Bobby Joe sat in the interrogation room breathing in hot, stagnant air, looking very much like a lost soul. Harry entered the room with Walter Middlebrooks and immediately came up short.
“Damn, the air-conditioning seems to be on the blink again. Let me go see what I can do to get it back on.” Harry turned and left the room, the door automatically locking behind him. A uniformed sergeant was waiting for him.
“When do you want me to turn the air back on?” he asked.
“Let them sweat for about twenty minutes; then turn it on. I’ll go back in ten minutes after that. It’ll be nice and cool by then.”
The sergeant laughed and Harry headed for the soft drink machine.
When he returned a half hour later the sergeant was still standing outside the door grinning. “That lawyer started pounding on the door about ten minutes after you left, but nobody could hear him; kept on pounding until the air went back on. It should be cool now, but I don’t know how hot he’s still gonna be.”
“I’m sure the Reverend Bobby Joe explained that we all have crosses to bear,” Harry said as he reached for the door handle.
Walter Middlebrooks was glaring when Harry entered the room.
“Sorry it took so long,” Harry said. “Our maintenance guy had slipped away on a coffee break.” He raised his hands at his sides as if testing the air. “It sure feels good in here now, though.”
Middlebrooks looked at him through narrowed eyes.
Don’t blame me, Harry thought. You talk to your fat preacher client. He looked down at Bobby Joe. “First thing we want to do, Bobby Joe, is get these two women who placed you with Darlene to get a look at you in the flesh. All they saw was a mug shot and that was a couple of years old.”
Bobby Joe twisted in his seat, looked up at Middlebrooks, and asked, “Do I have to do this?”
“No, you don’t,” Middlebrooks said.
Harry shrugged and gestured to a large mirror on the wall. “You know what’s behind the mirror, right?” He waited while Bobby Joe nodded. “These two ladies… We could have brought them in there to have a look at you through the one-way mirror. I could also bring them out to the church tomorrow or the next day and wait for you to go to your car. What I’m trying to do here, Bobby Joe, is give you the best shot at being eliminated as a suspect.”
Bobby Joe peered up at him, the distrust in his eyes so vibrant it seemed alive. “How do I know you’re not settin’ me up?”
Harry paused, surprised by the question. He decided to let it go unanswered and move on. “It’s like this, Bobby Joe. Doing it this way gives you your best shot at shaking their earlier ID. What I do is I put you in a lineup with five other guys, all your size and age and physical description, and if these ladies can’t pick you out as the one and only guy they saw with Darlene…” Harry offered up a shrug. “Then their earlier ID isn’t worth anything and I’m back to square one.”
Bobby Joe looked up at his lawyer.
Middlebrooks nodded. “That’s all true, but this lineup isn’t something they can make you do unless they charge you. It’s also true that they’ll find a way to do it anyway, and that way might not be as favorable to you.” He turned to Harry. “But if my client agrees to do this I expect to be present and in the same room with these… women… when they try to make a positive identification.”
The lineup room was just off the booking area on the first floor. It was actually two rooms, separated by a large viewing window made up of one-way glass. One room was dimly lit and had a row of chairs where witnesses could sit and look into the second room without being seen by the people they were viewing. The second room was long and narrow with bright lights centered on the wall opposite the viewing window. That wall was lined and marked in feet and inches so the height of those being viewed could be noted.
A uniformed deputy led a line of five men into the room. Bobby Joe was the third man in line. The men were approximately the same age, all were white and between five-ten and six feet in height, and all had longish hair. The two dancers were seated behind the one-way window watching as the men entered. Harry had introduced them to Bobby Joe’s lawyer only by their first names. Middlebrooks seemed confused by their appearance. Both young women were dressed modestly in shorts and T-shirts and neither was wearing makeup. They looked more like college coeds than exotic dancers and that fact obviously unsettled Middlebrooks. One of the women was, in fact, a junior at the University of South Florida, which was only a short drive from the Peek-a-Boo Lounge. She lived with her mother and used the money she earned to pay her tuition. She had also made the dean’s list the past three semesters. Middlebrooks and Bobby Joe had been told none of that. Harry was saving those bits of information to further unnerve them.
The viewing room filled as five uniformed officers took seats between the two dancers, effectively separating them. Harry didn’t want a reaction from one to influence the other. As a deputy directed the men to take numbered spots along the wall, Harry gave paper and pen to each woman and instructed them to write down the number of anyone in the lineup they could identify. As Harry moved to the back of the room, Vicky came up beside him.
“Which one is your guy?” she whispered.
Harry held up three fingers so the young women, whose backs were to him, wouldn’t hear his answer.
The deputy in the lineup room went through the routine, asking each man to step forward and then turn to the left and the right. When he had gone through all five men, Harry repeated his instructions to each dancer.
“Each man has a number above his head. If you recognize anyone as the man you saw sitting with Darlene Beckett in the Peek-a-Boo Lounge, just write down the number.” Each woman scratched a number on the sheet of paper and Harry collected them.
“You both identified number three,” he said. “Is that correct?”
The two women glanced at each other for the first time. The one on Harry’s left shrugged her shoulders. “Yeah, number three,” she said.
The other nodded. “Yeah, it was definitely three.”
“Are you both certain he’s the man?” Harry asked.
“Yeah, no question about it,” the first woman said.
“Definitely, he’s the guy I saw with Darlene,” the second added.
“I’ll need the names and addresses of these two witnesses,” Middlebrooks chimed in. He kept his voice low and rumbling and filled with as much threat as he could muster.
Both women gave him a dismissive glance, and Harry decided the lawyer needed to do some serious work on his threatening voice.
Harry turned the two witnesses over to John Weathers with instructions that he take signed statements from each; then returned to the interrogation room with Middlebrooks and Bobby Joe. Vicky and Jim Morgan slipped into the small viewing room and took chairs behind the one-way window.
Morgan spoke without ever taking his eyes off Harry. “I hear that Harry’s tops when it comes to questioning a witness or a suspect. Weathers told me he’s got like a sixth sense for it.”
Vicky thought about that, and about Harry’s insistence that Benevuto wasn’t their killer. Her eyes hardened and there was a tightening at the corners of her mouth. “I’ve only worked with him a few days, but from what I’ve seen, he’s very good.” She turned to Morgan. “But you are too, Jim. And we never would have had the plate numbers that led us to Benevuto if you hadn’t gone back and questioned that old man who lived across the street from Darlene. Harry missed that one. I guess his sixth sense wasn’t working that night.”
Morgan nodded almost as though he hadn’t heard the compliment. He continued to watch Harry. When he spoke his voice sounded distant. “I’m not as good as he is, not yet, not by a long shot… But someday
…”
Harry took a seat opposite Bobby Joe and Middlebrooks. “Okay,” he began, placing his palms on the table, “I guess we all know where we stand here.”
Middlebrooks gave Harry a false smile. “I think we do. Shall I sum it up?” He stared at Harry, who shrugged agreement. “Let’s see,” the lawyer continued, “we have two exotic dancers who claim they saw my client-a respected minister-sitting next to Darlene Beckett in a darkly lit lounge a few days before she was murdered. My client insists they’re mistaken. Now who is a jury of good, God-fearing Florida citizens to believe?” Middlebrooks shook his head. “I don’t think the state’s attorney will be too impressed with what you have.”
Harry leaned back in his chair and nodded. “Those are some very good points, counselor.” He glanced at Bobby Joe. There was a self-satisfied smirk on his lips, but he could still see the nervousness in his eyes. Harry leaned forward again, resting his elbows on the table. He turned his gaze back to Middlebrooks. “I think you’re missing a few points, counselor. First, you’ve got Bobby Joe’s criminal record.”
“A juvenile record,” Middlebrooks interjected. “Not admissible, as you are well aware.”
“There were several arrests as an adult.”
“But only one conviction,” the lawyer said, interrupting again. “And one I believe a jury would accept as a regrettable and youthful mistake, one Bobby Joe made before he found Jesus.”
“Quite possibly, counselor, but the arrests are still a matter of record.” Harry flipped several pages in his notebook. “One charge involved possession of a controlled substance, which was dropped when Bobby Joe agreed to turn snitch for the arresting officers and provide information about his supplier. The supplier was eventually arrested and copped a plea, so Bobby Joe never had to testify. Another was a bad check charge, also dropped when restitution was made. And finally there was a charge involving a phony tree-trimming scam. Seems Bobby Joe tried to bilk an elderly couple out of several hundred dollars in that one. The couple got suspicious when Bobby Joe wanted half the money up front, so they called the cops. An investigation found that he had pulled the same scam on another couple a few blocks away. They paid him half the money up front and he never showed up to do the work, so the investigating officers busted him on that one as well as the attempted fraud on the second couple. The attempted fraud charge was eventually dropped two days after the couple met with the senior Reverend Waldo. We can only assume what happened at that meeting. The first couple refused to drop their charge and Bobby Joe did a year in county jail. But you’re right, counselor. There is only one conviction. Still, it’s not exactly a spotless record.”
“He’s a man of God now. And these two women you have as witnesses.”
“Let’s talk about these two women.” It was Harry’s turn to interrupt. “I’m sure if this matter proceeds you’ll be hiring an investigator to check them out pretty thoroughly, just as we’ll be checking out Bobby Joe pretty thoroughly.” Harry glanced at Bobby Joe. The smirk had disappeared. He turned back to Middlebrooks. “Let me save you a little time.” He flipped several pages in his notebook. “The first dancer, Sara Jones, she’s pretty similar to Anita Molari, the dancer Bobby Joe paid for the scratch on her car. She’s a single mother with a child at home.” Harry paused and smiled. “She says she takes her little girl to church every Sunday, by the way. The other young lady…” he checked his notebook again, “… is Cindy Lewis. She’s single. She’s a junior at the University of South Florida-hopes to be an anthropologist one day-lives with her mother, and uses the money she makes dancing to pay her tuition.” Harry paused and looked down at his notes for effect, although he already knew what was there. He looked up again. “Made the dean’s list the last three semesters,” he added.
The lawyer’s lips tightened. “A very commendable young lady; the proverbial whore with a heart of gold. I’m sure the state’s attorney will love throwing that old saw at a jury. Who knows? They might be into buying cliches on that particular day.”
“Neither of these women is a prostitute,” Harry said. “In fact, neither one has any criminal record at all.” He shifted his gaze to Bobby Joe as he spoke. “Not juvenile, not even charges that were eventually dropped.” He leaned back in his chair and stretched his arms out. “Look, we can go around and around on this without either one of us getting what we want. And in the end Bobby Joe gets himself locked up. But that doesn’t have to happen. Let’s say I’m willing to buy the argument that Bobby Joe didn’t kill Darlene Beckett. Let’s say I’m willing to accept the idea that he was at the Peek-a-Boo Lounge for some other reason-maybe I even buy Reverend Waldo’s suggestion that some member of the congregation asked for help with a straying husband. So let’s say I buy the idea that Bobby Joe goes there to try and help some sinner, and lo and behold, he just happens to sit next to Darlene Beckett. And the dancers see him, and all of a sudden he’s in the middle of a murder investigation just because he was trying to do his duty as a minister of the Lord.”
“You’re forgetting, detective, Bobby Joe insists he wasn’t there at all,” Middlebrooks said.
“Yeah, well, that one I’m not buying. I’ve got credible witnesses who say otherwise. And I’ve got another witness who saw him leaving her apartment. You want the rundown on him? He’s a retired security officer-a bonded officer who worked at a local bank for thirty years.”
Middlebrooks let out a long breath. “So what is it you want?”
“First let me tell you what I think happened.” Harry tilted back in his chair, playing the role of storyteller to the hilt. “The way I see it-the way the evidence points right now-the Reverend John Waldo was outraged that Darlene Beckett molested a child from his flock. He was further outraged that the boy wouldn’t testify against her and that without that testimony Darlene ended up with little more than a slap on the wrist. He even gives a sermon telling the congregation to do everything they can to make sure she ends up in jail. They can do that, he says, by reporting any contact she has with kids, or any other violations of her terms of house arrest. In other words: keep an eye on this woman, and when she crosses the line-which she will, being the sinner she is-report her to the police. He even repeats that in a church bulletin. I know that. I have a copy of the bulletin.”
Harry leaned forward again, propped his elbows on the table. “Well, I think Bobby Joe decided he was going to do his daddy’s bidding, so he started following Darlene around. What he didn’t count on was Darlene taking a shine to him, and before he knew it he’s rolling around in her bed. And he gets himself seen not only at the Peek-a-Boo but also by her neighbors when he leaves her apartment.”
Harry grasped two fingers with one hand. “But here are two reasons why I think Bobby Joe may not be her killer.” He released his fingers and raised one. “First, even somebody as self-centered as Bobby Joe had to know that Darlene was nothing more than a fast roll in the hay, and that she was willing to take that roll with anybody who had the right equipment. So right there we rule out jealousy as a motive.” He raised the other finger. “And second, even Bobby Joe isn’t dumb enough to let himself be seen all over creation with a woman he planned to harm or kill. He’s got enough of a criminal history to know that a mistake like that is certain to get his ass caught.”
Middlebrooks jabbed a finger on the table. “So if you believe these things, why are you harassing my client?”
Harry smiled across the table. “I didn’t say I believed them, counselor. I said I might be willing to accept them. What I do believe is that Bobby Joe wasn’t the only person from the church who was checking Darlene out. And I think Bobby Joe knows who those other people are. So if your client wants me off his ass, he’s going to have to give up those names. But even then, that doesn’t mean I’m through with him. Down the road, if I turn up more evidence that points to him, I’ll be right back knocking on his door.”
“So the bottom line is, you want Bobby Joe to help you widen your net?”
“That’s one way to put it, counselor.”
“And if he doesn’t?”
Harry gave him a small shrug. “Given the evidence I have, that leaves him as my primary suspect. And right now, I think the state’s attorney might feel it’s enough to hold him.”
Middlebrooks stared off for a moment. “We’ll need to consult with Reverend Waldo,” he said at length. “He was leaving this afternoon on church business. He’ll be back the day after tomorrow.”
“I believe they have this invention called the telephone,” Harry said.
“I will, of course, talk to him by phone,” Middlebrooks said. “But I’ll also want the three of us to sit down; perhaps even bring in someone who specializes in criminal law. I assume Bobby Joe will be free to go with me.”
Harry nodded very slowly. “I’ll know where to find him if I need him.” He glanced at Bobby Joe. The young minister’s eyes were filled with as much fear as Harry had ever seen. His own eyes hardened. “And if you run, I will find you, Bobby Joe. You can make book on that.”
Jim Morgan glanced at Vicky and nodded. “Pretty darn slick,” he said. “Harry squeezed him like a ripe orange.”
“Yeah, he did,” Vicky said. “The kid looked like he was ready to wet his pants. I’d bet my next paycheck he’ll give Harry all the names he can think of.” She let out a small grunt. “Hell, he may even make up a few.” She glanced at her watch. “We’re supposed to meet Darlene’s parents at the morgue. We better get moving.”
After identifying the body of their daughter, Darlene Beckett’s parents returned to the squad room with Vicky for a more thorough interview. Harry watched them from across the room. They were a couple not unlike many he had seen over the years: the nondescript people who filled Florida’s trailer parks and crowded villas, lonely people who seemed to be living out their final days huddled under a dark cloud, each one destined for some tragedy they could not escape.
As they concluded their interview and started to leave Harry watched the mother, whose name was Betsy, precede her husband across the squad room. Withered was the only word he could find to describe her. She seemed drained, washed out, as if all the energy had been sucked from her body. Her hair, once blond, was streaked with gray, a thin, limp shank that fell to her shoulders. Her eyes were equally faded, as if any color that had existed simply dissipated over time, and they were set in a face that was a mass of broken lines and sagging jowls. He knew, from his investigation, that she was only fifty, although she carried herself like a woman ten or fifteen years older. The pale gray, calf-length dress she wore only added to that image.
Her husband Bert was a retired Navy chief who ran a small insurance agency that specialized in auto and boat policies, although he still had the look of a man who had spent his life working with his hands. He was dressed in baggy gabardine trousers and an open-neck white shirt, a short, stocky block of a man with large, rough hands. He had a broad, clean-shaven face with a flattened nose and a hairline that had receded well back on his head. What little hair was left was salt-and-pepper gray and cut short. His eyes, like his wife’s, were lifeless and dull, and Harry wondered if it was due to the death of their daughter or the result of a hard, dispiriting life.
Harry had never interviewed Darlene’s parents. Initially, that had been left to John Weathers and Nick Benevuto. Weathers had told him that, while hurt by her death, they had seemed almost relieved she was out of their lives. Harry thought that was the saddest commentary of all.
Now, with Nick suspended, the parents had been turned over to Vicky and Jim.
When Vicky had seen the couple out and returned to her desk, Harry approached her.
“Where’s Jim?” he asked.
“He stayed behind to make sure all the paperwork on the release of the body was by the book… chain of evidence and all that,” Vicky said.
“I saw the parents leaving.”
“Yeah, it was pretty grim at the morgue. They had a funeral director with them to collect the body. They’re planning to have the funeral tomorrow; short and sweet and quick. They want to avoid extensive press coverage, which of course they won’t.”
“I’m surprised they agreed to come back here with you,” Harry said.
Vicky nodded. “I was too. I told them there were some things I had to go over with them; stressed it might help us find Darlene’s killer. They’re still in a state of shock and they came along like a pair of sheep.”
“Did you learn anything?”
“Quite a bit, actually… even more if my intuitions are correct.” She gave him a hard stare. “You’re not the only one who has them, Harry.”
Harry ignored the sarcasm. “Wanna share?”
“You’re such a pushy detective.” She paused a moment. “I’ll make a deal. You tell me what’s going on with your mother, and how it’s affecting you on this case, and I’ll tell you everything I learned, factual and intuitive.”
“How do you know anything’s going on with my mother?”
“Word gets around the squad room, you know how it is. Cops in Hillsborough hear something; they talk to their cop buddies in Pinellas. Suddenly everybody knows, even me. Do we have a deal?”
“You’re asking for a quid pro quo. That could be construed as threatening to withhold evidence from a superior officer.”
“And at my departmental trial I’ll testify that your mental condition is precarious, at best. I could probably make a good case for that.”
Harry looked off to the side and fought off a smile. “I bet you could,” he said when he finally turned back. “She has a parole hearing coming up. My adoptive father-he’s a retired Clearwater cop-has been in touch with a friend in the state’s attorney’s office in Tampa to see if they’re planning to oppose it. So far he hasn’t been able to get a straight answer.”
“And you? Are you going to oppose it?”
“She killed my kid brother and she tried to kill me. I want her locked up.”
“Have you heard from her?”
“The same letter I get every year, on the anniversary of my brother’s death. She tells me how much she wants me in heaven with Jesus and Jimmy.”
Vicky looked down at the floor. “That must hurt a lot.”
Harry’s jaw tightened. “It’ll hurt a helluva lot more if she tries to send me there.”
Vicky raised her eyes and kept her voice soft. “What will you do if she does?”
Harry stared at her for what seemed a long time. She wondered if he was trying to work the answer out himself. His eyes blinked, then he drew another long breath. His voice was cold and flat when he finally spoke.
“I’ll stop her,” he said.
Vicky studied his eyes but could find nothing revealing. There had been a note of finality in his voice, a hint of impending matricide, and she wondered if it was something he could really do. It certainly didn’t fit the man she had come to know. But her years as a cop had taught her that people were sometimes forced to do things beyond the pale of what they would normally consider. It might be that way for Harry, and she wondered if he could emotionally survive if forced to commit an act so terrible. She knew she could not.
“Okay, you got your pound of flesh, now tell me about Darlene’s parents; what they told you about her.”
His question brought her back and she put her other thoughts aside. “Most of what I learned came from the mother. It was very interesting. You remember Darlene’s claim that she was sexually abused as a child?”
“It was a big part of her defense, one of the excuses she gave for what she did to that boy.”
“Yeah, it was. Well, the mother confirmed that abuse, but in an odd way. When she talked about Darlene’s childhood, she claimed that even as a little kid she liked to sexually tease men. The mother said it started when she was only eight or nine years old; that even then she liked to sit on men’s laps and when she did she would ‘wiggle’ around in a provocative way.” Vicky used her fingers to place imaginary quotes around the word, indicating she thought little of the accusation. “She claimed Darlene would also put her head on their chests and give them long, lingering hugs.”
“So she claimed that Darlene brought the abuse on herself.”
“That’s exactly what she wanted me to believe, although she never came out and said it directly. It was so damn obvious what she was doing. She was deflecting blame away from herself as a parent.”
“Did she say who Darlene supposedly teased?”
“No, she didn’t, it was all very general. She claimed it was just about every adult man she met.”
Harry paused. “Why do you think she wouldn’t be specific? Was it because the father was there?”
“Yeah, I think it was. Are you thinking that maybe the father might have been the abuser?”
Harry nodded. “It’s always a possibility.”
“Yeah, and that’s exactly the vibe I got off the whole conversation.” Vicky tapped the side of her nose. “The father was very quiet throughout the conversation. Mostly he nodded agreement to whatever his wife said. Whenever I asked for his opinion he deferred to her, claiming she was in a better position to know; that he was away a great deal of the time when Darlene was growing up. I gathered that his job in the navy took him out to sea for long tours of duty.” Vicky bent forward as if preparing to impart some secret. “The mother said she tried to get Darlene to stop what she called ‘this obvious sexual flirting,’ which of course was nothing more than a kid imitating what she’d seen adult women do, either in person or on film or television. When I asked her if she’d had any success modifying that behavior, she said everything she tried failed, even though Darlene had been severely punished-those were her words.” Vicky shook her head. “So what we had was a young girl who was getting a positive response from men when acting flirtatious and anger from the primary female in her life, her mother.”
“But that experience alone couldn’t have been enough to turn her into a child molester.” Harry’s voice had become incredulous.
Vicky vigorously shook her head. “No, of course not. I think it was a contributing factor, but no more than that. Look, I consider myself an expert on sex crimes, but I’m certainly no shrink. Based on what I’ve read of her history, it’s no secret she was a very disturbed woman and I’d bet anything that her claim in court that she suffered from some bipolar disorder wasn’t very far off the mark. And maybe we add some heavy abuse as a kid.”
Harry was quiet for several moments, digesting what Vicky had said. When he spoke again his voice was soft and low and slightly raspy. “It still doesn’t excuse what she did to that little boy.”
Vicky studied Harry’s eyes, wondering if they were still talking about Darlene Beckett. “No, it doesn’t,” she finally said. “Illness may explain why something happens, Harry, but it never excuses the act.”