Charles Willeford - Way We Die Now

by Unknown

  "What's this for, Sergeant Moseley?"

  "I'll explain when you get back."

  Hoke ate his doughnuts and finished his coffee before he left his office to talk to Bill Henderson. Henderson was on the phone, and Hoke waited out of earshot until he finished talking and racked the receiver.

  "Bill," he said, handing him the receipt from Dr. Schwartz's bill, "Gonzalez needs his hundred bucks back."

  "Not a chance." Henderson shook his head. "I already talked to him about it."

  "I know you did, but there's a way around it. Put his name on the insurance form, and then type 'José Smith' in parentheses after his name. That'll make it a legitimate bill, and the insurance will pay eighty percent. Gonzalez'll lose twenty bucks, but at least he won't be out the entire amount."

  "I don't know if that'll work, Hoke."

  "Sure it will. They do this over in Vice all the time when they check out doctor suspects, to see who's writing phony scripts for H. You can't expect undercovers to pay phony doctor bills, but most doctors want cash in advance before they'll even talk to a patient. I know they do it this way because Marcia in Vice told me so."

  "Okay, I'll send it in, but González'll still be stuck for twenty bucks. If you backdated a request for department funds and could get Major Brownley to sign it, he could get the entire amount."

  "I was going to do it that way, but I changed my mind. If Gonzalez loses twenty bucks, next time he'll fill out his request in advance. I wasn't here to hold his hand, or this wouldn't've happened."

  "Okay. Have a good time on vacation?"

  "Terrific."

  When Gonzalez came back with the patrol schedules, Hoke went downstairs to Traffic and talked to Lieutenant Vitale, explaining what he wanted the patrol cars to do. "The people who live at these addresses are witnesses in a cold case, Lieutenant. All I want the night patrolmen to do is stop for three or four minutes outside the house, put the spot on the address numbers or a front window, and then drive away. If they drive by two or three times a night and do this, they might look for any signs of departure. I mean, they can see if the occupants are getting ready to leave."

  "Won't this make the occupants suspicious?"

  "Yes, sir. That's the idea. On the day patrols, when the officers take their breaks, I'd like to have them park in front of these houses for ten minutes or so. If anyone comes out of the house to ask what they're doing, just tell 'em to drive away without answering."

  "What are they looking for?"

  "A U-Haul trailer, suitcases, whatever."

  Vitale frowned. "This is all aboveboard, isn't it, Sergeant?"

  "Yes, sir. I don't know about you, but I'm always happy to see a patrol car in my neighborhood. I like to know they're out there. Of course, if I was running a crack house, I wouldn't like to see one."

  "Are these suspected crack houses?"

  "No, sir. The important thing is, I want the cars and the uniforms seen, but I don't want the officers to talk to the occupants."

  "Who lives here? In these houses?"

  "You don't need to know. If you did, I'd tell you. But if the guy we're looking for is hiding out in either place, seeing blue-and-whites might flush him out."

  "I see. Now I see what you're after." Vitale nodded. "Why didn't you say so? How long should my men do this?"

  "Two or three days and two or three nights. I appreciate this, Lieutenant."

  "No problem." Vitale grinned, clasped his hands behind his head, and sat back in his swivel chair. "I thought you came down to bitch about the fine you got for smoking in an unmarked car."

  Hoke went back to his office. "Do you still have Farris's and Schwartz's addresses in your notebook?" he asked Gonzalez.

  "Sure."

  "Here's what I want you to do. First, go to Dr. Farris's house. If the maid answers the door, flash your badge, tell her you're from Homicide, and ask her how long she's been working for Dr. Farris. Just that, and nothing more. When you get the information, leave. Don't answer any of her questions. Just leave. If Mrs. Farris, instead of the maid, answers the door, ask her if you can talk to her maid. Show Mrs. Farris your badge, and be polite, but don't answer any of her questions either--if she has any. She'll get you the maid. Ask her then how long she's been working there, and write down her answer in your notebook. Then leave. Think you can do that?"

  Gonzalez nodded. "Sure."

  "Then drive to Dr. Schwartz's house and do the same thing. Ask her maid the same question, and then come back here to the station. If I'm not here, wait for me. I want you to drive me home tonight."

  Gonzalez nodded. "I heard you got caught by Captain Slater smoking in an unmarked car this morning."

  "Who told you that?"

  "A guy from the motor pool, while I was having breakfast."

  "I did. Sometimes the rumors you pick up in the building are true. Do you understand what I want you to do?"

  "Sure, but we don't need this information. It's all in the file, I'm sure."

  "Three years is a long time. They both may have new maids. And maids, sometimes, overhear a lot of conversations, whether they want to or not."

  "But if they're new, the information won't help our case any."

  "These doctors don't know that. Just do what I tell you to do."

  "I was showing some initiative. You're always telling me I don't show any initiative."

  "Okay, you've shown it. Now you can go."

  After Gonzalez left, Hoke studied the Russell file for about ten minutes before the phone rang. It was the limousine driver, a man named Raul Goya y Goya. "I've had my chauffeur's license two years now," Goya y Goya said, after identifying himself, "and I've never had a ticket."

  "I'm not interested in your driving record, Raul. You aren't in any trouble with the police. I just wanted to ask you a few questions about the passengers you picked up yesterday in Green Lakes."

  "Mr. Hutton and party?"

  "That's right. Did you overhear them saying anything that seemed a little funny or strange?"

  "I don't listen in to passengers' conversation, Sergeant. I just go where they tell me, that's all. If I started listening in to what was being said in the back, I wouldn't've lasted this long. I've seen some weird stuff going on back there, but I've never been asked to do nothing wrong, like make an illegal U-turn or--"

  "I realize you're a good driver, Raul. I just wondered if you overheard them talking about the purpose of the cruise--why they were going, anything like that?"

  "The two teenagers were excited, that's all. They'd never been on a cruise before, and they were asking Mr. Hutton if they could play the slot machines, and like that. He also explained roulette to them, I believe, but as I say, I wasn't listening. The only thing that struck me funny was the lady. She was nursing the baby, and you don't see things like that much anymore. Not in the car, I mean. The windows are tinted some, but not real dark, and people can still see in at stoplights, you know. So when she started nursing the baby, I hung back a little so I wouldn't get stopped at the lights, and I concentrated on my driving."

  "Okay then. And you'll pick them up again Sunday morning?"

  "I hope so. I asked for the run, but I may not get it. Mr. Hutton tipped me a twenty. What's this all about, Sergeant? This was just a happy family, going on a cruise. I don't know what else I can tell you."

  "You've been very helpful, Raul. And incidentally, you speak English very well."

  "I should hope so. I was born and raised in Springfield, Ohio."

  "Is that right? Well, if it'll help you any, tell the dispatcher I'd like you to do the pickup Sunday."

  "It'll help a lot. Thanks, Sergeant."

  Hoke hung up, satisfied, now that he had talked with the driver and knew that his daughters were okay. In the last few months Sue Ellen had saved a good deal of her money. He hoped that she hadn't taken all of it along to gamble away on the cruise ship. He knew she shot craps with the boys at the car wash, and she had been lucky a few times. But she wouldn't have a
chance, shooting craps on the ship or at the Paradise Beach Casino in Nassau. What if she did lose it all? She had worked for it, so he hoped Sue Ellen and Aileen were having a good time. If Hutton thought he was getting even with him by taking his daughters on a free cruise, he was nuts. Let the bastard spend his money on Ellita and the girls. Why should he care?

  Hoke signed out, took the same unmarked Plymouth out of the police lot, and stopped for lunch at the Saigon Café in the Bayside Shopping Center. He liked the lemon grass soup served there, and the sole with hot chiles. The manager knew Hoke was a cop, and when he was there, he tore up Hoke's check, and all Hoke had to leave was a tip for the waitress. Hoke enjoyed the meal; it was nice to have his teeth again. After eating, he drank two bottles of Corona beer and smoked three Kools. The clinic was closed between twelve-thirty and one-thirty for lunch, and he had to wait for it to open. The café manager wasn't in, so Hoke paid his tab with his VISA card.

  Hoke parked in the clinic's lot at one thirty-five. Three elderly patients were waiting in the reception room. One old man was reading -Modern Maturity-, and two old women were staring at two parrot fish swimming around in the saltwater aquarium. There was an aluminum toy diver in the bottom of the tank, with bubbles coming out of the top of his helmet. Someone had painted "Mel Fisher" in white paint across the diver's chest. Hoke pushed the bell, and the glass window slid back.

  "Mrs. Burger?" Hoke said, showing the nurse his badge. "I'm Sergeant Moseley, Miami Homicide."

  Mrs. Burger was in her late fifties, with razor blue hair in tight curls, and she wore gold-rimmed aviation glasses. She wore a pink nurse's uniform, but no cap, and she became flustered when she saw Hoke's badge. Her lipstick almost matched her uniform, and her two prominent upper front teeth had made little dents in her full lower lip.

  "Did you have an appointment?" She looked at her clipboard.

  "No, ma'am." Hoke lowered his voice to a stage whisper. "I'd like to talk to you, Mrs. Burger, for a few minutes. Outside, if you don't mind."

  "I don't know. We just opened--and--"

  "It'll only take a few minutes. Get someone to take over for you. I'll be outside."

  Hoke left the waiting room and waited on the brick sidewalk. He lighted a cigarette, and a minute later Mrs. Burger came through the door. She was carrying her purse, a brown alligator bag with several gold buckles. Not all the buckles were functional, Hoke noted. Women always brought their handbags, Hoke reflected, even if they were only going to the bathroom.

  Hoke took her arm. "It's pretty hot out here in the sun. Let's sit in my car, and I'll turn on the air-conditioning."

  "This isn't going to take very long, is it? I've got--"

  "Just a few minutes."

  They got into the car, and Hoke turned on the engine and then the air-conditioning. He took out his pack of Kools.

  "Would you like a cigarette?"

  "I'd love one. We can't smoke in the office, you know. I've got my own." She opened her bag and took a long black More out of her pack. Hoke lit it for her and put his lighter away. He took out his notebook and ballpoint.

  "What's this all about, Sergeant... ?"

  "Moseley. Dr. Russell. You remember Dr. Russell's murder?"

  "Of course. I've been with the clinic for more than ten years. But I thought that investigation was closed."

  Hoke smiled. "A murder case is never closed, Mrs. Burger. The sergeant you talked to three years ago is no longer on the case, but it's never been closed. What I'm doing, I'm rechecking a few things. How well did you know Dr. Russell?"

  "Well, I knew him in the office, but not socially or anything like that. And I was shocked by the way he was killed. He didn't have any enemies, and I don't see how he could have. He worked all the time."

  "Did you like him? As a person, I mean."

  "Yes, I did. He was a little brisk sometimes, but I respected him and liked him. When he thought about it, he could be very kind. He wasn't very religious, and neither is Dr. Schwartz. What I mean is, neither one of them took Yom Kippur off. But I wanted off, and Dr. Farris didn't want me to have it. He's a Methodist, you see, and because we close on Christmas Day, he thought I was trying to sneak in an extra holiday. Dr. Russell stood up for me on that. There are eleven Jewish holidays altogether, but all I ever asked for was Yom Kippur, and Dr. Farris didn't even want me to have that. I told him--Dr. Farris--that he could dock me a day's pay if he wanted to, but I still wanted the day off. Dr. Russell let me have it, and he didn't dock my pay either."

  "They can't dock your pay for a religious holiday, Mrs. Burger. Have you had any trouble about that since Dr. Russell was killed?"

  "No, but I lost Christmas. I have to come in Christmas Day and answer the phone, even though the clinic's closed."

  "You don't care much for Dr. Farris, do you?"

  "I didn't say that. I work for both doctors, and I get along well with both of them. This is a good job, Sergeant. I used to be in OR, and I don't want to go back to that again, ever."

  "OR?"

  "Operating room. I was in OR at St. Catherine's for three years, and then Dr. Russell offered me a job here. We're open on Saturdays, but we close Wednesday afternoons, and the hours are regular."

  "I see." Hoke made same notes in his book.

  "I told the other detective the same things. I don't have anything new to tell you."

  "When you learned that Dr. Russell was shot, aren't you the nurse who phoned Dr. Schwartz to take over Russell's scheduled operation?"

  "Yes, sir." She butted her cigarette and took out another. Hoke lit it for her.

  "He wasn't here at the clinic? He was at home?"

  "He was still in bed, he said. But he was very upset about the news and said he'd call Dr. Farris to do the operation. We have an answering service when we're closed."

  "Well, thank you very much, Mrs. Burger. You've helped me a lot."

  "I told all this before. Why are you asking me these same things again?"

  "You want Dr. Russell's killer caught, don't you?"

  "Of course, but it all happened so long ago I thought you gave up on it."

  "D'you know how to keep a secret, Mrs. Burger?"

  "I certainly do. But I don't have any secrets if that's what you mean."

  "I don't mean that. I'll tell you something in confidence then, but I don't want it to go any further. If I tell you, can you keep it to yourself? After all, Dr. Russell was your friend, and I'd like to tell you."

  "I won't say anything."

  "All right then. We know who killed Dr. Russell, and we've known for some time now. An arrest is imminent. I can't tell you who did it, of course, but you'll be surprised when you learn who killed him."

  "Who did it?"

  "I can't tell you any more than I have, and I shouldn't have told you that much. But keep what I told you to yourself. Don't tell anyone."

  "I will. My husband's been dead for six years."

  "In that case, you have no one else to tell. And thanks again for your help."

  "This is very good news, Sergeant Moseley." Mrs. Burger butted her cigarette in the ashtray. She took a mint out of her purse and offered one to Hoke. He shook his head, got out of the car, and then circled the car to open the passenger door. He winked, placed a forefinger to his lips, and she smiled and waggled her fingers as she started back to the clinic.

  As Hoke backed out of the parking lot, he wondered how long Mrs. Burger would be able to keep the "secret." One hour? Two? On the other hand, maybe she would keep it. Most nurses were privy to confidential information, and if they didn't tell their friends about their prominent patients who had doses of clap, maybe they wouldn't talk about murders either. But Hoke had dated nurses, and they had often talked about their patients to him. What else did nurses have to talk about?

  Hoke drove to Dr. Schwartz's house on Poinciana and parked in the driveway. It was a large two-story house, and the brick façade had been painted white. Four Corinthian columns on the concrete front porch supp
orted nothing. They were there just for decorative purposes. Mrs. Schwartz opened the door to his ring, and Hoke showed her his badge.

  "Mrs. Schwartz? I'm Sergeant Moseley. Homicide."

  Mrs. Schwartz, a matronly woman in her late forties, was wearing dark-green poplin Bermudas and a lettuce-green silk boat-necked top. Her pinkish hair, in a modified Afro, was obviously dyed. Her brown eyes were almost as dark as Hoke's, and her arched eyebrows were blackened half circles. Her upper lip was thin, but she had made it fuller by adding a rim of lipstick above the lip.

  "Would you like to come in?"

  "If I may," Hoke said, following her into the living room. "I won't be long." She sat on one end of the leather couch and indicated the other end for Hoke. He shook his head and remained standing.

  "I've got some good news for you, Mrs. Schwartz. It'll only be a few more days, but we know who killed your husband--Dr. Russell. I wanted to prepare you for this because as soon as we announce the arrest, you'll have reporters coming around to see you, asking questions."

  "I don't understand." She seemed genuinely puzzled. "What's this all about? Another detective was here this morning, and he talked to my maid. Right after he left, she told me she had to visit her aunt in Mexico City. I thought he was here to talk to her about her aunt--"

  "Has she left yet?"

  "About an hour ago."

  "It doesn't matter. That must've been Detective Gonzalez. He's also working on this case, and he wanted to see her to clarify a few things. How long was your maid with you, Mrs. Schwartz?"

  "It's been almost five years now. She doesn't live in, but we treat her very well, and I thought I knew her--but I didn't even know she had an aunt in Mexico City. She was more like family than a maid, if you know what I mean."

  Hoke shrugged. "It's a cultural thing, Mrs. Schwartz. I work with Latins in the department, but we rarely socialize after hours because we don't think alike. There's one more thing I'd like to ask you about, though. When your husband was shot, you were up in Orlando visiting your sister--"

  "My half sister, Becky Freeman. My maiden name was Goldberg, but when my father died, my mother married a man named David Freeman. So Becky's my half sister."