“Probably by Daddy,” Harry interjected.
Lola nodded. “Probably. It’s not uncommon for parents to open their wallets when young adults get into trouble. But it’s usually just a Band-Aid, not a solution, to the underlying problem.” She read on, nodding her head as she did so. “Next we have a possession charge which was dropped when he agreed to cooperate with a police investigation of his supplier. Then we have a conviction for fraud, where one Robert Joseph Waldo fleeced a retired couple out of ten thousand dollars in a phony home improvement scheme. This one Daddy couldn’t buy him out of and he was sentenced to a year. Since then nothing.”
“His jail record shows he had some trouble inside,” Harry said. “I don’t have anything in writing on this—it’s all verbal from people in corrections. But according to them Bobby Joe accused two inmates of sexual assault. Claimed they attacked him in a laundry room where they were all working. But the accusations never went anywhere. Three other inmates supposedly witnessed the attack, but claimed they didn’t see anything, so it became Bobby Joe’s word against the two men. Corrections, of course, took the easy way out. The two assailants got hit with some minor administrative punishments, loss of privileges, that sort of thing, and Bobby Joe got placed in an isolation unit. Down the road it was probably a factor in his early release—he got out after doing six months.” Harry offered up a shrug. “The sheriff doesn’t like news stories about inmates getting buggered in his jail, and the word going around is that he pushed to get Bobby Joe out early after he agreed to keep his mouth shut. The sheriff knows Bobby Joe’s father, although I’m not certain how well, beyond the fact that there’s a picture of them shaking hands on a wall in the minister’s office.”
“And, of course, you’re thinking that Darlene Beckett escaped more serious charges because the victim, after an agreement was reached with his parents, refused to testify against her.” Lola extended one palm up. “It’s an interesting coincidence, Harry. But as a motive for murder it is very, very thin.”
Harry nodded. “As thin as it gets, but I have to start somewhere. What do you think of Bobby Joe as a suspect?”
Lola gave him a noncommittal shrug. “His background certainly points toward him being a sociopath, but I’d need harder evidence to put that label to him. From what you’ve told me I suspect that his father is quite domineering. That could very well be the root of his psychological problems, but again that would require analysis, perhaps even long-term analysis.”
“So I’ve got nothing,” Harry said.
“You have a suspect, Harry. That’s always something.”
When Harry returned to the office he found Anita Molari, the exotic dancer known as Jasmine, going through driver’s license photographs of the men who had visited Darlene’s home. She was seated in the conference room next to Pete Rourke’s office, which now housed the additional members of the task force. One of the newly assigned uniformed deputies sat across from her.
Harry placed a hand on the man’s shoulder. “Go grab some coffee,” he said. “I’ll take over for a while.” When the deputy left Harry gathered up the photographs. “Let’s move out to my desk,” he suggested. “I’m expecting some phone calls I don’t want to miss.”
Anita Molari was a different person away from the Peek-a-Boo Lounge. The last time Harry had seen her she was wearing only a thong and a see-through beach robe that put her very shapely body on open display. Today she was dressed in an oversized T-shirt and loose-fitting shorts that made her seem small, almost frail. Her short, dark hair was damp, as though she had rushed straight from her shower, and the vivid blue eyes Harry remembered from the Peek-a-Boo Lounge simply looked tired. She reminded him of the saying: Rode hard and put up wet.
“Do any of the photographs look familiar?” he asked, as they seated themselves at his desk.
“Not yet.” She looked at him, head tilted to one side. “I don’t really understand why it’s important for me to look at these pictures if you already know these guys were at Darlene’s house.”
“I want to know if anyone who visited her home might also have followed her to other places.”
“You mean like a stalker?”
“That’s right. Anyone who might have been obsessed with her, or who might have been stalking her because of something she had done to them, or to someone else.”
“Like that kid they said she molested?”
“That’s right.”
Anita gave a small shake of her head. “I never understood that. I always wanted to ask her how she could do something like that, but we never got close enough where I felt I could.” She gave Harry a questioning look as though he might know the answer. “I mean she was beautiful, really beautiful. There aren’t many women who look like that. And the way men stared at her …” She shook her head again, then shrugged. “I get those looks when I’m up on the stage, practically naked. Darlene would have got them if she walked in wearing a burlap bag. And you know something? She wasn’t a bad person. I don’t know if she was a good person. I mean I talked to her and all, but not that much.”
“But enough to know she wasn’t a bad person,” Harry said.
“Yeah, that’s right. Somehow it just doesn’t make sense.”
“Many things don’t.” Harry opened his notebook to the last page he had used and started to turn to a fresh one.
Anita leaned forward suddenly and pointed at the notebook. “You’ve got the name of a church written there. I’m sorry, I couldn’t help but see it … it just sort of jumped out at me.”
Harry looked at the notebook. The First Assembly of Jesus Christ the Lord was written in large capital letters and underlined. “What about it?” he asked.
“I know that church,” Anita said. “I mean from work.”
“How so?”
“One of their cars scratched mine in the parking lot.”
“The Peek-a-Boo Lounge lot?”
“Yeah.” She gave him a small shrug. “Whenever I park my car there, when I’m going to work, I write down the make, model, and license plate numbers of the cars on either side of me. I mean guys leave there pretty sloshed—hell, most of them get there pretty sloshed—and I want to be sure if somebody clips me I have a way to know who it was.”
“So you got clipped by a car belonging to the church?”
“I sure did.” She leaned forward. “I probably shouldn’t tell you this, but I got a friend of mine who’s a cop to run the plate. And it comes up belonging to that church. So I called there and eventually got to talk to one of the ministers.”
Harry felt a rush of excitement. “You remember his name?” Anita screwed up her face. “It was a funny name, real Southern. You know what I mean?”
“Bobby Joe?” Harry asked in return.
“Yeah, that’s it. Bobby Joe Waldo, I remember now.” There was a big smile spread across her face, and Harry thought it made her look like a schoolgirl who had just gotten a difficult question right. “It was funny. He was real nervous when he got on the phone, and when I told him where the car was parked and that I was one of the dancers who worked there, he was even more nervous. He said the head minister at the church would be real upset if he found out, and that he’d like to handle it privately, no insurance companies or anything, just to tell him what it cost to fix the car and he’d get the money to me.”
“Did he send you a check?” Harry asked.
“No. It was only a small dent, and he told me to get an estimate on how much it would cost to fix it. I did and called him back the next day and he had the cash delivered to me the day after that.”
“Who delivered the money?”
“I dunno. Just some guy. I was working days that week and he met me in the parking lot of the club like we had arranged. I remember thinking that I’d seen him before someplace, maybe the club. But I couldn’t be sure. Unless a customer asks me for a private dance I don’t pay much attention to individual guys.”
“Can you describe him?”
Anita wrinkled her brow. “Sure, I guess I can. Let’s see, he was tall, not real tall, more like you. But real thin; there wasn’t any heft to him at all. The thing I remember most was his hair and eyes. His hair was down to his shoulders and real light, kind of a fake blond, like maybe a dye job. It was the same with his eyes. They were sort of a cold blue, not really natural. They kind of made me wonder if he was wearing those tinted contact lenses.”
“How old?” Harry asked.
“Oh, maybe late twenties. At least that’s what I thought at the time.”
She had just described Bobby Joe Waldo, and it was a description that would be good enough for any jury. Harry kept that information to himself. He didn’t want to be accused later of prejudicing a witness.”
“Did he give you his name?”
Anita shook her head. “He just said Reverend Waldo had sent him and handed me an envelope with the money in it.”
Harry slowly nodded, digesting what she had told him. “I need you to hang around just a bit longer,” he said at length. “I want to put together a photo lineup—that’s just a handful of mug shots—so we can see if you can pick this guy out.”
Anita glanced at her wristwatch. “My kid doesn’t get out of kindergarten for another two hours, so I guess I’ve got time.”
Twenty minutes later Harry had eight photographs lined up on the conference room table—all men in their twenties, all with long, blond hair. Anita picked out Bobby Joe Waldo on her first try and Harry told her he might want to do a live lineup sometime in the near future. But not quite yet, he thought. First he would do some serious digging into Bobby Joe Waldo.
Pete Rourke pensively tapped the side of his nose as Harry gave him a rundown on Bobby Joe, his father, and the First Assembly of Jesus Christ the Lord Church. When he finished he warned the captain that down the road he might be asking a judge for a warrant to seize church records and to search Bobby Joe’s home, car, and personal effects.
Rourke leaned back in his chair and raised a warning finger. “Before you do that, you better be pretty damned certain what you’re gonna find. And I mean ninety-nine percent certain. This is still Florida, Harry, and asking a judge to sign a search warrant for a church or its minister is like saying you want him to piss in the holy water font.” Harry smiled at the image, making Rourke raise the cautioning finger again. “I mean it, Harry. Don’t take this lightly, or your ass will be in more trouble than you ever dreamed of.”
“I know, cap.” Harry conjured up Bobby Joe’s father sending forth a proverbial river of outrage.
There was a knock on the door, interrupting them. Vicky came right behind the knock, pushing the door open and stepping up to the desk. Jim Morgan followed her, seeming a bit nervous over the sudden intrusion.
“Sorry, cap, but you and Harry need to hear this right away,” Vicky said.
Rourke glared at her. When he spoke, his voice rose steadily in volume and ferocity with each word. “This better be damn good, detective. One of the joys of being a captain is having a private office that people cannot barge into when the goddamn door is closed and somebody is sitting in the goddamn visitor’s chair.”
Vicky was unfazed, Harry was grinning, and Morgan looked as though he wished he were somewhere else.
Vicky gave Rourke a little girl smile that almost broke Harry up. “Trust me, cap,” she said wide-eyed and innocent, “this is something you need to hear forthwith.”
Rourke narrowed his stare. “Speak,” he growled. “And make it good.”
Vicky extended a hand toward Morgan, who still looked like he wanted a place to hide. “Jim really deserves the credit on this,” she began. “Turns out he’s a wizard with computers.”
Rourke threw an unhappy eye at Morgan just to let him know that, wizard or not, he’d stepped in the same pile of shit that she had. Harry wondered if the eager young deputy saw his future in the detective division hanging on Vicky’s next words.
“Jim came up with the name of the person who signed out the cars that ended up in Darlene’s driveway,” she explained. “The records were altered so it looked like the sign outs were never recorded, but they were still in the hard drive and Jim was able to get them out.” She threw an admiring glance at Morgan. “I have no idea how.”
“The same person took both cars out?” Harry asked.
“You betcha,” Vicky said. “And hold on for this. It was one of the detectives working this case, Nick Benevuto.”
Rourke stared at her, then groaned out the words, “Oh, shit.”
Harry gave a small shake of his head, almost as if driving off some annoying insect. “When were the records altered?” he asked.
Vicky glanced at Morgan.
“The day the body was discovered,” he answered.
“Before or after the body was discovered?”
“After. It was done right after the end of shift,” Morgan said.
“So somebody changed the records the day after the murder and after the body was discovered,” Harry said, as he jotted the information in his notebook.
“That’s right.”
Rourke pulled a folder from his desk and opened it. “Benevuto was off duty the day Darlene was killed.”
Harry stared into space. “It doesn’t make sense,” he said at length.
“What doesn’t?” Rourke asked.
“Benevuto altering department records,” Harry said. “First, he couldn’t have known that we had a witness who took down one of our tag numbers until the second day after the murder, because that’s when we knew, that’s when our witness told Morgan that there was one plate number that he didn’t turn over to me. So what would prompt Nick to alter the records a day before there was even a hint that we might tumble to the fact that he’d been to Darlene’s apartment? Unless …”
“Unless he killed her and was covering up the fact that he knew her,” Vicky said.
Harry nodded slowly. “That’s right. And if he was the murderer why wait to cover it up until after the body was discovered? Why take the chance that someone would come across those records before he could change them?” Harry shook his head. “I just don’t see it. And I don’t see Nick as a realistic suspect.”
“Why not?” Vicky asked.
There was an edge to her voice that Harry picked up on. “Look, I can see Nick running into Darlene Beckett and deciding he wanted to try to get into her knickers. I can even see him taking the initiative and seeking her out for the same reason. Hell, there aren’t many women who Nick Benevuto would take a pass on and certainly not one as sexually appealing as Darlene.”
“But?” Vicky pressed.
“But while Nick may be many things, stupid isn’t one of them.”
“I’m not getting your drift,” Rourke said.
“My drift is simple, cap. Nick’s been a detective for a long time, and he’s pretty well known in the police community. Darlene was supposed to be on a short leash and she was being watched not only by the probation department, but by the prosecutor’s office and certainly by the media. If one prosecutor, one reporter, one anybody saw her with Nick, they’d be all over it.”
“Like flies on shit,” Rourke added.
“And Nick would know that. So I can’t see him getting heavily involved. A quick toss in the hay, sure, but nothing more. And for him to be the murderer, it would have to have been a lot more.”
“How so?” Vicky asked. The edge in her voice had become defensive now.
Harry softened his own voice. “If we’re thinking of Nick as a legitimate suspect, the only logical motive I can come up with is that he became seriously involved with Darlene; that he followed her from the Peek-a-Boo Lounge, caught her having it off with another guy, and killed them both in a jealous rage. And that just doesn’t make sense to me.” Vicky started to object but Harry raised a hand, stopping her. “I can see him altering records to hide the fact that he was seeing her, but I even have some trouble with that because of the time line.”
“So who al
tered the records?” Morgan asked. “Who else would have a reason to alter them?”
“Good question.” Harry shook his head. “It doesn’t make sense for anyone but Nick to have altered them. So we’ll ask him. One thing for sure, I don’t want him on the team anymore.”
“That’s a given,” Rourke said. “I’ll put him on restricted duty—duty unrelated to this case—until this computer records business is resolved. As of right now, the whole matter is in the hands of Internal Affairs.”
Harry winced. “I wish you’d hold off on IAD. I don’t need them climbing all over this investigation.”
“No can do, Harry,” Rourke said. “Whether you like it or not, IAD will be part of it until we know what happened to those records.”
Nick Benevuto looked more curious than concerned when he entered Pete Rourke’s office. Harry studied him closely, looking for a tell. As far as Harry could see, Nick had no idea what was coming.
Rourke laid it out slowly and deliberately, and with each sentence Benevuto’s face moved from mild embarrassment, to concern, to outright anger. But beneath it all Harry could detect fear as well.
“So I spent some time with her,” he said when Rourke finished. “Where’s the fucking crime?” He glared in turn at Rourke, Harry, Vicky, and Morgan. “It was purely business, and as far as anyone in this room is concerned, and for the record, I never laid a hand on her. If you’re looking at me as a suspect in her murder, you’re either desperate or you’re out of your fucking minds.” He turned his attention to Morgan and sneered. “And as far as your big theory goes that I altered department records, you listen up, junior. I wouldn’t know how to alter a fucking computer record. I know how to turn it on and type up a fucking report and that’s it. You don’t believe me, you ask my partner. We need anything done on a computer, he has to do it.”
The Dead Detective Page 14
