Adler removed an eighteen-inch Maglite from beneath the seat. I took a much smaller version from the pocket of my blazer and climbed out of the car. Adler was watching me and grinning.
“What?”
“Ever notice,” he said, “how the longer you’ve been a cop, the shorter your flashlight gets?”
“And your temper,” I warned him. “Let’s head north, but don’t turn your light on yet. There’s enough moonlight to make our way. And we don’t want to spook Jason.”
Adler shook his head. “That’s one cold-blooded kid. I doubt an atomic blast would spook him.”
In silence, we walked toward town. The Trail was unlighted and officially closed at sunset. Unofficially, everyone from dog walkers to cat burglars used it whenever they pleased. Tonight, however, the asphalt path was deserted with the only sounds the noise of televisions drifting from the houses that backed up to the Trail, the occasional hum of traffic on a nearby street and the eerie call of a screech owl.
Halfway between Windward and the next intersecting street, Adler stopped, placed his hand on my arm and jerked his head to the right. From the cover of a thick stand of Brazilian pepper bushes came muted hip-hop music. At least, I assumed that’s what it was. Sounded like a herd of elephants dancing on pots and pans.
Closer inspection of the bushes revealed a dim light glowing in the middle of them. The wind shifted and the night reeked with the stench of pot.
I nodded to Adler and motioned to the left. He circled the bushes on that side and I moved around on the right. When Adler was in position, I aimed my flashlight into the center of the bushes and turned it on.
“Police,” I called. “Come out with your hands up.”
The bushes exploded as two boys leaped to their feet to try to escape, but Adler blinded them with his Maglite.
“Hands in the air, Jason,” I ordered again. “And your friend, too. What’s your name, son?”
“Up yours!”
“Okay, Up Yours, you have the right to remain silent….”
An hour later, alone in a holding cell at the station, Up Yours was more cooperative. He told us his name was Richard Denny, and he gave us his parents’ address and phone number.
Denny was our second burglar, all right. I could tell instantly, once I got a good look at him in the station’s bright lights. Tall and scrawny, he was wearing the same clothes he’d worn in the surveillance video taken of the burglary at Bloomberg’s.
But, as I’d feared, neither Jason nor Denny would give up whoever had recruited them for the robberies. I figured their ringleader was one mean dude, since they both were more terrified of him than of going to jail. My only consolation was that Jason and Richard, charged with grand theft and drug possession and locked up in juvenile detention, would be committing no more crimes. Now all I had to do was to catch the mastermind behind their burglaries before he trained new recruits. With the boys refusing to squeal, my best hope was Mick Rafferty and his facial recognition software, and Mick had promised me results soon.
“Have Johnson and Beaton transport our guests to the juvenile lockup,” I told Adler. “Then go home and spend some time with your family.”
“What about you?”
“I’ll write up the report on our young felons and leave it on Shelton’s desk so he’ll have it first thing tomorrow.”
Adler leaned against the door frame, his arms crossed over his chest, and looked at me.
“What?” I asked.
“You know, Maggie, I’m really going to miss you.”
“Get outta here, before I put you back to work.”
He grinned, waved and left.
I grabbed a tissue, blew my nose and pulled up an arrest report form on my computer.
The Monday night football game blared from the television above the crowded bar when I met Bill an hour later at the Dock of the Bay. A quick scan of the patrons’ faces confirmed Barbara Harlow’s absence, but I had no way of knowing whether she’d abandoned Tiffany tonight for some other watering hole.
Instead of sitting across the booth from me, Bill slid in beside me after I sat down. I scooted over to make room and threw him a questioning look.
“I’m still waiting for my rain check on that snuggle,” he said with a suggestive wiggle of his eyebrows. “Plus the noise level’s so high, I don’t think you can hear me unless I talk into your ear.”
He had a practical point, but I also found myself enjoying the comfort of his thigh pressed against mine and his arm, laid along the headrest behind me, in an almost embrace. Being with Bill was like being wrapped in a favorite old quilt, warm and comforting. And, after Shelton’s earlier tirade, I needed warmth and comfort.
We placed our orders, the waitress brought our drinks, and I gave Bill the rundown on Shelton’s hissy fit, Samantha’s subsequent booking and the arrests of Jason McLeod and Richard Denny.
“You’ve had quite a day,” he said when I’d finished.
I scratched my forearms. “I need a break in this murder case. Between my hives, Shelton and my mother, it’s driving me nuts. Any luck on the cigarette boat?”
“I know where it’s not.” He paused while the waitress served our plates. “I’ve checked every marina in Pelican Bay, Dunedin and Clearwater. No sign of any boat named Jackpot.”
I poured a dollop of ketchup on my plate and dabbed a French fry in it. “Those marinas are closest to the Lovelace place. Maybe our killer stays far away from home.”
“Doesn’t like to foul his own nest?”
I nodded. “But you’ve only hit a fraction of the marinas in the Tampa Bay area. Your search could take weeks. If he’s killing at random, I’m worried he’ll strike again.”
“I’ve been on the phone to mechanics and boat painters. So far, none of them know a boat named Jackpot. But I have a lead that could be helpful. Name of a mechanic at a marina at Rocky Point off the Tampa causeway. He works on nothing but cigarette boats. He’ll be my first call tomorrow.”
He said nothing for a moment. The usual twinkle in his eyes was missing, replaced by an uncommon sadness.
“You okay?” I asked.
“Yeah.” But his corresponding sigh contradicted his words. “While I was in Tampa today, I visited my dad.”
Bill checked in on his father in the Alzheimer’s wing of the assisted-living facility at least twice a week. Some visits turned out better than others. From the look on his face, today’s had been rough.
“How is he?” I asked.
Bill shrugged. “He seems content. He’s getting good care.”
“But?”
“He didn’t recognize me at all today. Not even when I explained who I am. He can’t even remember that he has a son.” Bill’s usually cheerful expression twisted with pain. “He’s still alive, but he’s gone. And it hurts like hell.”
I covered his hand with mine. “I’m sorry. If he doesn’t know you’re there, maybe it would be easier on you if you didn’t go.”
“I have to visit, because I’d know if I wasn’t there, even if Dad didn’t.” He squeezed my fingers hard, cleared his throat and changed the subject. “Like, I said, I’ll check out the boat mechanic tomorrow.”
“You sure you want to do this?” I worried that I was taking advantage of his friendship and good nature. “Wouldn’t you rather be boating, as your car bumper sticker says?”
“Hell, Maggie, I’m having fun tracking this boat. I hadn’t realized how much I missed the job until I started helping you with your cases.”
I shook my head. “We’re a pair, aren’t we? You urging me to have more fun, while you’re busting your butt to do more work.”
“Balance.” He dropped his arm around my shoulders for a hug. “That’s the key.”
“It’s hard to find balance with my job. I’m either working 24/7 on a case or sitting at the station and twiddling my thumbs.”
“It wouldn’t be that way if we were our own bosses.”
“You are your own boss.”
“Such as no divorce cases? I refuse to tail errant spouses to photograph them in compromising situations. I’d be terminally depressed.”
“No divorce cases, if that’s what you want.”
He’d mentioned the possibility of our own P.I. firm before, but for the first time, I was beginning to take him seriously. “You think we’d have any other business with that exclusion?”
He chewed a mouthful of burger and swallowed. “Missing persons, background checks for businesses, maybe even an occasional security detail. That would be enough. We have to leave time for fun.”
“I keep forgetting fun.”
“I know.” His expression turned serious. “And I can’t let you do that.”
“I’m an old dog, Malcolm, and unlikely to learn new tricks.”
His expression darkened and his eyes turned sad. “You’ll have to, Margaret, for our sakes.”
He looked so serious, I felt a shiver of apprehension. “For our sakes?”
He nodded and pushed away his half-eaten burger. “I retired early so I can enjoy life. I don’t want to go back to the same rut I was in for almost thirty years.”
“Then why become a P.I.?”
“Because I don’t mind working some. And the extra money will allow us to enjoy things we couldn’t otherwise afford.”
“Then why so solemn?”
“The operative words are fun and enjoy. You have a terrific sense of humor, Margaret, and somewhere under that tough workaholic exterior is a wonderful woman yearning to take pleasure from all the opportunities life has to offer. You’ve just forgotten how, and you need to relearn.”
I struggled to breathe. “I hear an ‘or else’ in there somewhere.”
He didn’t shake his head or deny it. “I’m almost sixty. A man my age might live another thirty years—or I could check out tomorrow. I don’t have time to waste. I want to live what days or years I have left to the fullest.”
“But not with a stick-in-the-mud like me?” I was in shock, unable to contemplate a life without him in it.
“You haven’t heard what I’m saying. You’re not a stick-in-the-mud at heart. You just have to learn to let go. To lighten up.”
A fist closed around my heart. “What if I don’t know how?”
“Let me teach you.”
I thought of Lovelace’s killer and the mastermind of the rooftop burglaries whom I still had to catch. “And that would be when?”
He flashed that wonderful grin that could make me promise or forgive anything. “We’ll start in small increments, then expand our lessons once the department has folded.”
“Small increments?”
“Finish your burger. I have tickets for Ruth Eckerd Hall at eight. The Canadian Brass are giving a Christmas concert.”
I bit into my sandwich, but I was having trouble swallowing. Bill had just declared he wanted to spend the rest of his life with me.
But only if I cleaned up my act.
CHAPTER 14
I slept like a rock straight through the night for the first time since my vacation. I had successfully passed the first hurdle with Bill by thoroughly enjoying myself at the concert that had been part classical music, part camp, and by not mentioning work once. He’d rewarded me by kissing me with more than a little enthusiasm when he’d dropped me off at my condo. I’d almost invited him to spend the night, but decided I’d better take enjoying myself slowly, or I’d blow my circuits.
Suffused with an unfamiliar optimism, I finished my shower and wrapped my head in a towel and my body in a robe before descending the stairs to fix coffee. If Rafferty got a hit on his facial recognition software and Bill’s contact led to Jackpot, it could be a very good day.
I filled the coffeemaker and had just turned it on when the doorbell rang.
My pulse sped up a bit as I wondered if Bill had returned early to take up where we had left off last night. Tightening the sash on my robe and adjusting my towel turban, I went to answer it.
Mother stood on the front steps, her back iron-straight and fire flashing in her eyes. Even at seven-thirty in the morning, she was immaculately coiffed and dressed.
“What are you doing here?” My amazement was justified. Mother hadn’t set foot in my condo since the day I bought it. Brimming with pride of ownership, I’d invited her over to show off my new home. Unimpressed, she hadn’t bothered to return. Not that I’d been twisting her arm with invitations.
She thrust a folded newspaper in my face. “Have you seen this?”
I took the paper, unfolded it and flinched at the three-inch-high headline on the front page of the Pelican Bay edition of the Times: Local Woman Arrested In Husband’s Murder. And in smaller but not insignificant font beneath: Detective Maggie Skerritt Bags Another Killer.
“How dare you?” Mother was all but frothing at the mouth. “You know Samantha didn’t kill Vincent.”
I was caught on the horns of a dilemma. If I agreed with Mother, she’d be storming Shelton’s office next. But if I didn’t do something to defuse the situation, my already shaky relationship with my mother was finito.
“Samantha had means, motive and opportun—”
“Rubbish! Don’t spout police jargon at me. Samantha, her girls and Isabelle already have more than they can handle losing Vince. And now you do this.”
“I haven’t given up trying to find the real killer.”
“That doesn’t help Samantha or her family now.” She snatched the paper from my hand, pivoted on the steps and started down the walk. For the first time, I noticed Hunt’s Lincoln in the visitor’s space out front with Hunt cowering behind the wheel as if hoping I wouldn’t see him.
Halfway down the walk, Mother turned back toward me. When she spoke, her voice was low but perfectly clear. “I’ve been patient with you, Margaret, in spite of all the trials you’ve put me through, but this is the final straw. You are no longer a member of this family. And you’re not welcome in my house. As far as I’m concerned, I have only one daughter now.”
I wanted to defend myself. After all, I’d made things as easy for Samantha as I could under the circumstances, but I doubted that knowing my feeble efforts would assuage Mother’s wrath. I feared anything else I said would only make matters worse.
She turned back toward the car, where Hunt leaped from the driver’s seat to open the passenger door for her. Before climbing back in, he faced me with a shrug and a grimace to indicate his helplessness. Mother stared straight ahead and avoided looking at me.
I watched until the Lincoln disappeared, then returned inside.
Lighten up, Bill had warned me.
“Well, Maggie, old girl,” I muttered to myself as I stepped inside. “Are we having fun yet?”
I tried giving myself a pep talk on the way to the station. This morning’s outburst by Mother was nothing new. I’d known how she felt about me for a long time. Her angry statements had simply made it official.
Then why did it hurt like hell?
With a sigh, I promised myself that the day had to get better. Where else could it go but up? I was rewarded for my optimism when I reached my desk and found a message from Mick Rafferty, head of the county crime lab.
I picked up the phone and dialed his number. “I could really use some good news about now.”
“Happy to oblige, Maggie, darlin’. Facial software got a hit on your surveillance video. One bad actor by the name of Leland Kelso. He’s in the system. A repeat offender.”
“Thanks, Mick. I owe you.”
Adler came in as I was pulling up Kelso’s rap sheet on the computer.
“Good morning,” I said, “and good news.” I pointed to the monitor. “This guy made several visits to Bloomberg’s without buying squat. And look at this. He lives one street over from Jason McLeod.”
�
��The last robbery was night before last,” Adler said. “I doubt Kelso’s had time to move the goods. Should I get a search warrant?”
“Absolutely.” I scrolled down the page. “And here’s the best part. Kelso’s has two convictions for robbery. He’s served time for both.”
“Three strikes and he’s out,” Adler noted with satisfaction.
“I always wondered about the wording on that law. It should be three strikes and he’s in. If we bust him for these rooftop burglaries, Leland Kelso’s not going anywhere for a long, long time.”
While waiting for our warrant to come through, I put together a photographic lineup that included Kelso’s mug shot, then paid a visit to McLeod and Denny in juvenile detention. Prison jumpsuits and a night away from home had reduced their swagger and self-confidence. The boys sat across the table in the interview room looking like the scared little kids they were.
The guard took Denny into a separate interview room, while I talked to Jason.
“We’ve got your partner in crime,” I said. “His picture’s in this group I’m going to show you. You’ll make things a lot easier for yourself if you give him up.”
“He said he’d kill us if we squealed,” Jason said.
I shook my head. “This guy’s been arrested twice before. When we get him, he’s going to be locked up for good. He won’t be able to hurt you.”
I couldn’t help feeling sorry for the boys. Raised without parental supervision or restraints, they’d been easy pickings for a scumbag like Kelso. And, at only twelve years old, they were so heartbreakingly young.
“Okay,” McLeod said with reluctance. “Show me the pictures.”
Eventually, Jason and Denny both identified Kelso. Before leaving the juvenile detention center, I called Adler to have him add an arrest warrant to the paperwork.
My beeper sounded as I made my way back to the station. After a check with dispatch, I returned Karen Englewood’s call. A psychologist, Karen worked at the Pelican Bay Weight Loss Clinic and had almost been Lester Morelli’s fourth victim. Adler and I, with some help from Larry, Karen’s nineteen-year-old son, had apprehended the killer at Karen’s house.
Holidays Are Murder Page 14
