“What kind of errand?”
The vibe got worse.
“I dunno. He didn’t say.”
“What did he want you to do?”
“He never told me.”
“What kind of work did you do for the victim?”
He looked around the room. Anywhere, but at the detective.
She waited.
“Oh, this and that. Run errands and stuff.”
“What kind of errands?”
“Like I would bring his lunch from the food court sometimes.”
“And—”
“Fill his car with gas, and get it washed, and like that.”
“And what else?”
“And that’s all.”
“How long you worked for Smoot?” Kelly asked.
“About six months, maybe.”
“You must have some idea of what he wanted you to do today.”
“Nope. I dunno.” He shrugged.
“Did anything strange happen to him about a week ago?”
The guy shrugged. “What you mean?”
“Like did he get mugged?”
“Oh, that. Yeah. And his office got burglarized. He had to buy all new computers and shit last week. New cellphones too.”
The detective questioned him a few minutes more but got nothing. She took his contact information and went back to the crime scene.
She and Bigs and the CSIs processed the apartment most of the day Monday. Fingerprints, fibers, blood spatter, drains from the kitchen and bathroom.
“Bigs, you find a computer?”
“Nah. And no tablet and no cellphone, either. You think he kept them at his office?”
“Maybe. But still you would think he would have a computer at home too, right?”
“And no keys. I didn’t find any keys. Why would the killer take his keys?” Bigs asked.
“Maybe he wanted to get into Smoot’s office, or car, or something else?”
“The guy who forced the door was almost certainly the murderer. I’ll take an impression of the marks left by the pry bar.”
There were no security cameras in the apartments. The two detectives canvassed the tenants, but no one had seen or heard anything unusual other than the manager.
Monday afternoon, Kelly and Bigs sent uniforms to seal the doors to McCrary’s condo and office until they could get search warrants.
#
Kelly, Bigs, and the CSIs hit the Everglades Mall office Tuesday morning. Mall security let them in.
Smoot’s office looked pretty normal at first glance. When the CSIs processed the back room, they found blood spatters on the wall near the file cabinet and a couple more on Smoot’s chair.
The CSIs found lots of fingerprints. Kelly hated that part. The fingerprint dust stuck to everything: hands, shoes, pants, hair. I’ll have to wash my clothes twice when I get home.
She knew it would take CSI a couple of days to identify all the prints. A lot of them would be Chuck’s. No, I can’t think of him as Chuck anymore, she thought. He’s a suspect. They will find McCrary’s prints all over the office.
Chapter 65
Lieutenant Weiner’s office called Kelly late Wednesday morning. The autopsy was complete.
The ME was a brown-skinned woman in her forties. She had a red dot painted between her eyebrows, so Kelly assumed she was Indian.
The gold earrings and necklace go well with her skin color, Kelly thought. And I would kill to have hair like hers. I’ll bet she never needs to use conditioner.
Lieutenant Weiner waved the detectives over. “Doc, have you met Kelly Contreras and Arnie Bigelow?”
The ME shook hands. “I’m Dr. Anandi Mahajan. Call me Annie.”
She looked at her notes. “Time of death was between 11:00 p.m. Sunday night and 4:00 a.m. Monday.” She handed Kelly two evidence bags containing the two .45 caliber shells she’d pulled from the body. The detective signed for them.
“Both shells hit the victim in the stomach from close range, about three feet. The bullet holes were three inches apart. He was shot through his shirt; we found trace of the shirt fabric in each wound. The victim had numerous bruises and contusions and a broken right hand, all about a week old.”
“Could it have been a mugging?”
The MI shrugged. “If so, he fought back. He had cuts and bruises on the knuckles on both hands.”
#
Wednesday, Kelly and Bigs executed search warrants on McCrary.
They hit his home first. Diane Toklas met the detectives there and opened the gun safe. They put his weapons into evidence bags. None were .45s.
A search of the basement storage rooms for McCrary’s condo yielded nothing of interest.
#
By Thursday, the CSIs had identified the fingerprints from Smoot’s apartment.
“A lot of prints from McCrary,” Kelly commented as she looked at the report. “It looks like maybe McCrary searched Smoot’s place. What do you think, Bigs?”
“Yeah. Did Chuck tell you he’d been in Smoot’s apartment?”
“No, but in all fairness, I did Mirandize him before he finished telling me his story. Still, I have a bad feeling about this.
#
Diane Toklas unlocked the door to the McCrary Investigations office and stepped back as Kelly Contreras and Bigs Bigelow pulled on rubber gloves. Kelly gave a pair of gloves to Diane. “You better put these on too.”
Kelly gestured to Bigs. The giant detective removed the seals and led the group into the conference room.
Kelly glanced around. “There’s nothing here we need, Bigs. Just take still pictures of all four walls and the furniture to show we looked.” She pointed to the ceiling at one corner. “Make sure you get a picture of that video camera.”
As Kelly opened the adjoining door to Chuck’s office, Bigs raised his camera and started clicking.
She glanced inside the office. “Jerry,” she said to the police videographer, “record everything in this office in place, including that other video camera up there.” She pointed. “We’ll be checking the back storeroom before we do this office.”
She stood out of the way while Jerry videoed Chuck’s office. “You done?”
“Got it.”
Kelly crossed the office and entered the storeroom. It contained an empty coat rack, a metal supply cabinet, a set of metal shelves, and two file cabinets. She opened the supply cabinet. “Nothing relevant here, Bigs. Just take a still photo of the shelves.” She opened both doors wide for her partner to photograph. When he finished, she closed the cabinet doors.
She stepped back and saw a black metal box with a greenish-yellow display sitting on top of the metal shelves. Kelly looked at Diane, who had followed her into the room. “Is that where the security cameras are recorded?”
The attorney shrugged. “What you see is what you get.”
Kelly turned to Bigs. “Let’s take the DVR with us. Bag it.”
Kelly turned to Chuck’s attorney. “Diane, you got keys to the file cabinets?”
“Yeah. I’ll unlock them.”
Rifling through the file drawers, Bigs said, “I don’t see any file with Smoot’s name on it.” Diane shrugged. Bigs took the files into evidence anyway.
Back in Chuck’s office, the homicide detectives bagged his computers and two cellphones.
Bigs asked, “You got keys to the desk too?”
Wordlessly, Diane unlocked the desk and stepped back.
Kelly started with the top left drawer. Her spirits fell even farther. “Jerry,” she called to the videographer, “come video this before we move anything.” A Craftsman pry bar lay diagonally in the drawer. She knew at a glance it would match the marks on Smoot’s apartment door. “Bigs, you’d better bag this.”
She opened the next drawer and stepped back while the videographer recorded everything. Kelly removed a Smith & Wesson Governor model revolver, .45 caliber, with two empty cartridges in the cylinder. She handed it to Bigs, who smelled the barrel.
&
nbsp; “It’s been fired recently and not cleaned.”
“Figures.” Kelly frowned. “Bigs, Chuck—no—McCrary was a good cop; he wouldn’t fire a weapon and put it away without cleaning it.”
“Maybe he was in a hurry.” Bigs put a hand on Kelly’s shoulder. “Kelly, we have to run the ballistics.”
Kelly looked at Bigs towering a foot above her. She wiped her eyes. “And we both know what they’ll show.”
Chapter 66
“Chuck, it’s Grandpa. Grandma and I are coming to see you in a couple of days.”
Chuck put the phone on speaker. “Grandpa, I’ll be busy investigating my case. I don’t have time to entertain you and Grandma. And I don’t know if they’ll let me back into the condo by then.”
“We’re not coming for you to entertain us. And don’t worry about the condo. We can afford a hotel. We’re coming because you’ll need our support when you get arrested.”
“What makes you think I’m going to be arrested?”
Grandpa laughed. “Get real, son. Grandma and I don’t live in a cave. We get news feeds from Port City any time the local news mentions Carlos McCrary or Chuck McCrary. We know all about the Franco case and the Ted Smoot thing. At least we know everything that was in the paper or on the Internet. We discussed it with your mom and dad. And your mother called your abuela in Mexico. Somebody from the family has to come and we’re retired. No argument—we’re coming.”
“I’d love to have you, Grandpa, but there’s nothing you and Grandma can do to help me. You don’t need to come. I’ll be okay.”
“Nonsense,” Grandpa said. “If nothing else, we’ll babysit that boy you’ve taken in. Your grandma will love someone new to cook for. And we’ll cook your breakfast and evening meals. That’ll save you time. And I’m a real good listener—much better than Grandma.” He laughed. “She’s a better talker, but you know that. Besides, we’re retired. We’ve got nothing but time on our hands.”
Chuck might as well have tried to stop the Mississippi River on its way to the Gulf of Mexico.
Chapter 67
Clint sprinted ahead of Chuck down the boardwalk. He had spent two nights with Snoop and his wife Janet until the PCPD released Chuck’s condo. He didn’t seem any worse for the experience.
Chuck picked up the pace to catch him. They’d put in four miles. Clint’s legs were as long as Chuck’s and he was in good shape now.
Chuck couldn’t catch him. It was the first time Clint had outrun him.
When he hit the end of the boardwalk, Clint pulled up. He turned to face his mentor, grinning ear to ear. “What’s the matter, old man? Can’t keep up?” He did a little Muhammad Ali shuffle.
Chuck gave Clint a high five. “This red letter day deserves a celebration. How about some ice cream?”
They stepped up to a beach kiosk. “Fudge Ripple and Walnut Crunch please, in a waffle cone,” said Clint.
“I’ll take a Peanut Butter Flip with Vanilla ice cream.” Chuck reached in the pocket of his sweat pants and pulled out a wad of bills.
Clint took a bite of his cone. “First time I ever beat you.”
“That’s a big deal.” Chuck gave him another high five. “I knew the day would come. I’m glad to see it.”
Clint looked surprised. “Why, man? I beat you.”
“Because I’m proud of you. Of what you’ve become.”
He took another lick. “And what have I become, Chuck?”
“Oh, that’s a profound subject for a definite philosophical discussion. Probably not appropriate while we’re having a male bonding experience.”
“Is that what we’re having here, a male bonding experience?”
“Definitely.”
“And I thought we were just having ice cream.” Clint grinned. “Oh, yeah, I feel the bonding kicking in right now.” He licked his cone. “But I beat you good, didn’t I?”
“You well and truly did.” Chuck clapped him on the shoulder. “You beat me like a drum.”
Clint laughed and did another Ali shuffle. They wandered toward a bench on the boardwalk.
“You see that chick over there?” Clint gestured with his cone.
Chuck nodded. “Couldn’t take my eyes off her if my life depended on it.”
“How old you reckon she be—she is?”
“Twenty-five, twenty-six. Whaddya think?”
“That would be my guess.” Clint turned to the older man. “Why don’t the girls my age take off they tops? I never see no teenage titties on the beach. Why is it just the older ones?”
“Why don’t you ask Terry?”
“I think I will ask Terry.” He pronounced it “ask” instead of “ax.”
There’s a first time for everything, Chuck thought.
They finished their ice cream and tossed their napkins in a bin. Chuck picked up an extra napkin that had missed the bin.
Clint picked up a couple too, following Chuck’s example.
Chuck said, “Let’s start walking back.”
They walked in silence for a hundred yards.
“Clint, I expect to be arrested for murder soon.”
“I know. You warned me about that.”
“You can’t stay in my condo without adult supervision. You don’t have a car or a driver’s license. And too many people, cops and others, know you’re there. Someone would squeal to DCF and they would make you go back into foster care.”
“I kinda figured that. You taking me back to the warehouse?”
“God, no. My grandparents are coming to visit. They’ll take the other guest room. When I get arrested, they’ll take you to school—all that good stuff.”
“You asked them to come stay with me?”
“No. They called me yesterday and announced they were coming. In my family, you don’t have to ask for help. They just do it.”
Chapter 68
An unmarked car pulled into the visitors’ parking lot. From his fourteenth floor balcony, Chuck couldn’t make out the faces of the two people who got out of it, but one of them was huge and, from the sheer bulk of the man, Chuck knew it was Bigs Bigelow. The other one had to be Kelly.
A black-and-white pulled in behind the unmarked car, its lights sending spears of blue and red streaking across the other cars in the lot. Two uniforms got out and formed up behind Kelly and Bigs. They all looked up at the balcony.
Chuck waved at them.
No one waved back. Bigs just shook his head.
Chuck speed-dialed Abe Weisman. They had prepared for this. “It’s time. They’ve come to arrest me.”
“I’ll meet you down at the precinct.”
In less than two minutes, Chuck heard a knock on the door. Kelly and Bigs came in with the two uniforms.
“Carlos McCrary, you are under arrest for the murder of Theodore P. Smoot. You have the right to remain silent…”
Chuck listened to Kelly recite the Miranda warning for the second time. He turned and placed his hands behind him. It was the first time he’d been handcuffed since police academy training.
He hadn’t liked it then, and he didn’t like it now.
#
Kelly drove straight into the police garage. No perp walk. Abe had connections all over Port City and, apparently, Chuck still had a few friends in the police department.
Abe met Chuck in the interview room. “Detective Contreras, I have instructed my client not to answer any questions.”
Abe had arranged bail with the prosecutor. Within two hours, Chuck was fitted with a tracking anklet, and Abe drove him home.
A television news van was parked on the street in front of Chuck’s condo when they pulled up.
“Approximately three hours ago, private detective Carlos McCrary was arrested…” The blonde reporter spoke breathlessly into a television camera.
Chuck rolled his eyes. Thank goodness my building has security or they’d be knocking on my door.
#
Chuck shook hands with Clint and collapsed on the couch.
“Can I get you something, Chuck?”
“I’m good. I’m gonna call Terry.”
Her phone rang twice and went to voicemail. That means that her phone was on, and she had time to see who was calling. She refused to take my call.
Ever the optimist, Chuck left a message. “It’s Chuck. I’m out on bail. I’d sure like to hear your voice or talk to you or something. Please call.”
#
Clint sat with Chuck on the balcony. They hadn’t said much. There wasn’t much to say.
Chuck’s phone whistled—a text from Terry.
Terry knew Chuck didn’t like texting. He’d told her that texting should be used for a simple conveyance of information to confirm an appointment or send an address or phone number to someone. It was a sterile one-way communication to someone you didn’t want to talk to.
Yet Terry had sent him a text instead of returning his call. The medium is part of the message, he thought. She doesn’t want to talk to me.
“Is it from Terry, Chuck?”
He nodded.
Clint put his hand on Chuck’s shoulder.
Chuck knew the substance of the message before he read it. Chuck, this is no fun anymore. I have mailed back your condo key. Please mail me mine. Good luck with the trial and good luck with Clint. Terry.
He handed the phone to Clint, then clasped his hands and leaned over his knees, sobbing.
#
The next day, Clint and Chuck were waiting in the parking lot when Chuck’s grandparents arrived.
“Magnus and Barbara McCrary, may I present Clint Watkins?”
“Pleased to meet you, Mrs. McCrary, Mr. McCrary.”
While Chuck’s grandfather shook Clint’s hand warmly, his grandmother grabbed Clint in a bear hug. “Clint, you’ll call us Grandpa and Grandma. All Chuck’s friends call us that.” She held him by both shoulders and looked him up and down. “My, but you’re a handsome young man. Okay, let’s go up and get settled.”
It looked like Chuck wouldn’t have to put Clint in the Port City Prep dormitory yet.
Chapter 69
Two weeks later.
Double Fake, Double Murder (A Carlos McCrary, Private Investigator, Mystery Thriller Series Book 2) Page 17
