"Did she ever mention a tattoo?" Ray said.
"Grandma with ink describes her personality, but she did mention a tatt in passing." She laughed. It felt good. "Does it matter?"
Ray didn't laugh. "Adds layers of history and character." He sipped his beer. "The problem is the captain is pushing us to move the investigation along. Don't get me wrong, he wants Millie's murder solved, but he wants everything else done, too."
"Always the situation."
"It's questionable how long he'll keep both Deg and me on the case."
"Charming. The murder of a helpless elderly lady gets shoved to the bottom of the heap." Sophia took a deep breath, trying to contain her discouragement.
"Didn't say that."
"But you meant that." Another breath, then she finished her wine in one gulp. "Senior citizens get abused all the time."
"It's why we have laws." He looked defensive with his jaw set and his eyes screaming cop.
"The reason we needed legislation is because law enforcement didn't stay on-point with the issue. That's the history of it. It's more glamorous to investigate something or someone the public really cares about. Deep down, the populace doesn't give a damn about old people—each individual's relatives aside. Sometimes not even them."
"A bit harsh, don't you think?"
"Nope." Sophia rose to the debate, sharpening her voice. "There are plenty of articles online about suspicious deaths of the elderly rarely being investigated. And, elder abuse is a hidden national scandal."
"Give it a rest."
"Pardon me. I hate it when you tell me to shut up."
"Sophia, we will continue with the case, but we also have to balance our caseload. Don't lecture." He'd called her Sophia, which meant he was annoyed.
"Okay, okay. I'm sorry. I'm upset over Ralph and Millie. And Ralph's wife."
"Didn't she die?" he said.
"Yes, but her medical records document multiple admissions for falls and broken bones. Lots of notations about skin wounds and bruising."
"Didn't you say she had Alzheimer's? That could explain her injuries," he said.
"She had the disease, and people with dementia often fall. But that doesn't mean she should be broken to bits."
"No, it doesn't." He stood. "Let's watch the game with Branden."
She followed him inside while thinking she needed more information about all three situations—Millie, Ralph, and his wife Lorraine. Sophia could not stand by and let good people be mistreated.
CHAPTER 8
Ray
Ray's cell phone woke him at seven-fifteen on Saturday morning. He took a moment to glance around his Coral Bay condo's bedroom, getting oriented. "Detective Stone."
"Good morning, sir. This is Officer Taylor." His young voice was steady and controlled.
"Morning. What's up?" Ray was fully alert and swung his legs over the side of the bed.
"I've got Wayne Peers sitting in the vehicle with me. He arrived fifteen minutes ago, saw the crime scene tape, and ran to the Posers next door before I could stop him. He went inside their house, then came out and melted into a pile of drunken tears."
"Did you have any problem getting him into the car?"
"No, sir. He asked to sit here. Didn't want to go into the house."
"Take him into the station. Stick him in an interview room and give him some coffee. I'll be there in good time."
"You've got it."
While thinking it was about time Peers showed up, Ray disconnected the call, then dressed for work.
It was the day Branden planned to go to Tennessee. Since they couldn't drive up, Branden wanted to take advantage of the situation and fly there in time for the annual street festival. Ray agreed. It would make up for not taking the car trip as he'd promised.
He called Sophia, asking her to make the airport run, then went into Branden's room. "Son." He'd miss the young man during the summer, but he was looking forward to moving in with Sophia, too. He wanted to strengthen their relationship and make a home with her. Now that Branden had graduated high school, it was time.
Branden opened his eyes.
"Better get up. They are hauling my suspect into the station, so I need to go. Sophia will take you to the airport."
"What time's the flight?"
"Eleven. How about we grab breakfast at the deli, then I'll drop you at her house?"
His son got up. "Sounds good. Give me fifteen minutes to shower."
By eight, they were sitting in the deli near the Publix Supermarket.
***
A few minutes after nine, Ray parked the Honda in the police lot, took the back entrance to the second floor, and headed toward the break room and coffee. He found Taylor brewing a fresh pot and decided to wait for it rather than drinking a cup of sludge from the other machine.
"That for Peers?" Ray pointed.
"Yes, sir. Figured it was cruel to give him motor oil to drink right after learning his mama died."
"Make sure there's enough caffeine in it."
"There's plenty." Taylor removed the carafe and placed a Styrofoam cup under the basket. When he finished, he filled Ray's mug.
"Thanks. Where is he?"
"In three. Want to take his coffee along?"
Ray grabbed it, then took his time walking down the hall, sipping from his own cup, and considering his approach. He entered the small, grim room.
Peers sat at the table, but not in the suspect's chair, choosing instead one that was not bolted to the floor.
Ray decided not to ask him to move.
"Who are you?" Peers said, blinking his bloodshot eyes.
"Detective Stone." He set the coffee in front of Peers and dropped packets of sugar and powdered creamer on the table next to the cup before taking a seat. "I'm sorry for your loss."
"Thanks." He took his time preparing his coffee, then sipped three or four times. "What happened to my mother? Poser said she was murdered."
"For the moment, let me ask the questions. I'll answer yours when I've finished."
Peers blinked and nodded.
The wiry man matched his pictures, except he looked more weathered. His short brown hair appeared dirty, as did his face and clothing. His wire-framed glasses listed to the left, suggesting he'd slept with them on.
"Where have you been for the last two days?" Ray said.
"I was afraid you'd ask that." Peers looked confused, blinking several more times, then shifting his gaze around the room. "I don't actually know."
"Tell me what you do know."
"I got fired Wednesday morning. It was day work, but I was fired just the same. I went to the bar."
"What bar?" Ray said.
"I didn't go there right away. It wasn't open. I went to the Denny's for breakfast—didn't want to go back home and listen to more shit from the old lady about being fired. I mean my mother." He paused, looking thoughtful. "Then, around eleven, I went to AMVETS. Stayed there all day."
Ray knew the veterans' post Peers mentioned had a closed membership and open bar. "When did you leave?"
"When they started their dart tournament. I went to Bob's on Wiles. Anderson came in, we drank together, then I went home for dinner. Ma's door was closed, so I didn't bother her. I went out again."
"Did you talk to anyone in particular at AMVETS?"
"The bartender. She knows me. I go in there a lot," Peers said.
"What's her name?"
"Maybe it was Sally. Could have been Sally."
"Where'd you go when you left home after dinner?"
"Back to drinking, I guess. Don't know for sure. I woke up this morning in the car outside a cowboy dive in Davie."
"Which one?"
"Boots and Saddle."
"Where were you from Wednesday night until this morning? That's almost sixty hours."
"I have no idea. Don't know. Don't remember. Don't care."
Convenient excuse, Ray thought. "Tell me about your relationship with your mother."
"Dear sweet
Mama." Peers scowled. There was no sign of tears.
"Continue." Ray glared at Peers, hardening his voice.
"It's this way, Detective." He sat straighter. "My mother and I had a rather rocky history. She went femalis-extremis when I told my father to stick it in his ass and walked out of the house in Jersey. Quit college. Joined the Army. Years later, she reevaluated her position, having come to understand my father was a jerk-off."
"Femalis-extremis? Which means?"
"She demonstrated extreme female behavior—crying, begging, threatening, then supporting the old man. We were out of contact for several years. I went to Jersey to visit her a couple of years back. Stayed in a hotel. Avoided the old man."
"You reconciled with her to the point you moved into her duplex. Explain about that."
"Damn, things change. Drank too much booze, lost too many jobs, and had too little money. I didn't want to, but I would have been on the street otherwise."
"How were you two getting along?"
"Fine. I came and went as I wanted. She closed her bedroom door a lot and didn't bother with me all that much. We ate together once in a while. She was a good cook. Sometimes I'd help her drop off the things she collected from people."
"Did you disagree? Argue?"
"I argued with her every time I saw her face. She always had a cause—or several causes. Mixing it up. Trying to make things right. In her opinion, I was wrong, and she needed to fix me. I planned to move as soon as I could."
"Why were you driving her car?"
"Hell, my old van croaked last week. Beyond repair. She let me take hers on the condition I wouldn't drink and drive."
"That didn't go well. Are you going to keep the apartment now? Do you inherit from her?"
"That's an interesting question. The truth is I don't know. I'm an only child, but not a beloved one. The old man disinherited me when I joined the Army. I don't know what she did about that. I can't afford the place beyond the end of the month if she didn't leave me something. Guess I'm headed for a bench."
Ray wondered if Peers was lying. "Did you ever strike her?"
"Nah. Wanted to more than once." His tone rang true.
"Did you kill her?"
"Nope. Needed a place to live. That's all, so I tolerated her." Peers held up a hand, making a loose fist. "I suppose somewhere under the layer of shit, I loved her, too. She was trying her best to make it up to me."
"What can you tell me about your mother's relationship with your father?"
"The old man was a bastard. Hard to get along with. She wasn't much better most of the time. They fought."
"Did he smack her around?"
"Not while I was there. After I left," he shrugged, "who knows? I never asked. She never said."
Ray concluded that Peers was a cold bastard, maybe guilty of murder, but probably not. On the list, but not in the top slot any longer.
After spending another hour rehashing the already covered territory and learning nothing significant, he answered Peers' questions about the crime, and sent him away with an admonition to stay local.
***
Ray found Millie's sister, Alice Downs, in the lobby of the La Quinta Inn. She'd picked a private grouping of chairs in the far corner, and he surmised that meant she was comfortable talking there and not in her room.
"Ms. Downs?"
"Yes, sir."
"I'm Detective Stone. Thank you for coming to Florida."
Ray picked a chair facing her. He was struck by Downs' appearance. She looked like the picture of Millie he'd found in the duplex. "I'm sorry for your loss."
A fleeting, far away expression swept across Downs' face. "She's my twin. Identical. I can't imagine my world without her in it." She dabbed at a tear with a tissue. "I apologize. I need to stay focused. I have forever to dwell on my grief."
He nodded.
"We were very close. When she left for Florida to try and reconnect with Wayne, I was heartbroken. But she was true to her promise. We spoke every day, several times most days. It was almost like she was home. Then we learned how to use Skype, and that was even better."
"My mother asks that I call on Skype, too. She likes to see my face, says it makes a connection for her."
"And rightly so." She frowned, deep furrows creasing her forehead. "Can you tell me any more about Millie's death?"
"Our investigation is ongoing, and it's still early. Your nephew showed his face this morning, and we were able to interview him."
"My heavens, you don't think Wayne killed her, do you?"
"Family members are always high on the suspect list," Ray said.
"Like the television programs, I guess."
"In any event, we'll be backtracking his alibi for the time of death, then we'll go from there. I suspect he was drunk and doesn't have a clue what happened to his mother. But, you never know. What can you tell me about him?"
She squeezed her lips together. "Wayne's father had no use for him. Not really. Picked on him all the time, but wasn't physical about it. Wayne was a scrawny child who got bullied. He made up for it by being smarter, studying harder, that sort of thing. When he had the last blow up with his father, he was almost finished with a masters in philosophy. He left everything and joined the Army. Came out a drunk twenty years later and never did anything about it. However, Wayne has always been a tough person to deal with."
"He said the same thing about his father."
Downs' laugh sounded soulful and sad. "Millie's husband, my brother-in-law—John was his name—was a piece of work."
"How so?"
"He was a motorcycle gang member who got religion." She paused. "It was about the time Millie got pregnant with Wayne. She decided to do the right thing and became Miss Susie Housewife. Stopped using drugs, quit smoking, didn't drink, and learned to cook. I taught her, in fact. At first, John protested. He didn't want the kid, wanted Millie to fix it, but she refused. The next thing we knew, he joined a fundamentalist church, bought into the doctrine, and insisted she marry him."
Ray leaned his head back and stared at the ceiling, then rubbed his neck, trying to relieve the stress. "Millie showed evidence of numerous fractures. Can you enlighten me?"
"She met John in the fifties, went on the road with him and his buddies. She never talked much about those years. I know it was a violent time for her. In the mid-sixties, she flew off the bike and suffered many fractures—pelvis, leg, ankle. John had a moment of good sense and brought her home to New Jersey. She didn't go along after that."
"The medical examiner said some of her fractures were more recent."
Downs grimaced. "When John was a biker, he'd knock her around. She said it was a biker thing, and she'd be okay. After he got religion, he had a whole new reason to beat her silly. Said he was exerting his husband's prerogative to punish his wife. The last time he exerted his godly privilege, he broke her arm and jaw."
"Why did she stay with him?"
"Don't know for sure. Can't say. I asked her a time or two and all she said was, 'I made my bed.'"
"My fiancée knew Millie from walking the dog and sitting on her porch."
"Sophia?"
"Yes."
"Millie was very fond of her. I think she felt grandmotherly to her in a way," Downs said.
"Sounds about right. Sophia said Millie was a crusader. Always talking about the things she was going to make right in the world."
"Millie started changing about the time Wayne left home and joined the service. John was still a bastard, but she ignored him. Then he had a heart attack and never fully recovered. The good thing was he didn't have the strength to beat her anymore. However, he wouldn't let her pursue her causes, either. His death set her free."
"Your sister had an odd-looking scar on her right hip, positioned a bit forward. Like a tattoo had been there."
"She had the darn thing taken off? I didn't know." Downs' expression was pensive. "It was a small one. Jesus on a Harley. She got it after John found religion, then pounde
d on her anyway." Downs laughed. "The funny thing about it was that John was so taken aback by the image that he quit wanting sex with her. Millie thought it worked fine."
"Why'd she get it removed?"
"Don't know for sure. I don't think she liked it. It was the most offensive thing she could find at the time. Millie believed his conversion to religion was another way to have power over her in a manner he justified as legitimate."
"Did Wayne pound on her, too?"
"No, she'd have told me. Somewhere along the way, Millie grew a backbone. I don't know why she didn't use it to escape the bastard she married."
Ray rubbed his chin with a forefinger. Downs had reinforced his opinion that Wayne was an unlikely suspect. "What can you tell me about Millie's finances?"
"That's the one good thing about John—could be why she hung around—he left her well set. She had annuities and savings both, then her teacher's pension, and Social Security."
"We noticed she's been making withdrawals from her annuities. Do you know anything about that? Was she giving money to Wayne?"
"She mentioned that she was reorganizing her funds. I think she didn't find the agent she used here to be all that helpful. She wasn't specific, but mentioned having concerns. What she said to me was she'd move what she could to other companies herself." After a moment, she continued, "And she wasn't giving money to Wayne. Thought he'd drink it up. She did offer to pay for rehab, but, true to form, Wayne refused."
"We'll have to dig further." Ray considered what he'd heard. Perhaps Millie thought her financial rep was stealing from her. "Do you know if she had a will?"
"Yes. I'm the executor, and I brought it with me. I thought you'd like to see it, so I made a copy for you." Downs dug into the satchel next to her foot, extracted a plain envelope, and handed it to Ray. "She was trying to arrange it so Wayne had fallback funds, but not so much money he'd drink himself senseless."
"So there's no big pay day for him."
"No. A limited, consistent income. When Wayne dies, the balance goes to a couple of her charities."
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