shoulder. Sensing something out of order as he stepped onto the porch, though, he froze. He had that funny feeling he got when there could be trouble nearby. Like at the bank. He paused, reaching for the pistol hanging from the belt. He tried the door and it was unlocked. Was he being paranoid? He looked at the gun in his right hand and pointed the Beretta model 92F, .40 caliber, in front of him.
He shoved the wooden door and let it open on its own, creaking along the way. He stood silently to one side of the open door, letting his eyes adjust to the darkness. Quickly, without a word, he slipped through the doorway and to one side to stay out of what cops called the “fatal funnel,” the area in front of an open door. Especially a doorway that could cause a silhouette.
Inside, he edged toward the table when suddenly he saw a figure move on his couch.
“Police,” he barked, bringing the pistol on target and dropping to one knee.
“Bill, it’s me.”
He stood slo
wly and backed up to the wall near the light switch and flicked it on. He exhaled audibly and lowered his pistol as he said, “What’re you doing here?”
Captain Sam Norton sat on the porch of the small house he rented from the state on the prison grounds for $36 a month. As a captain with no dependents, he was entitled to certain housing. It wasn’t fancy, but it was clean, dry and had good plumbing and air-conditioning—two things vital in the Glades. When his wife and kids had stayed with him, he usually got another bedroom, but when she’d gotten tired of living in towns like Starke, Belle Glade and Gladesville, she’d decided to take the two girls and live in Fort Lauderdale with some tall, bald, Sun-Sentinel reporter she had met. Now, when the girls came to visit, they had to share a room. It killed him when they’d tell him how the house in Fort Lauderdale had a nice yard and they each had a room. One day he’d be able to afford something nice for them. Maybe even something nice enough for his wife to want to come back.
He popped the top of a can of Budweiser. This was unusual because as a rule Norton didn’t drink. He’d seen what alcohol had done to his father. The man could’ve been a prison administrator in Tallahassee instead of a no-account sergeant at Hendry Correctional until cirrhosis killed him at fifty. Norton’s mom had had to live with his sister in Deland because his father had not provided like he should have. Norton didn’t intend to make the same mistake. His girls were going to have a decent life no matter what it took.
He’d had some fun tonight. That boy had caused a lot of trouble on the outside and hadn’t been punished nearly enough. He had heard what the snitches at Manatee had said. Leroy Baxter had shot a woman for calling him a nigger. He was proud of it. Norton didn’t really care because he never really cared for that word. If you had a problem with someone, white or black, you dealt with that problem. You didn’t have to use some cheap trick like a word to knock someone down. He had done that with his fists. Tonight he had done it with a shotgun. Maybe it was because his two daughters were half-black, but he had no use for racists. Maybe it was because of who he was dating now. Good looks and a personality had nothing to do with color. He was always insulted when people assumed a white correctional captain living in the Glades was a racist. It just wasn’t true.
If Henry Janzig worked it right, and Henry usually did, that hotshot FDLE man would be convinced that poor old dead Leroy Baxter killed Rick Dewalt. Then they’d be left in peace to do their own business.
The shooting was already investigated and cleared. Maybe not officially, but he knew he could count on old Rufus Goodwin to do the right thing. He knew he’d get the standard, minimum three days off on administrative leave. It was supposed to be for mental health, but Norton didn’t care. He had business to take care of in the next three days. If he didn’t get a handle on some of the things he had planned, it could get out of hand. If he didn’t get on top of this thing, the whole affair could cause him to develop an ulcer.
Tasker sat on the couch staring at his surprise visitor. He was a little shaky mainly because of what he could’ve done.
Tasker said, “You scared the shit out of me.”
Billie Towers brushed her shiny black hair from her small face and said, “Believe me, you surprised me, too.”
“How’d you get in?”
“I hope you don’t mind. The key to the professor’s apartment fits yours, too. In fact, before you moved in, when we worked late, I’d stay here some nights. After you left this evening, I was worried, so I asked him if he thought you’d mind if I waited inside for you a little while. I guess I fell asleep. I’m sorry.”
“Nothing to be sorry about, you just startled me, that’s all.”
“I have a friend at the prison who said they shot the escapee. I thought you’d be back right after that.”
“I went out to eat and talk with some people.”
She placed her delicate hand on his leg and leaned into him. “I guess you’re too tired for any more guests.”
Suddenly he didn’t feel tired at all. In fact, he felt invigorated. He also realized he still held his big Beretta in his right hand. “Let me put this up.” As he stood up, she followed him into his bedroom.
She stopped at the doorway and said, “Must’ve been scary out there.”
“A little,” said Tasker as he opened the drawer to his nightstand and pulled out the thick novel he’d been reading. He slid the gun behind the book and closed the drawer.
Billie said, “You always keep that there?”
“Just in case. I pull it out for enforcement duty, but most of the time just carry a little .380.”
“Good thing you didn’t have to use it tonight.”
“The captain at Manatee seemed to handle things fine.”
“I heard. At least he’s okay.”
“Norton? Yeah, he seemed fine.”
“And you’re okay.”
He nodded. “Yep, no problem, I didn’t pull the trigger.” “Have you ever shot anyone?”
“That’s one of the reasons I’m out here.”
“Did you . . .”
“Yeah. He died at the scene of a bank robbery.”
She looked sick to her stomach. “Does it ever bother you?” He shrugged. It did, but he didn’t think it was anyone else’s business, really. And he didn’t want to sound like a whiner. “Sometimes, I guess.” He led her back out to the couch and they got comfortable. “It was nice of you to check on me.”
“Sure.” Then she said, “Tell me about your assignment out here. The professor says you’re investigating a murder.”
Tasker shrugged and started talking business without even knowing it.
Sergeant Henry Janzig waited until things had quieted down around the Rock before he ventured up into the administration building, which was now dark and silent. He knew exactly where he was headed and exactly what he would do. The question was what would he use to accomplish his task.
He would have preferred to do this Saturday or Sunday morning, but knowing how thorough Renee Chin could be, he’d decided he better not wait. He slipped into her office and prayed she didn’t lock the little storage room she used for evidence. He relaxed when he saw the door to the room wide open. He sat at her desk for a moment, dreaming about what an easy job this would be. Off your feet, solving crimes that no one cared about. No one outside the prison walls cared if one inmate stole from another or even if one killed another. Shit, Janzig spent most of his life working within the walls and he didn’t even care.
He looked at a photograph of a black couple in their mid-fifties. Must be her parents, he thought. He could see where she got her looks. The woman in the photo had fine bone structure and a pretty smile. He just didn’t go for the coloreds like his friend Norton.
He stood up, stretching his aching back and massaging his throbbing hip. He limped into the storage area and flicked on the overhead light. Lined up on the shelves on one wall were dozens of plastic bags. Most were open. One or two were sealed with a heat sealer. He didn’t know why. He knew they were filed by date and went to the last row, three bags from the end. He found the bag marked DEWALT, R. Inside were a dozen or so personal items the goofy kid had had by his bunk at the time of his death.
Janzig shook the bag, then poured out the contents onto an empty shelf. He rooted through the small stack of items, looking at a Casio watch, a ring and a small bracelet with no markings. Then he stopped and picked up a pendant about the size of a Kennedy half-dollar. He wondered if they were still in circulation. The front of the pendant had a profile of a face on it. The back of the silver base had an inscription: Ricky Dewalt, Third Grade.
Out loud, Janzig said, “Perfecto.” He snatched up the pendant, scooped the other stuff into the bag and tossed it back on the shelf.
“Case closed,” he said, as he shut off the light and headed toward the entrance to the prison. He was almost done for the night.
twelve
It was a perfect afternoon. No clouds in the sky. The temperature about seventy. T
asker had risked the wrath of Florida State Trooper Tom Miko patrolling somewhere on State Road 80 by pushing his Monte Carlo past the specs laid out in Detroit. He raced into West Palm Beach and picked up the girls after just a few hours’ sleep. Now, in the backyard of his temporary residence, he felt like a real father and had no problems on his radar. He stepped back and let the Frisbee sail high and slow over the girls’ heads all the way to the edge of the cane field behind the apartment complex. The backside of the apartments had another covered porch that looked out over a half acre of trimmed grass. It was perfect for the girls to run and play. On the porch that led to his kitchen, Hamlet the fake hamster, newly named by Emily, had been cleared by a vet and now sat in his cage under the low roof. Kelly had wanted the mouse to feel included in the family activities. Next to the mouse, Professor Kling sat in a reclining Adirondack chair going over some paperwork and occasionally shouting encouragement to the girls.
The professor’s assistant, Billie Towers, seemed to appear and disappear in an instant. Tasker had hoped she might be around today. After talking half the night with her, he thought they had some connection. With age and experience, he had realized something most men never do: He had no clue what women were thinking or what they wanted. The best he could do was appreciate the fact that pretty ones even spoke to him, if only occasionally.
Tasker even felt good to be a little tired. He had not gotten much sleep, but didn’t mind. Billie had seemed genuinely interested in his work and he liked her rosy, mid-twenties attitude. He had even talked about his feelings for his ex-wife. Billie said she had seen her, but had avoided meeting her. She didn’t like the way some women reacted when she was around their men. Tasker could see why some women would feel threatened by the Seminole coed. Her thin body was certainly not shapeless and she had a grace to her movements that almost seemed like a dancer’s. After some of his recent experiences with graceful women, he had even asked her if she ever danced, not insinuating that he meant a stripper but letting her answer the question that way. She had been at the University of Florida five years—since she was nineteen. Just naturally graceful.
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