Speaking for the Dead

by Bill Craig

  “You read it first. I’ve gone through the sexual assault complaint and I’m currently searching the system for one Germaine Ellis, the boyfriend of record,” Moseby told her.

  “Did she name anybody in the complaint?”

  “A guy named Chester Wilkins. It was from back in her college days. If he was holding a grudge, it’s a damned old one.”

  “Yeah, but you never can tell.”

  “I know.”

  “We’ll give it an hour, and then I figure we need to eat. We kind of skipped lunch today,” French told him.

  “Yeah, we did. An hour sounds good. Then food and we will decide if we need to go get some rest,” Moseby agreed.

  “That sounds absurdly like a plan,” French grinned at him.

  “It does, doesn’t it?” Moseby said.

  After his workout, he had showered and dressed to go out. It was Friday night after all. He was still riding high from the kill and he wanted to celebrate, to dance and sing and drink with people who had no idea who he was or what he had done. Not to forget it no, but to see if he could find a girl worthy of being next. Bern’s Steakhouse on South Howard Avenue sounded good. A nice steak rare and bloody was what he was craving now.

  “According to her diary, Sunny broke things off with Germaine Ellis about two months ago,” Lucy French said, putting the book down and rubbing her eyes.

  “Some guys don’t like being told it’s over. Maybe Germaine is that type,” Moseby leaned back in his chair.

  “What did you find on Chester Wilkins?”

  “He was a frat boy that thought buying her a drink meant she would go all the way. She apparently kicked him in the balls and he came after her with a knife. By that time the cops were there and he went to jail.”

  “A knife, eh. Our boy’s weapon of choice. Interesting. Anything about his current location?” French asked.

  “No, he’s stayed out of trouble at least in Florida,” Moseby replied.

  “Are you going to widen the search?”

  “I already have, now I’m waiting on results.”

  “I’m starving. Let’s go grab some chow and take a break, look at it all with fresh eyes when we come back?”

  “Sounds good, Lucy. Where you want to eat?”

  “How about Berns? I could use a steak dinner about now.”

  “Bern’s, it is then,” Moseby said as he stood and pulled on his sports coat. Together they headed for the door.

  By six o’clock most of the rush hour traffic was home, but there were still plenty of cars on the road. The sun was just starting its descent into the western sky. The air had cooled a little but not by much. A good breeze was blowing in off the bay. Moseby kept the air conditioner running as he drove. The Florida heat was something that a person had to get used to. It wasn’t like heat anywhere else.

  Salsa music was playing on the car radio, muted down to a low level so they could still hear calls on the police band. French’s stomach growled loudly, causing him to grin. “Don’t you dare say a word, just feed me,” French glared at him.

  “Yes, Ma’am,” Moseby replied as they turned into the restaurant’s parking lot.

  Bern’s was busy and they had to stand and wait for seats. Finally, they were escorted to a table and their order was taken. The server brought French a glass of wine and Moseby a beer. “So, what do we do next?” French

  asked.

  “We see if the computers have come up with anything more on Chester Wilkins, or Germaine Ellis,” Moseby replied.

  “Yeah, the clock is really ticking on this one. You know the saying; most murders are solved in the first 48 hours. After that, the chances of clearing them diminish hourly.”

  “True, but even detectives have to eat. Not putting fuel in the body makes us operate with less effectively. Makes us less efficient. So, sure, the clock is ticking but we still have to be able to function to be effective.”

  “True. So, after we eat, it’s back to the office.”

  “Yes. The Captain has already authorized the overtime.”

  “I was afraid you were going to say that,” French sighed.

  “Then you shouldn’t have asked,” Moseby grinned at her. At that point, the food arrived and they dug into their meal as if they hadn’t eaten since breakfast, which of course they hadn’t.

  They were just finishing their meal when Moseby got a funny itch between his shoulder blades. He took a swig from his beer, his eyes surveying the restaurant. He was getting an eerie feeling that he was being watched. Nobody was being obvious about it, but he could feel the weight of someone’s eyes on him. Lucy, sitting across from him picked up on it. “What is it, Garrett?”

  “Somebody is watching us, but I can’t tell who. They aren’t being obvious about it,” Moseby told her.

  “I can’t spot them either, but I know what you mean. And I’m pretty sure it’s not because this case is spooking us,” Lucy said.

  “Let’s finish it up and get out of here, see if anybody follows us out.”

  “Good idea,” French said as she wiped her mouth with a napkin. The server had already brought the bill and Moseby tossed a five on the table for a tip and carried the bill to the cash register to pay for their meal.

  “You think the Captain will let us expense dinner?” Moseby asked her.

  “Probably not, but you can try,” French grinned at him.

  It was dark by the time they walked out on the street and headed for their car. The air had cooled a little but the humidity was still up. It would be a foggy night. A low fog was starting to spread over the ground and roll in across lawns. Nobody followed them out of the restaurant.

  Moseby kept an eye on the door as he pulled out onto the street and headed back towards the station. The feeling of being watched had gone away as they had stepped outside of the restaurant. “That was fucking weird,” Lucy said.

  “Yeah, it was,” Moseby sighed.

  “What do you think it means?”

  “I don’t know, but I don’t like it.”

  “Me either.”

  He had been surprised when he saw the two cops that had been on television from The Suncoast Trail had entered the restaurant and took a table not too far away from him. They had to be the detectives working the case. His case. He smiled a little. He wasn’t the only single diner in the restaurant, which only helped him blend in. He had watched them stiffen as if they had felt him watching them. It didn’t take long for them to leave after that. As he watched them go, he knew what he had to do. He needed to leave them a gift. It would help confuse them for him to hit so soon. They would think he was escalating, when in fact, he was just making this one to confuse them. It was misdirection, like a magician when he performed sleight–of-hand. This one would be just for fun, not because he needed to do it.

  He paid his bill, making sure to wait at least fifteen minutes after the two cops had left before stepping out the door. The humidity hit him like a wet blanket but he didn’t care as he walked to his car. He started it and the Air Conditioner started running right away. It was blowing cold air in seconds as he drove towards one of the many nightclubs to pick out his second victim.

  The computer searches had turned up current addresses for both Germaine Ellis and Chester Wilkins. Moseby wrote the addresses down in a small notebook that he kept in his jacket pocket. “You want to roust them both tonight?” Lucy looked at him.

  Moseby thought about it for several minutes. “Send some uniforms to pick them up. I want them disconcerted and wondering what the hell is going on,” he told her. Lucy French nodded and picked up the telephone to call the dispatcher.

  It took nearly an hour for the uniforms to bring both the subjects in. They were put in separate interrogation rooms. Lucy looked at Moseby. “How do you want to play this?” she asked.

  “We want to make both of them feel like they are the prime suspect in Sunny’s murder and see what we can shake loose,” Moseby told her.

  “Okay, I can do that. The video i
s on in both rooms?”

  “It is,” Moseby said.

  “Good. I want to nail this fucker.”

  “I do too,” he told her. Lucy French walked into the room with Chester Wilkins and slapped a manila file folder down on the table. She glared at Wilkins. She could see the sweat popping out on his forehead.

  “Why am I here?” Wilkins asked.

  “Sunny Cargill,” Lucy told him. He looked blank.

  “Who?” he asked again.

  “You tried to rape her back in college and she kicked you in the balls and she sent you to jail for two years.”

  “That bitch,” he sighed.

  “Don’t speak ill of the dead, Chester. It’s not polite.”

  “She’s dead?” Chester looked stunned.

  “She is. She pointed the finger at you,” Lucy told him.

  “I had nothing to do with her being killed,” Chester stammered.

  “I don’t believe you, Chester.”

  “I can prove it,” he told her.

  “So, start talking,” Lucy told him.

  The Music was rocking as he moved deeper into the club. Lots of pretty ladies putting themselves out there. They had no fear, no knowledge of anything that might await them deeper in the night. He was good at that, appearing totally non-threatening as he selected his next victim. It would be easy to spot her because she would act as if she was entitled to her every whim. So many were out there. Too many to safely be able to monitor for the police.

  He would be able to isolate her. When he did, he would strike. He could do that by watching the club scene. There were a lot of girls there that were not particular about whom they went home with. Any one of them would be an excellent target for him. They would also throw off the detectives that were looking for him.

  Germaine Ellis frowned at the one-way mirror on the wall. He had an idea about what this was all about. He had been surprised when the cops had shown up at his door, and now he was sitting in an interrogation room wondering what the hell was going on. The door opened and a suit that looked to be in his fifties walked in carrying a folder. The man didn’t speak, just walked to the chair on the other side of the table and pulled it out and sat down. The guy’s eyes bored into him like drills.

  “What the hell is going on? Why am I here?” Germaine asked finally, uncomfortable with the tension-filled silence.

  “When was the last time you saw Sunny Cargill?” the man asked softly, so softly that Germaine had to lean forward to hear him.

  “Sunny? I haven’t seen her for two or three months, not since we broke up,” Germaine said, his voice sounding loud to his own ears.

  “You sure about that Germaine?” the man asked, his voice louder this time and with a harder edge to it.

  “Of course, I’m sure. She broke it off and I moved on,” Germaine shook his head.

  “You sure you didn’t see her last night while she was running?” the man asked.

  “Of course, I’m sure. I was with my girlfriend Talisha.”

  “All night?”

  “Yes, all night. We hooked up when she got off work at four, yesterday. We went to a party at a friend’s house. Why are you asking me about Sunny?”

  “Somebody killed her last night, Germaine. Slashed her to ribbons.”

  “Oh, my God!” Germaine exclaimed, tears welling up in his eyes.

  “You’re free to go, Germaine. Don’t leave town.” With that the man stood and walked out of the room, leaving the door open.

  Chapter Five

  “He didn’t do it,” Moseby said as he joined French back in the squad room.

  “His alibi checked out. I spoke to his girlfriend and two or three others that were at the party last night. He never left,” Lucy said, twisting her neck to pop it and release some of the tension that had been building there.

  “So, for the moment, that leaves us with Chester Wilkins. Anybody had any luck in tracking old Chester down?”

  “Not yet.”

  “We’ve done all we can for tonight. Go home, get some rest. We’ll look at it fresh in the morning, maybe find something we missed,” Moseby told her.

  “I like that idea. See you in the morning, Garrett,” Lucy told him as she grabbed up her purse and headed for the elevator. Moseby watched her go. He wasn’t ready to head home yet. All he had waiting was an empty apartment, so there was no rush. He had twenty years on his partner. She was young and still had something of a life outside of the job. He didn’t. He picked up Sunny Cargill’s diary and started reading.

  The music was loud and obnoxious, as it usually was in places like this. But the women on the dance floor seemed to enjoy it, so he had plastered a fake smile on his face and pretended to enjoy it as well. The loud music stopped for a few heartbeats and a slower song started to play, the DJ saying something about slow dancers. It was at that point that she came up and asked him to dance.

  She was pretty in a superficial way, slender and curvy, with too much eyeshadow and eyeliner. She had short blond hair and bright blue eyes. Her dress was far too short for modesty and the heels on her shoes were impossibly high. “I’ve been watching you. Would you like to dance?” He smiled back at her.

  “I’d be delighted,” he told her standing. Taking her hand, he led her out onto the dance floor. She molded herself against him as they swayed with the music. Yes, she was perfect. He had no doubt that he would be able to get her to leave with him. And the best part was that she had come to him, offering herself. She just didn’t have a clue as to what she was offering herself for. Most sacrifices didn’t. He smiled in the darkness of the dance floor, glad that no one could see the evil intent on his face.

  Lucy French had taken a long hot bath after she got home. She had stopped and gotten dinner on the way. She didn’t like watching television much, so she had dimmed the lights and put on a CD by Chet Baker. She had poured a glass of white wine and was quietly sipping it, letting the music surround her and relax her.

  The murder of Sunny Cargill bothered her. It bothered her a lot. The savagery of the attack, while personal, was something more. It was almost as if her attacker had wanted to humiliate her in her death. She took another sip of wine. They were missing something about this guy, but what was it?

  She knew that likely, Garrett was still at his desk, probably reading Sunny Cargill’s diary. He was obsessive when he started a case. He was like a bulldog and wouldn’t let go until he had the perp in hand. In contrast, she liked to take a look at the overall picture and find the things that weren’t as obvious. It was what made them such an effective team on the homicide table. Their styles complimented each other.

  It didn’t mean that they didn’t sometimes clash on cases because they did and often. But they both respected each other enough to take a step back and look the case as a whole. That was why they were as an effective team as they were. At any rate, she was tired and sleepy. She drained the glass of wine and made her way to her bedroom, crawling under the covers and closing her eyes. She was asleep in minutes.

  Garrett Moseby tossed the empty Styrofoam cup of coffee into the trash. His eyes were burning and he knew that it was time for him to go home and get some sleep. The diary had told him nothing, at least in what she had written as far as he had read so far. That didn’t mean that there wasn’t something in there that would eventually point to the man that had killed her. He put the diary in his desk drawer and locked it. He stood, pulling on his sports coat, and headed for the elevator. He needed sleep, and he needed it badly.

  Moseby hated the fact that there was some sort of sadistic sociopath on the loose in his city. He actually took that personally. Moseby took keeping the citizens of Tampa safe seriously. It was more than a job for him, it was a duty.

  As he had expected, he had no problem getting her to leave with him. She was expecting a night of passion. She would get that, just not in the way that she expected. The air was still muggy as they walked out of the club and he guided her to his car. “Let’s take a driv
e,” he suggested.

  “Okay,” she replied. Her name was Tina, or Nina, something like that. He really didn’t care one way or the other. What he did care about was how she would help him throw the police off his trail. Of course, she needed to die to do that. Something that she also didn’t know. He smiled as he shut her door and walked around to the other side of his car. He got in and started it, and then pulled out into the late-night traffic, heading for the perfect spot.

  “I like you,” she told him.

  “I like you too,” he told her.

  “I don’t even know your name. What is it?” she asked, smiling at him.

  “Derrick,” he told her, pulling a name out of thin air. “Derrick Snow.”

  “Derrick Snow. You have a winter name and live in Florida. That is so cool,” she said.

  “Was that pun intended?” he grinned at her. For a moment, her eyes went blank, and then she started laughing as she realized what she had said.

  “No it wasn’t intended, but it was funny,” Tina smiled back at him. “I like you, Derrick Snow.”

  “I like you too, Tina. I think we will have a fun night together.” He felt her hand on his thigh, could feel the heat coming off her skin.

  “I certainly hope so,” she leaned over, kissing his neck. He felt his pulse start racing at the feel of her lips against his skin. He’d enjoy her before he started having his real fun with her.

  He drove her to a secluded spot where they wouldn’t be interrupted. After he parked the car it didn’t take long to get her motor running. He paused only long enough to slip on a condom over his throbbing dick before plunging it roughly inside her. Tina moaned with pleasure, her nails raking his back. He had kept his shirt on so she wouldn’t be able to get any of his skin under her nails. They climaxed together and she fell back against the seat, sweat pouring off her skin. He opened the car door and stepped outside.