Imperfect Defense

by Gregg E. Brickman

  "At your service, Detective," Dr. Kasper said, his Canadian accent in full bloom.

  "What's the schedule for the exhumation of Lorraine Hoffman's body and the examination?"

  "I got the referral yesterday, and she is nice and tidy underground. What's the urgency?"

  Ray explained the situation with Ralph, his accusations about his grandson, and the political connections of the son-in-law, Franco Silebi. "It is further complicated by the fraud investigation the state is conducting and the fact there is a relationship between Silebi's firm—or his employee Rodney Dyer—and the homicide victim, Millie Peers. We need to find the links and resolve the cases. The mayor and chief are pushing hard for results. From the message I found on my desk this morning, the governor is also showing interest. Silebi was a big donor in the governor's last campaign, and though he didn't stop the fraud investigation, the governor wants fast action."

  "Give me a few minutes. I'll ring you back."

  Ray picked up the murder book for Millie. He considered each original suspect—Putt, Ironmonger, Dyer, Peers—then reviewed their data. Peers and Putt had iffy alibis. While Ray waited for information on the Lorraine Hoffman case, he'd try to tie up Peers' alibi for the time his mother was killed. Intuition told him Peers didn't kill his mother but rather her murder was connected to her association with Rodney Dyer. Still he needed to try again to run down Peers' location at the time of the murder.

  His desk phone rang. "Stone."

  "Hold the line for Dr. Kasper," a young-sounding female voice said.

  A moment later, Kasper announced himself. "We shuffled things around. The exhumation will happen this afternoon. My staff requested the medical records from the hospital and the doctor's office, and we will send a courier to pick them up. The examination of the remains will begin at seven tomorrow morning. I trust you will be in attendance."

  "Thanks, Doc. I appreciate it. Deg and I will be there." Ray committed Deg with a grin, knowing how much the big man hated the examination of exhumed remains.

  Deg had court appearances scheduled for most of the day, so Ray left him a voice message updating him on the Hoffman investigation. "Let me know when you're done." Ray wanted to strategize on the investigations with him and pursue the notion there was an intersection of the cases.

  Next, Ray called Wayne Peers, finding him at his mother's place. He headed out and arrived at the residence a few minutes later. Peers sat on the bench in front of the duplex with Scruffy in his lap.

  "Morning," Peers said. He put the dog down and stood. "Let's talk inside. The neighbors have enough to talk about without me contributing." He opened the door and led the way into the living room.

  Ray glanced in the kitchen on the way by and was surprised to find it spotless, as was the living room. "The place looks good."

  "You're surprised. Frankly, so am I. It's a shame it took my mother's death to wake me up."

  "How so?"

  "My mother came to Florida to try and get to know me. I took advantage of her. The least I can do in her memory is get my shit together." He sat at the dining room table. "Have a seat, Detective."

  "Tell me about getting your shit together, Peers."

  "I went back to AA and met an old employer from many years ago. He offered me a job in his hardware store on the condition I stay sober. I'm trying. Going to a meeting every evening. Staying away from the bars. Keeping myself busy cleaning and polishing this place and sitting with the dog. You're not here for a social call. What do you want to know?"

  "Do you have any more recollection of where you were the day your mother was killed?"

  "On my second sober day, I remembered there's a poker game every Wednesday and Thursday at AMVETS. I don't claim to remember playing, but I have on many occasions. The guys who play are the daily regulars."

  "The bartender didn't mention a poker game."

  "Doesn't surprise me. Sally keeps her mouth shut," Peers said.

  "What time does the poker game start?"

  "Around noon, usually. Depends if they have six or seven players."

  "Good to know. Did you happen to remember where you were from Wednesday evening until Saturday?"

  "No, but I remember finding myself in my car behind the Boots and Saddle Bar on the corner of Davie and Griffin." Peers tapped his fingers on the table, then stared at Ray's face. "Are you any closer to finding who killed my mother?"

  "We're continuing our investigation. We've eliminated some suspects and are looking at others."

  "Me included?" Peers said.

  "That's true." Ray stood. "Stay in town. I'll be in touch." He left and headed across town to AMVETS.

  He understood Sally not mentioning the game since old habits are ingrained. Bartenders usually keep quiet about anything of questionable legality. Therefore, he planned to time his arrival to coincide with a possible poker game. He stopped at a Burger King for lunch along the way, then parked in front of AMVETS at half past twelve.

  Ray entered the club, and Sally welcomed him with a nod. He responded in kind and headed toward the card table near the back of the room where seven older gents played. The club was more brightly lit than on his previous visit.

  "Gentlemen," Ray said, pulling up a chair.

  "We don't have room for you, son," one of the men said in a warm voice.

  "Don't want to play. I need to ask a few questions." He produced his badge and introduced himself.

  "Are you busting us for playing cards?" the same man said.

  "No, sir. Just questions." He looked at the man who acted the role of group leader. "What's your name?"

  "Fred Laughten."

  "Mr. Laughten, two weeks ago Wayne Peers' mother was murdered. It was on a Wednesday. Peers says he thinks he may have been playing cards at the time."

  Laughten looked puzzled. "The last time Wayne sat in with us? Let's see. It was a couple of weeks ago."

  "Think so," said the man on Laughten's right. "I don't remember the day. I know he was getting soused. Said he'd been fired that morning."

  "Do you recall how long he played?"

  "Don't know for sure, but he won the first three pots, then lost all his winnings. He borrowed enough for his bar tab. That's the last time I saw him."

  Ray thanked the men and left. Peers had an alibi for some of the window of time when his mother died. He claimed to recall awakening outside the Boots and Saddle, a cowboy bar in Davie, the Saturday after his mother's death. However, Ray wanted to verify the veracity of Peers' statements, so he headed south and pulled up to the address thirty minutes later.

  He entered the grungy establishment. Two battered pool tables sat toward the back of the large room. A woman in shorts so brief they showed her buttocks bent and stretched to make a shot, providing glimpses of her thong in the process. Her opponent, a clearly inebriated man of about forty, looked content to let her take her time, standing back and gawking at the display.

  A few tables ringed a dance floor, and a small platform held a set of drums, speakers, and a couple of stools. The bar itself stretched the length of the place. Four customers sat at one end. Two looked like they'd been there since early morning. The other two looked sober but meaning to change that as soon as possible.

  Selecting a stool midway down the bar, Ray signaled the bartender.

  "What'll you have, cop?" The voice sounded friendly, a mismatch with his words.

  Ray produced his badge. "Stone, Coral Bay PD."

  "What brings you down here?"

  "Information," Ray said.

  "Want a beer or something? We try to stay cop friendly in these parts."

  "No thanks." He pulled a headshot of Peers from his shirt pocket. "You know this guy."

  "Yup, I do. Terrible thing about his mother. Saw it in the paper last week."

  "Has he been here since then?" Ray said.

  "Last time I saw him was two weeks ago. Based on the article I read, he must have been here a day or so after she died."

  "Why do you r
emember that?"

  "He came in pissing about being fired. Which, by the way, was not unusual. This time it was worse. He spent a couple of days drinking himself into a stupor. Slept in his car behind the joint. The last night, would have been Friday, he passed out in here. I dragged him into the back and let him sleep until the place closed, then hauled his sorry ass to his car."

  "He claims he woke up behind your place Saturday morning," Ray said.

  "He did. I took his keys, so he had to wait for me to get in around eight to give them to him."

  Ray concluded the barkeep's answers supported Peers' partial recall of his drunken binge. There was one less person of interest on his shrinking list. Only Dyer remained, and he was on an airplane headed to Las Vegas during the murder.

  CHAPTER 32

  Ray

  Early Friday morning, Ray and Deg met the ME, Dr. Kasper, in the conference room of the medical examiner's office.

  Dr. Kasper stood in front of a display of X-rays hanging from illuminated view boxes. He pointed to the first film with his pen. "These are Lorraine Hoffman's films. Look at this light area on the humerus, the bone in the upper arm. New bone or callus is visible. The fracture was at least six weeks old when the woman died." He shifted his pointer to a bone in the lower arm. "This fracture to the ulna is obvious, you can see the gap, and the callus has not formed yet. This particular fracture is more recent."

  Ray scanned the display. Several other bones had breaks, visible white lines, or small gaps. "How many breaks can you identify?"

  "Twenty for certain. A couple more areas are questionable. We'll expose them during the postmortem."

  "What's your assessment at this point?" Deg said.

  "She had far too many fractures for them to be accidental, even with Alzheimer's. Some healed crooked, which tells me she didn't receive care. The woman had a very tough life."

  "You mentioned you were obtaining the records from the hospital," Ray said. "What did you learn?"

  "During her last admission, she arrived by ambulance after falling down a flight of stairs. The paramedics witnessed the victim at the bottom. The family stated they didn't try to move her. After she was admitted to the hospital, she was found to have injuries consistent with the fall."

  "Your expression says there is more to it." Ray said.

  "She had bruises on her upper arms. The nurses took photographs of the bruises." Kasper retrieved a large envelope. After settling into a chair, he opened the package, shuffled through the medical record until he found the pictures, then laid the tip of his index finger next to the bruise. "This portion looks like she was grabbed. And it occurred fairly close to the time of death. The bruise looks fresh."

  "Someone grabbed her arms." Ray felt sickened. Another helpless abuse victim.

  "And forcibly, I would say."

  "I don't understand why this wasn't reported at the time," Ray said, anger replacing the queasy feeling in his gut.

  Kasper rubbed a hand across his face. "Doctors are often hesitant to report abuse. It can be hard to prove and can take a lot of time away from their practices. The easier path is to not explore the possibility. In this case, the attending physician told me she knew the patient well, but didn't examine her in the hospital. Rather she accepted the report about the patient falling. Dr. Bhaduri thought the fall was a result of her confusion and combativeness. A reasonable assumption."

  "Could it have happened the way the doctor thought?"

  Kasper shrugged. "I think not. Too much damage." He stood. "Let's go look inside, shall we?"

  Kasper led the way to the examination room where Lorraine Hoffman's body lay on the stainless steel table in the middle of the room.

  Ray noted with relief that the room had exhaust fans clearing the air, however the stench was still palpable. He accepted a dab of Vicks from Deg and a surgical mask from Dr. Kasper. Both things helped—some.

  Kasper smiled as he tied on his own mask. "The secret, Detective, is not to inhale." He activated the digital recorder, positioned the microphone, and rattled off the identification data for the case.

  "The body hasn't decomposed as much as I expected," Deg said.

  "The undertaker did a good job. Then add an expensive casket and concrete vault. All of which is good for us today."

  Kasper dictated for the record as he worked. He identified fresh fractures on the femur, three ribs, the left arm, and the skull. The upper arms showed traces of bruises, extending all the way to the bone. "The grip on her arms was crushing. This wasn't someone hurrying a frail lady along. She was handled roughly."

  "I can see," Ray said.

  "Do you have a suspect?" Kasper said.

  "When the husband signed the release yesterday, he said their grandson, Gabe Silebi, picked her up by her arms and dropped her down the stairs. He also claims Gabe pushed him down the same steps last week."

  "The husband has to be old," Kasper said.

  "Eighty-five. Blind. Partially deaf. But the nurses said he was oriented, and I thought so, too. He answered all of my questions. He even agreed to a video of the interview."

  "Good move. At his age, he may not make it to court." Kasper backed away from the table and removed his mask. "Being picked up and dropped down the stairs is consistent with her injuries, but how does a blind man know that's what happened?"

  "He said he was holding her hand and felt her being lifted. She yelled and cursed the grandson, demanding to be put down. He says Gabe said, 'Bye, Grandma,' then Hoffman heard her hit the stairs."

  "Why didn't the husband report it sooner?" Kasper said. "It really isn't my business, but it's odd."

  "I thought that as well. I inquired. He said Gabe threatened to do the same to him if he said anything."

  Kasper looked at each detective in turn. "Is there anything else I can do for you?"

  "Just send us your findings and prepare for trial. We have enough for the arrest now."

  Ray and Deg left the building and headed north.

  "With Putt, Peers, and Ironmonger off the list, I'm convinced Dyer contracted for a hit on Millie," Ray said. "The first three would have done it themselves in anger or a robbery gone wrong. The only one with a higher-level motive is Dyer. He needed to keep her quiet and stop her from complaining to authorities. He was ripping her off, and she was smart enough to know it."

  "That's not new news," Deg said.

  "No, it's not. But who did the actual killing?"

  "Probably a hit by someone driving a black car. Didn't you tell me that Gabe Silebi has a black Camaro registered in his name?"

  "I did at that."

  "We need to find our hit man," Deg said as he started the Taurus.

  "Maybe Gabe did it." Ray felt sickened. "Maybe just because he enjoys beating up helpless people."

  ***

  "That was fast," Ray hung up the phone on his desk and shoved back the chair. "We can pick up the warrant for Gabriel Silebi's arrest." He looked at his watch. "That'll make it around two o'clock."

  "The suspect should be at work."

  "Wouldn't count on it. It's Friday, and I get the idea he's somewhat of a slouch." Ray stood and headed toward the door. He pulled his cell phone from his pocket and requested a patrol car to meet them at the South Florida Secure Financials' office.

  Deg followed. "I figure with the state investigators there all week poking around in their books, everyone should be front and center and trying to make the place look normal."

  "Perhaps. I hope you're right."

  Deg's car sat in front of the PD, so they climbed in.

  Less than five minutes later, he parked in front of the building housing the firm. They waited five minutes more for the uniforms, briefed the two officers, then took the elevator to the second floor.

  Ray approached the receptionist. "Call Gabriel Silebi, please." He held up his badge.

  "I know who you are." She punched a button on her phone, and waited. "Gabe, there are detectives here."

  The right side of
double doors behind the receptionist opened. Franco Silebi charged from his office. "Haven't you done enough to disrupt our lives? Now you're here again. The damn inspectors from the state just left. We need to get some work done and be left alone." His face was red and in need of a shave, and his shirt was wrinkled.

  "Mr. Silebi, we want to talk to your son." Ray considered Silebi's appearance. The stress was taking its toll. He'd seen the man in public several times over the years and never noticed a hair misplaced or a wrinkle in his clothing.

  "And why is that?" Franco said.

  A door at the far end of the hall opened. Gabe Silebi appeared. He glanced around the area, then slammed through the fire exit at that end of the hall.

  The detectives and uniforms followed. "Stop. Police." Deg's voice boomed and echoed in the stairwell.

  Gabe didn't stop or even slow down. A couple of seconds later, the street level door opened, and he ran into the parking lot with the detectives and officers in pursuit.

  One of the officers, a young man with a sprinter's body, ran around the slower moving men and tackled Gabe before he could reach the row of cars behind the building. Gabe struggled free, rising to his feet while swinging his fists. A couple of blows connected, and the officer went down.

  Ray and Deg stepped into position, cornering Gabe, who continued to strike out at them. Between the two detectives and the second officer, Gabe was unable to move. Ray quickly cuffed his hands behind his back.

  "Gabriel Silebi, you are under arrest for the murder of Lorraine Hoffman and the attempted murder of Ralph Hoffman. You have the right to remain silent." Ray continued with the Miranda warning. "Do you understand your rights?"

  "I didn't hurt them. It's a lie." Gabe's face contorted with anger. "I want my lawyer."

  "You'll have the opportunity to call one when we get you to the station."

  "Detective Stone," Franco said.

  Ray glanced in the direction of the voice. Franco left the building through the open fire exit door.