“Coincidences happen,” I said. “And they’re always something a P.I. should look at. I got an idea about a possible motive. This morning I checked it out. I looked up the history of Overtown. I saw some old photos. Harrison Barber Shop.”
Trey looked back up and nodded. “My father’s.”
“Miss Harrison’s Home Cookin’.”
He nodded again. “Mama’s.”
“I figured,” I said. “I determined that they were torn down when the interstate came through in the sixties.”
Trey gazed from me to Lior, then around the room, and then to somewhere else. Somewhere that didn’t exist anymore.
“That’s right,” he said. “The government seized the land—eminent domain, they said. Our properties were condemned to make way for progress. Sure, they paid Mama and Daddy some compensation—as if the businesses you spent a lifetime building could be replaced. They couldn’t, especially when your customers lost their livelihoods, too, and moved away.”
He paused then swallowed hard before going on. “Daddy ended up taking his own life. My older brother tried to support us, and he turned to crime to do it. He died in the state pen years ago. At least I learned from his mistakes. I went the legit route, and I can say I made my mama proud. My sister did, too. Like I told you before, she’s a schoolteacher.”
He broke off as something smashed against the side of the building. The wind gusts were furious now, sounding like the noise beneath an airport landing path.
We shouldn’t be here. But it was too late. The hurricane had hit. And like the storm, Trey’s story wouldn’t be stopped.
“Junior’s father’s company was a major contractor on that interstate project,” my Inner Vigilante said, co-telling the tale.
“That’s right,” Trey said. “But I didn’t know that until his case came before me and I read all the background information. I told you before that I hadn’t read up on the case. I’m sorry, Harriet—I was trying to mislead you, before I realized the futility of it all. I had studied it carefully, as I do all the cases on my docket.”
Trey took a breath then spoke again, this time with force. “Overtown was Junior’s first act of tyranny, but it sure wasn’t his last. He did the same thing again and again, barreling right through low-income, disempowered communities with roads and redevelopments. And of course, Junior wasn’t just a contractor carrying out government plans—he had the politicos in his pocket.”
“And he wanted to pay you off, too,” my Inner Vigilante continued.
“How did you figure that out?”
“Payoffs were Junior’s whole M.O.,” I said. “But last night it struck me that when we’d discussed the case, you hadn’t said anything about Junior trying to buy you. It wasn’t consistent with what I knew about him. So I knew you hadn’t told me everything. That was another piece of the puzzle that led me to you.”
Gusts of wind continued to assault the building, as Trey’s tale continued to tumble out.
“Yes. You’re right again. Junior called and suggested we meet. Of course I knew what was up. He wanted to buy a favorable ruling on his case. I blew him off. But then I couldn’t stop thinking about it. It just gnawed at me, how that man had destroyed so many lives.”
He balled his hands into fists. “And the prospect of him doing it again, this time to those trailer park residents in Valley View—well, I just couldn’t stand it. Another generation of disenfranchised folks would be screwed over yet again.”
“And as an insider, you knew more than most that the justice system was often anything but,” Lior said.
Huh? What was Lior doing, jumping in here? This was a meeting of two minds. One Inner Vigilante to another. Lior should have been a silent witness. Unless . . . could he be one of us?
Who knew? Obviously, there were sides of him I’d never suspected.
“Yes,” Trey agreed. “I knew that as the man with the money, Junior would ultimately prevail. The thought of it was driving me crazy.” He pounded his fists on his knees.
“I couldn’t let go of it, try as I might,” he said. “So finally I decided to confront him. I hatched a plan—but just to talk to him not to kill him. I guess in some tiny little corner of my mind I held out hope that the man might possess a sliver of conscience.”
Something started banging repeatedly at the back of the building.
“I think a gutter has come loose,” Lior said.
Shit. Would the whole building fall apart? I shifted nervously in my seat.
But my Inner Vigilante still wanted to be heard.
“You met up with Junior at the Castle Commons construction site,” I said. “Why there?”
“I couldn’t have our meeting become public knowledge. I had to avoid even the appearance of impropriety. I figured the site was a place he knew and that it would be deserted that time of night. So I called him and told him to come meet me there.”
He flinched as a roar of thunder struck again. Then he went on. “When Junior got there, he suggested we sit in the cab of his bulldozer. He had the key, said he liked to play around with the equipment when he had the chance.”
“Yes, Miss Lil had told me that,” I said. “And the bulldozer was another thing I connected to you.”
“What do you mean?”
“I knew that whoever killed Junior had to have some knowledge of how to operate heavy equipment. Then I remembered that the newspaper story about you said you’d worked in the Miami River dockyards when you were in college. So I figured you knew how to work forklifts and cranes and such. I thought a bulldozer couldn’t be too different.”
“Yes. That’s true,” Trey said, sighing. “So there we were. I thought, okay, he wants to play Big Boys Tonka Toys. Fine, what do I care? We climbed up there. He started the machine and started moving dirt around. Asked me what he could do for me, what kind of figure we were talking about. I told him before we got into that, I wanted him to know something about me. I told him my story. My history. My heritage. I guess I was trying to feel him out . . . I don’t know what I was doing. I just wanted him to know the personal destruction he’d caused. He laughed at me. Said I was a real sob sister.”
“He laughed at you even as he was trying to buy a favorable ruling from you?” I said. “Wow. That man’s arrogance knew no bounds.”
“I know, right? I guess he thought money was my only motivation, that it would override any contempt he expressed for me. Or for my family.”
Outside, the gusts were coming stronger and faster, like Trey’s words.
“Then he said that the only reason I was in my judicial position was because of affirmative action. This from a guy who’s only in his position because he worked for his Pappy. That’s when I lost it. I swung my fist and smacked him in the face.”
Trey looked away from me and Lior, staring at the wall. “His head slammed against the cab window. I guess the door wasn’t shut all the way, because it opened, and he fell out. Then something came over me. I don’t remember my actions. The next thing I knew, I was sitting in the driver’s seat with my hands on the controls, and Junior was buried in the rubble below.”
Trey let out a big sigh. “So that’s the deal. And I realize now that it won’t change the outcome of the case. Business will go on as usual.”
The beam from the flashlight dimmed, as if in sympathy with Trey’s sorrow.
“But wait, Harriet,” Lior broke in. “All these pieces don’t make the case.”
Was he trying to find a loophole, a way out for Trey?
“Sure, I can see the possible motive stemming from the destruction of Trey’s family’s livelihoods,” he said. “His ability to operate a bulldozer—that provides the means for him to commit the murder. And the fact that he wasn’t truthful with you about Junior wanting to pay him off shows he was hiding something. But those things,
even taken all together, don’t incriminate him.”
“I know. But there is one last thing that clinched it.”
“What?” Trey and Lior both asked simultaneously.
“The hair.”
They looked at each other then at me.
I said to Trey, “When I saw you at the Hilton on the afternoon of the Holy Rollers performance, which was a few hours before Junior’s death, you were holding your honey-colored bouffant wig, ready to put it on to transform yourself into Honey du Mellon.”
“Yeah.”
I told him about the search for Worthington, Miss Lil’s Sweetheart Scammer. “After we found Worthington, Enrique called me. He said Worthington wasn’t the killer, because Worthington was at the Hilton watching the Holy Rollers when the killing happened. Enrique had the proof on the surveillance video. And that’s when Enrique said it. The one thing that brought it all together for me.”
“What?” Lior and Trey both said again.
“He said Worthington’s presence on the video was as obvious as the roots in Honey du Mellon’s hair.”
“Oh . . . my . . . God,” Trey said.
“What’s that got to do with anything?” Lior asked.
“Honey du Mellon’s hair is a wig,” I said. “Wigs don’t have roots.”
“Oh,” Lior said.
“So I realized that whoever was on the video as Honey du Mellon wasn’t Trey,” I said. “It was someone with real hair that was dyed. And, I remembered that Chuck had told me that you sounded like a whole different person when you sang that night.”
Trey let out another huge sigh. “It was a different person—my sister.”
“I figured,” I said. “I reviewed all the video footage this morning. Not only are the roots in the hair obvious, but the surveillance of the front door shows you leaving the Hilton shortly before ten p.m. Which was when Junior received the call from a disposable phone. You return around midnight then leave again with all the Rollers a couple hours later. Obviously you couldn’t have been in two places at once. Plus, a black woman with honey-colored hair is seen coming in and going out—the only one. So I knew you and the woman had worked together to conceal your whereabouts.”
“Yes. But my sister had nothing to do with the killing. I want that to be absolutely clear. Like I said, I hadn’t planned on killing Junior, just talking to him. And as I said, I didn’t want anyone to have any idea that we’d met . . . so my sister and I hatched this plan. I never should have dragged her into it.” He put his head in his hands.
He sat like that for what seemed like a minute, as the wind battered the building. Then he reached into his pants pocket and pulled out a key. He looked from me to Lior.
“The key to the bulldozer,” I said.
“Yes,” Trey said. “How do you know?”
“Gitta told me that the cops never found it. Then, again last night, I realized that the previous times I saw you—first at the Hilton and then at your office—you had a habit of putting your keys in your pants. I realized that if you’d been operating the bulldozer, you could have automatically pocketed the key without thinking about it.”
“That’s exactly what happened. So here it is—proof. I’m giving it to the cops.”
“Hold on,” Lior said.
What? He was stalling. Just like I was. It was becoming clear now . . . Lior and I were both headed down a common chosen path . . . we hadn’t spoken it, but we were doing it.
Just then the flashlight went out, plunging us into darkness.
Seconds later there was an enormous scraping noise up above, like a freight train coming to a screeching halt on its tracks.
“I think the roof’s caving in!” Lior yelled. “Get under the desk!”
The three of us crawled into the tiny space and huddled, arms wrapped around each other in one human mass, protecting each other as bricks and plaster and rain fell around us. We were bound together by our need for safety—and by our shared secret. As the maelstrom whirled around us, my own whirled within. What was the right thing? Turn Trey in or turn a blind eye?
I didn’t know. It was my darkest hour.
Epilogue
MY OFFICE WAS destroyed. The roof ended up across the street. The interior drywall turned to wetwall. My computer was a goner, as was the case of KeepItUppers. Bottles of ink from Tony’s Tattoos next door were smashed across my floor and furniture. However, no cash from Carl’s Check ‘R’ Us on the other side came blowing in. Darn. And my Hog survived unscathed.
While my workplace was being rebuilt, I was operating out of a back room at Chuck’s Greasy Rider bike shop. During this time, I’d slammed the door on the sex toy scam. Virginia Stubbs was able once again to have her children and grandchildren over for dinner, now that her kitchen was cleared of the pornographic playthings, and Slim Cox was in the slammer on charges of franchise fraud and bigamy.
Despite the storm, the raid on Raquel’s had gone down as planned. Immediately afterward, Lior flew to Israel to wrap up the Tel Aviv end of the case. After that crazy impulsive moment of lust in my office, I’d regained my common sense and pulled back. But I knew that was only temporary; we’d finish what we started when he returned.
Along with being busted for racketeering and human trafficking, Boris Gelman was charged with the murder of Frank Castellano, Jr. Apparently the key to the bulldozer that buried Junior was found during the raid in the bottom drawer of Gelman’s desk in his office at the club. The police theorized that Gelman got wind of Junior’s stated plans to dump Gitta and marry Natasha Number Four, taking her away from the club. Wanting to protect his lucrative income source, Gelman got Junior out of the way.
The theory wasn’t far-fetched. After all, it wasn’t like Gelman had never killed before in his line of work. He’d just never been charged. And never would have been.
Kind of like Junior, who had never been charged in the death of Trey’s father. Sure, it was a suicide. But to what extent was it self-inflicted? And how many more people had Junior driven to a deadly decision?
Judge Trey Harrison’s name never came up in connection with Junior’s death. However, he stepped down from the bench and went to work as a full-time pro bono public interest lawyer for Richard and Josh, the father-and-son hippie activists. Now he represents the poor and powerless against the corrupt powerbrokers who trample their rights.
Castellano & Son went public, per Junior’s will, and the new shareholders decided not to pursue the Great Wall. Marla and the other residents of Valley View would not lose their homes.
The events of the case also set in motion personal changes among those involved. Miss Lil and Gitta were gratified that a suspect in Junior’s murder had been arrested. Since the police, not I, had made that nab, I refused any remuneration for the murder investigation. The Castellano women did, however, pay me for rooting out Thurman Merrill Worthington III, who was sentenced to six months for fraud and theft, although his connection with Miss Lil was never made public.
Miss Lil, the contessa, and Mom, with help from Leonard, joined forces to create a public service website, LowdownLyingLovers.org, where women from around the country could post photos and profiles of the creeps who’d conned them. It was linked to dating sites like SuperSeniors.com and was getting thousands of hits a week.
Gitta, in the meantime, had hooked up with Detective Reilly—another shocker, to me, to come out of the whole affair. But it was working for them. They were finding out who she was—together. She wasn’t trying to be somebody just for him, and he was enjoying the process of discovery—as any true investigator would.
And as for me—yeah, there were personal changes, too. And who better to mull them over with than my Boca Babe recovery sponsor, Lana?
One quiet evening, when I’d hauled my Hog onto the porch and completed some maintenance, we got together for floati
ng and philosophizing. The sun was setting over the swamp, which had suffered some downed trees in the storm but had otherwise survived—as it had for millennia. And would for many more, if humans didn’t destroy it with their sugar cane pesticides and their greenhouse gas emissions.
A warm breeze blew across the porch as I took a sip of Hennessy—the V.S.O.P., not the X.O. I’d decided against the upgrade—it didn’t fit my Dirty Harriet image.
“You know,” I said to Lana, who was draped over a fallen bough, “I really made a misjudgment in this case.”
Oh yeah? she asked. Damned if she didn’t look like she was raising an eyebrow. Except she didn’t have any.
“I kept assuming the reason for Junior’s murder was something recent. I kept dismissing his past. But that’s exactly where the motive lay.”
You know why you dismissed Junior’s past, don’t you? Lana asked.
“No.” The smart aleck. “Tell me, why?”
Because you tried to dismiss your own. You wanted Gitta to stop reminding you of your Boca Babe life. You thought your nightmares were over—but they came back. You thought your past was dead. But you know what William Faulkner wrote.
“Excuse me?” Man, she was a weird one, going all literary on me now.
‘The past is never dead. It’s not even past’, she quoted.
We were both silent as I thought that over.
“You’re right,” I finally said. “Or he’s right. The past haunts us today. And today is tomorrow’s past. So what’s happened here, the decision I made, will haunt me, maybe forever.”
Remember, it wasn’t just you. Lior was there. You both talked Trey into it. He was ready to turn himself in.
She was right again, of course. Lior and I were in this together. We’d taken our relationship to the next level—sharing. Not only sex or sentiments, but something far more binding—secrets. Would we withstand the burden of keeping them?
The past won’t haunt you, girlfriend, Lana said, if you make peace with it.
“And how do I do that?”
Dead in Boca Page 17
