The Dead Detective

by William Heffernan

  “Welcome to the love nest,” Nick Benevuto said as Harry and Vicky ducked under the yellow crime scene tape that delineated the killing ground.

  Harry took in the blanket that had been spread on the sand, the now melted bucket of ice, the margarita mix, the bottle of tequila, and the plastic cups that were scattered near the body, all of it giving off the feel of a romantic liaison—all except for the man’s already decomposing body, the forehead pushed in from repeated blows with a club or rock, the front of his western shirt stiff with dried blood; all except for the other large pool of blood that had soaked into the sand several feet away from the blanket and a lone pair of women’s shoes that had been left behind.

  “Looks like we found the place Darlene was killed,” Vicky said.

  “That’s what hit us first off,” John Weathers replied.

  “I’d bet the mortgage on it,” Nick Benevuto said. “We found the victim’s car. It’s parked out on the road near the park entrance. They close off the entrance at sunset so nobody can drive in and camp for the night. CSI has already been told to dust it.”

  Harry didn’t say anything. He walked to the blanket and squatted next to the man’s body. The body had been in the sun for a day and land crabs and seagulls had already picked at the soft tissue. The eyes were gone. There was nothing to see there and the body was not pleasant to be near. Still, he needed to get a closer look at the wound.

  “I’d say the blows were struck from left to right,” Harry said at length. The victim’s hands had already been bagged so he couldn’t tell if he had fought his attacker. “Did you find anything under his fingernails?”

  “Nothing I could see, so I just bagged them,” Benevuto answered. “My guess is the first blow caught him by surprise and knocked him cold. The others were administered later. Probably after the other murder,” he added, catching Harry’s drift. “And I think you’re dead-on about the blows coming left to right. Any sign Darlene’s killer was left-handed?” he asked

  Harry nodded as he walked to the blood pool. His movements were slow and careful, giving his eyes time to scan the ground ahead of him so he wouldn’t inadvertently disturb any evidence.

  “There are no footprints leading here, or away from here,” he pointed out. “Looks like the sand could have been brushed clean.”

  “That’s our guess,” Weathers said.

  Harry saw a very small glint in the sand and squatted next to it. The glint was no bigger that a few grains of sand, but sand didn’t shine that way. He took a pen from his pocket and began to clear the area around it. Gradually a gold cross emerged.

  “Vicky, hand me some tweezers and a plastic bag from my crime scene kit,” he said.

  When he had the tweezers and the bag, he carefully lifted the cross and held it at eye level. It was thick and heavy, definitely gold. He turned it over and saw a stamped 18K on the rear. Above the mark there was a faint engraving, so badly worn it was unreadable, almost as if it had rubbed against the wearer’s body for so long it had begun to disappear. Again, he had the same feeling he had experienced at the Brooker Creek crime scene, one of the killer standing next to him.

  “Can you make this out?” Harry asked, holding the cross out for Vicky to see.

  “No. It’s too faint. Maybe the lab can bring something up. If not ours, we can send it to the FBI lab in Washington.”

  “Would you say this belonged to a woman?” Harry asked.

  Vicky gave her head a slight shake. “Eighteen karats, so it’s good stuff. The kind of gold any woman would like. But it’s too heavy for a woman. I’d say it’s a man’s. You think it was torn off when the killer cut Darlene?”

  “Be a good guess,” Harry said. “But it could also have been here for months. Just something somebody lost.”

  “I’m betting it’s from this murder,” Vicky said. “This place isn’t exactly a popular picnic spot. It isn’t much good for anything but what they were using it for.”

  “I’m with you on that,” Benevuto chimed in. He was grinning at her.

  Vicky gave him ice in return.

  Benevuto let out a long breath. “Look, when you got here I was just heading out to get some coffee for me and Weathers. You guys want any?” He shrugged when Harry and Vicky declined, then turned to go. “Be back in ten minutes.”

  Harry slipped the cross into the evidence bag and handed it to Weathers. “Yours for now,” he said. He raised his chin toward the blood pool and the women’s shoes. “At least until we’re sure the blood and the shoes are Darlene’s.”

  He drove the car past the park, nodded to the two uniforms guarding the entrance, then turned left into a side street and headed south, blending into the background yet again. There had been four cars, two marked and two unmarked, which meant there were at least four detectives at the scene. And that could only mean they knew they had found the place where the whore had been punished. It would also mean they would soon be intensifying their investigation; adding more detectives and deputies. But that was something that would serve well. It was something that could be used if he was clever and artful. But he knew everything was not as perfect as he would have liked it to be. A hand went to the chain where the cross had once hung. Its loss had not been planned, and he had not discovered it until that morning. It was a bit of carelessness that could not be repeated. He had hoped to get to it before the body was found, but he’d been too slow. He’d hesitated about coming back to the place she had died, and that hesitation had been costly. His jaw clenched at the thought. That’s one point for you, Harry Doyle. Still, he doubted the cross could be traced back to him. It was far too old, something he had worn since childhood, given to him by that other bitch who so enjoyed harming the children in her care. But that debt had already been paid in full ten long years ago. Now Darlene Beckett could be added to that list. And as long as he kept the police bumbling along, missing the truth that stood right in front of them, he would be safe. And if he remained safe, then there would be others.

  It was almost noon before CSI reported back that prints in the male victim’s car were a positive match to Darlene Beckett, and the blood in the sand matched her blood type. DNA would take longer, but there was little doubt what the results would be. The male victim had also been identified as Clint Walker, a software salesman with no known previous ties to Darlene. He had simply picked her up in a topless bar, taken her to a deserted beach, and paid for it with his life.

  When Harry received word on the results, he and Vicky were back at headquarters questioning Jordon Beckett, Darlene’s estranged husband. Beckett had just identified his former wife’s body and he still seemed to be in shock. Either that or he was the best actor Harry had seen in a long time. Now, sitting in the homicide division conference room, Beckett lowered his eyes and shook his head. He was average height, with sun-bleached hair and bland features. He worked as a yacht broker and appeared to do pretty well at it.

  “You know, she wasn’t a bad person,” he said, his voice barely audible. “In court she claimed she was bipolar. But I don’t buy that. She just needed to be the center of attention; always needed to know she was the woman that every man in the room wanted. I found out too late that she only knew one way to get that.”

  “So what are you telling us?” Vicky asked. “She was the slut with the heart of gold?” Her voice was harsh, intentionally so.

  “No. I’m not telling you anything like that.” Beckett kept his eyes down as he spoke.

  “So what is it?” Harry asked, making sure his voice was slightly softer, less threatening than Vicky’s. “You telling us you’re not bitter about everything she did to you? That all the public humiliation you went through was okay? That you don’t care that she went to bed with a fourteen-year-old student, when she had you at home? The man she had just married six months earlier?”

  “Even did it in your own bed,” Vicky threw in harshly.

  The questions snapped out at Jordan like the strokes of a whip, and Harry watched the man’s
jaw tighten with each one. When Beckett’s eyes finally rose to meet Harry’s they were not friendly.

  “At the time I was too shocked to feel anything,” he said. “Later, yeah, I hated her guts. Every court appearance was like a knife in my heart. Every time she was on the front page of the newspapers, or the news on TV, I felt like puking. I filed for divorce and stayed as far away from the court and the press as I could. Then it was finally over and I met somebody else and my life started to get back to normal. All I wanted was to move on, forget all of it.” He stared hard at Harry. “Now she’s even taken that chance away. Now I’m back in the same cesspool, with the same spotlight shining on me. And, yeah, deep down it pisses me off. But I never wanted her dead, not ever, not one time.”

  “You’re sure?”

  Beckett stared back at Harry. “Yeah, I’m sure.”

  “Where were you two nights ago?”

  “I was on my sailboat, anchored off Venice.”

  “Alone?”

  “No. My fiancée was with me. We got the news when a friend called my cell to tell me. It was a great way to end a romantic cruise. Darlene even managed to ruin that.”

  Vicky moved in close, her eyes ice cold. “Let’s cool it with the pity party. Tell me about this fourteen-year-old boy and why your wife might want to go to bed with him.”

  Beckett glared at her, then dropped his eyes to his lap. “It wasn’t him; it wasn’t that she was crazy attracted to him or anything like that. I saw the guy in court and he was just a skinny little kid with scraggly hair and a mild case of acne.”

  “Then why?” Vicky pressed.

  Beckett shook his head. “I’ve thought about it a lot, and the only thing I can come up with is that Darlene was in trouble at the school.”

  “What kind of trouble?” Harry asked.

  “The principal was an older woman, who didn’t like anything about Darlene—from the way she dressed, to the way she ran her classroom, just about everything. She particularly didn’t like what she said was Darlene’s inability to control the kids in her class.” He shook his head. “You know what seventh and eighth grade kids are like. You need a whip and a chair to keep them in line. Anyway, the principal was all over her about it. Said she needed to find a way to control these kids, that if she couldn’t she didn’t belong in a classroom.”

  Harry gave Beckett a bewildered look. “So you think she used sex as a way to control her class?”

  Beckett shook his head. “No. As way to prove to herself she could control a kid that age.” He stared back at Harry. “Sex was the way she got control over everything in her life. It was the only way she knew.”

  “Give me your fiancée’s name and address,” Vicky said.

  The next interrogation involved one of Darlene’s old boyfriends. According to newspaper accounts, Billy Smithers had been a high school sweetheart who suddenly reappeared in Darlene’s life during one of her early court appearances. Harry remembered the news reports. They had had a bit of a smirk to them. Old boyfriend becomes Darlene’s new beau. Smithers, he recalled, had seemed to revel in the notoriety of it all. Now, as he sat in the interrogation room, he seemed to be enjoying it all over again.

  “Look, it was never anything serious between Darlene and me. Not even back in high school. She was just, like, you know, the great-looking girl who put out.” Smithers finished off the comment with a cavalier shrug.

  He was in his late twenties, tall and lanky with chiseled features, long sandy hair, and a body that spoke of regular trips to the gym. Harry imagined that women would find him attractive, but there was a hint of arrogance in his eyes, and in his tone of voice, that would be off-putting to men.

  “So you dated her in high school because she had a reputation of being an easy lay,” Vicky said.

  “Yeah, that’s about it. I mean she was fun in other ways too. But the main reason was she was pretty free and easy about sex.” He grinned at Vicky as if offering some type of apology. “Look, I’m just trying to be honest here.”

  “We appreciate that,” Harry said. He wanted to keep the man talking.

  “So when you read the newspapers and saw the kind of trouble Darlene had gotten herself into, you weren’t surprised,” Vicky said,

  Smithers let out a short laugh. “Hell no. I wasn’t surprised at all. I mean that was what Darlene was all about. In high school there was a rumor that she was screwing one of her teachers.”

  “And so when you saw her on the news, you remembered how easy she was and decided to jump right back in,” Vicky pressed.

  Smithers twisted in his chair. “Well, yeah. I mean she looked pretty good on TV, you know. And I remembered how good she was … well, you know.”

  “In bed,” Vicky said.

  “Yeah.” He paused a beat. “Yeah, she was wicked in bed.”

  And you figured she didn’t have anybody taking care of her right then. Taking care of her in bed that is.”

  “Well, yeah, I guess that too.”

  “So you called her.”

  “No, actually, I went by her house. I mean I heard her husband had split, and like I didn’t have her number or anything. So I just dropped by.”

  “To be supportive,” Vicky said.

  “Yeah.”

  Harry had no idea where Vicky was going with the line of questioning, but he decided to let her run with it for the moment. Smithers had the feel of a clown to him, not a killer.

  “So how supportive were you?” Vicky asked.

  Smithers stared at her, a blank look on his face. “Well, you know.”

  “No, I don’t know,” Vicky snapped. “Tell me.”

  Smithers twisted in his chair again. “I just kind of offered her a shoulder. I mean I gave her what she needed.”

  “And what was that? Tell me, Mr. Smithers, what is it you have that every girl needs?”

  “Hey, what the hell is going on here? I mean, I’m just trying to help.” He glared at Vicky, and then turned to Harry. “Look, do I need a lawyer here?” His voice held both concern and anger now.

  “You think you need a lawyer?” Vicky said.

  “Where were you two nights ago?” Harry asked, stopping her.

  “I was at a Rays game at the Trop,” Smithers said.

  “Alone?” It was Vicky again.

  “Alone?” Harry said, letting her know he was doing the questioning now.

  “No, I was with two buddies. We go to every home game we can get to.”

  Harry picked up a pen and turned to a fresh page in his notebook. “I’ll need their names, addresses, and phone numbers,” he said.

  When Smithers left, Harry drew a breath and stared at Vicky for several moments.

  “I guess I went a little over the top,” she said at length.

  “Yeah, a little. What happened?”

  “He was just such a jerk.” She stared at the other side of the room, avoiding Harry’s eyes. “I saw so many guys like him when I was in sex crimes. The big studs, the guys who prey on every woman they consider vulnerable, and who assault or rape the ones who reject them.” She paused as if thinking about what she had said, analyzing it. “No, what really pissed me off is that I’ve dated creeps like that.” She shook her head as if dismissing past mistakes. “Sometimes a guy’s so good looking, or has such a great line of B.S. that it takes you awhile to see past it. Smithers is that kind of guy, and realizing it, just being in the same room with him, pissed me off.”

  Harry nodded. “It happens,” he said at length. “Next time use your anger … use it like a rapier not a bludgeon.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  At two o’clock Harry and Vicky were back in Rourke’s office.

  “First the good news,” Rourke said. “We’re getting a task force. Four detectives from this squad, and six uniforms we’re bringing up to work in plainclothes.” He paused and stared at Harry for a long moment. “Harry, you’ll be lead detective. But I gotta tell you, the brass didn’t want you as lead. You’re not popular upstairs, which
is something you know. And it’s mainly due to your big mouth.” He raised a hand, stopping any comment before it could be made. “They wanted Nick Benevuto. Their argument was that he’s senior to you in homicide, which is true. I said I wanted you. So my ass is on the line. You screw up and I lose a big chunk of it; you’ll wish you were never born.”

  Again, he held up his hand. “Now the bad news. Tarpon Springs P.D. is screaming that we came in and snatched a major case from them.”

  “That’s bullshit,” Harry said. “Vicky and I already had the case. They know that.”

  “Sure they do. But their chief sees all the media the sheriff is getting, while he’s just standing around with his dick in his hand.” He glanced at Vicky. “Sorry.”

  “That’s okay, cap, I’ve met the chief. It’s a lovely image. The man’s a fourteen-karat asshole.”

  Rourke gave her a long look. “Yeah, well anyway, the sheriff agreed to put two of his detectives on the task force and hold a little press conference this afternoon to announce the joint operation. It’s all politics, but we have to live with it.”

  “Should be a great press conference,” Vicky said. “Sort of a two-man circle jerk.”

  Rourke stared at her again, longer this time. “You’re talking about the sheriff, you know. Our sheriff.”

  “Goodness, what came over me,” Vicky answered.

  “How long have you worked with Doyle?” Rourke snapped. “Two days? And already I got this?”

  Harry fought off a smile. “Who are the two Tarpon dicks we’re supposed to take on?” he asked.

  Rourke looked at a note on his desk. “Bob Davis and Jerry Deaver.”

  “I know them,” Harry said. “The other cops call them thetwo D’s.” He offered up a small shrug. “They have the rep of not being very imaginative, but very thorough, so it could be worse.” Harry took out his notebook and wrote down the names of the Tarpon Springs detectives. “Who are the uniforms?” he asked.