Текст книги "On the Street Where You Die"

Автор книги: Al Stevens

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Chapter 24  

I went again to Buford’s residence for the hard part, interrogating the client’s friends and family. Buford was on the patio in his bathing trunks. The ankle bracelet had chafed the skin on his shin just above his foot as he’d said. His ankle was big like the rest of him. The bracelet was in its largest buckle setting and, even so, pinched his skin.

“Your nephew seems to be good at hacking into shit,” he said. “You think he can get this thing off me?”

“Maybe. One time he took the boot off his car’s wheel that the cops had put on.”

“That’s good. What did he do with it?”

“He changed the pins in the tumbler lock so they couldn’t open it. Then he put the boot on a police cruiser parked in front of a doughnut shop.”

“Man, that kid has balls. What kind of trouble did that get him in?”

“I intervened. He got community service and no record.”

“You’re a good uncle.”

“I am.”

“So, what about this bracelet?”

“I’ll ask him.”

I doubted that Rodney could do much about the bracelet. They go out of their way to make them tamper-proof.

“Thanks for taking care of that wise guy,” I said.

“Thank Sanford.”

“You think I’ll get more visits?”

“Not likely. He probably didn’t tell anyone about you. They usually wait until the job is done. Don’t bother the bosses with details. Just results.”

That was a huge relief. It wasn’t a guarantee, but if anyone knew how the mob operated, Buford did.

“I need a private place to talk to your people,” I said.

“How about my study? If they don’t cooperate, you can take a gun off the wall and shoot them.”

I went into the study and sat at the giant desk. While I waited for my first interrogation subject, I called Rodney.

“You think you can remove a house arrest ankle bracelet without triggering its alarm?”

“I don’t know, Uncle Stanley. I’d have to look at it.”

“Next chance you get, make an appointment to come see Mr. Overbee. If you can do it, there’ll be a bonus.”

Buford sent Ramon in first.

“Ramon,” I said. “Sit down.” He did. “I am collecting information related to where everyone was when Mr. Vitole got shot. Where were you that morning?”

“I was here all day, Señor. Sanford and I were playing pool.”

“Who won?”

“Sanford did. It is advisable to let Sanford win.”

“Mr. Overbee says you play chess. Can you beat Sanford at that?”

“He will not play me.”

“You’re very loyal to Mr. Overbee.”

“Si, Señor. He is my benefactor. He is trying to get me a green card and eventually citizenship.”

“So you’d do anything to protect him.”

“Anything.”

“Did you know he was having problems with Mr. Vitole?”

“No, I did not. I knew he was having problems with someone.”

“Weren’t you here the day I told him about Mr. Vitole?”

“Si, Señor, I was here, but I do not listen when Señor Overbee discusses business.”

“Thank you, Ramon. That’s all I have for now. Bring me black coffee, please.”

Ramon left and Missy came in.

“Dad’s got us lined up out there like in a doctor’s waiting room.”

“Miss Curro, where were you the morning Mr. Vitole was shot?”

“Serena and I were shopping.”

“Okay. I don’t need you to prove it to me, but if the cops ask, is there anyway you can substantiate where you were?”

“They can ask Serena.”

“Yeah, but you are each other’s alibi. They’d want corroborating evidence.”

“Easy. Look at my Dad’s credit card account. Serena practically bought out Belksdales.”

“And you?”

“I didn’t even buy lunch. But Serena will tell you I was with her.”

Missy left, and Ramon came in and put a pot of coffee and a cup on the table. He poured me a cup and left.

Usually in a situation like this, the tendency is to cut corners, save time, and not interview a corroborating witness. I would expect Serena to say what Missy said she would say. But experience had taught me to expect the unexpected. And, besides, it was Serena. I wasn’t going to miss an opportunity to look at her again. I asked her to come in.

The young woman was so beautiful that I found it difficult to concentrate. She was wearing that same bikini with the white terrycloth robe hanging off her shoulders. When she sat, she crossed her legs so that the robe fell off them such that they were on full display to her best advantage. I am a weak man. I was ready to believe anything she said. I have to work on that.

“So you’re a detective,” she said. “That must be like exciting.”

She uncrossed her legs and re-crossed them the other way. Be still my heart.

“No, it’s mostly boring routine work.”

“Well, I’m impressed. Some day you’ll have to tell me some of your stories.”

Take a deep breath. Relax. Down to business.

“Serena, I understand that you went shopping the day of the murder.”

“What day was that?” she asked.

What woman could forget the day a murder happened of which her husband had been accused? I told her the date.

“That’s too long ago. I don’t know where I was.” She flicked a bit of lint off her shoulder and looked into my eyes. Fortunately I was looking at her face at the time and not other places that were demanding my attention. She smiled. I smiled back. The gaze took longer than it should have. Then I snapped out of it and continued.

“It would be the day you went to Belksdales with Missy.”

“Oh, that day. I decided at the last minute to like go out. I was in town the whole day from when Buford got home.”

“And Missy was with you?”

“Not the whole day. She like doesn’t get up that early.”

“When did she join you?”

“For lunch. There’s this really chic little vegetarian restaurant in the town square. All kinds of, y’know, mushroom dishes and cheese soups. We ate there.”

“And you didn’t see her before that?”

“No.”

“Did you drive yourself into town?”

“No. Ramon drove me. I don’t like to drive in traffic.”

“Did he stay with you all day?”

“No, he waits in the car. And he returned here just before lunch to get Missy. After he dropped her off, I guess he was, y’know, in the car. He like picked us up later to bring us home.”

I wrote what she said in my notebook.

“Mr. Bentworth, you are going to like find out who killed that man, aren’t you?”

“I’m going to try.”

“And Buford will be y’know cleared?”

“I hope so.”

“So do I. Buford and I are true soul mates like ever since we met.”

“Where did you meet?”

“I was a dancer at a club in Philadelphia. He knew the owner who introduced us. We both knew immediately that we were y’know meant for each other. Ever since then we’ve been like two stones that pass in the night.”

She said that just as I was taking a swallow of coffee. The coffee shot out of my nose and went down my shirtfront. I grabbed a napkin and sopped it up. I suppressed my laughter and asked her to send Sanford in.

Serena’s story had sent three alibis out the window. Ramon wasn’t where he said he was. Neither was Missy. Sanford’s alibi depended on Ramon’s. And if the store receipts didn’t bear her out, Serena had nothing to back up her story either. My gut instinct was right. Always get statements from everybody even when you think you know what they’ll say. They can surprise you.

One more to go. Sanford came in. I had saved him for last. He’d be the toughest one to read.

“Sanford, where were you when the murder went down?”

“Here.”

“All day?”

“Yes.”

“Can anybody vouch for that?”

“Ramon can.”

Always let the subject know he’s been caught in a lie. His reaction to that can tell you a lot.

“That’s what he said too,” I said, watching Sanford closely. “But I’ve also been told that he drove the ladies into town that morning and was away from here until the afternoon.”

Sanford did not answer. He just sat and looked at me.

“Can you explain why he’d say that?” I asked after waiting for the response that didn’t come.

“Yes.”

“What’s the explanation?”

“The four of us need to get our stories straight.”

Another surprise. He had just admitted that their alibis were contrived to account for a period of time that none of them could account for.

His answer also revealed that he didn’t give a shit what they told me. I’m not the cops.

“By the way,” I said. “Thanks for fixing that wise guy problem I had. I owe you.”

“Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Understood. That’s about it. Could you find Mr. Overbee and ask him to come in?”

Sanford left and Buford came in, settled in a chair, and got a drink from Ramon.

“Buford,” I said, “everybody tells a different story. As near as I can tell, the only one who isn’t lying is Serena.”

“She’s too dumb to lie,” he said. “That’s what I love about her. Among other things.”

“Well, the result is that I got nothing to eliminate any of them except maybe Serena from the likely suspect list.”

“You got to crawl before you can walk,” he said. “One step at a time.” His mixed metaphors told me that my lack of success with the interrogations didn’t bother him.

“Do you have all the credit card receipts for that day? It’ll tell us whether Serena was shopping in the morning.”

“Yeah, she keeps everything.”

He got up and went out of the office. After a few minutes he came back in leafing through a handful of cash register receipts.

“Jesus Christ,” he said. “Not only do I have the mob and the cops on me, but Citibank is going to be coming after me too.”

I took the receipts from him and checked the time stamps. Serena was exonerated.

On the drive back to the office I went over the four interrogations in my head. What would Bill Penrod have done that I didn’t do? I tried to recall how we bounced off one another during an interrogation. I’d proceed as I had today, and then, at every inconsistency in a suspect’s story, Bill would jump in, yell at them, accuse them of the crime, and demand that they change their story and come clean or face arrest for obstruction, lying to a cop, impeding an investigation, or any one of a number of charges that he could cite or make up. He’d intimidate witnesses until they either broke down or convinced him that they didn’t do it. If they did neither, he’d fall back and let me take over again.

That’s what Bill would have done. I’m not like that. I was always the good cop. Besides, this time I was questioning the people on our side. It was a confusing dichotomy.

Chapter 25  

Ray’s Diner wouldn’t be crowded this time of day. The lunch rush was over, and dinner wasn’t for a few more hours. I stopped to get a quick burger on my way back from Buford’s. Bunny took my order without saying anything extra. That was okay with me.

I said, “The usual.”

She said, “And that would be...”

“A burger like always.”

“And how would you like it cooked?”

“Oh, knock it off, Bunny, and bring the fucking burger.”

“My, my. Testy, aren’t we?” She left to put in my order.

I sat while I waited for the burger and went over my notes, trying to figure out what the next step would be.

Perhaps Rodney’s search for other witness protection clients would provide a lead. I could only imagine how my visits to them would be received.

“Hi,” I’d say. “I understand you’re in the witness protection program.”

I’d be about as welcome as Charles Manson and his bevy of blade-slinging bitches.

Bunny brought my burger and sat down across from me, interrupting my deep thoughts. She just sat and looked at me. Then she said, “Aren’t you even going to talk to me?”

I wanted to, but Willa’s and Sammy’s advice had taken hold. This was not the time to cave in and set myself up for yet another letdown.

I took a big bite of burger, chewed it up, and swallowed. Then I took a gulp of coffee. Then I wiped my face with my napkin. Then I answered.

“I thought we already understood that you weren’t to talk to me.” I said.

“We can’t go on like this, Stan.”

“Why not?”

“We are friends, aren’t we?”

“No,” I said. “We are not. We are former lovers, one of which dumped the other for the last time. Now go away, and leave me alone.”

She sat and fiddled with a napkin, folding it and unfolding it as if the small task gave her a reason to stay.

“I didn’t keep the date,” she said.

“What date?”

“With Barry.”

“Poor Barry, how did he take it?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t talked to him.”

“You stood him up?”

“Yes.”

“Maybe Barry and I can form a club. Bunny Rejects Anonymous. BRA. Has a ring to it.”

“Oh, stop it.”

“We can have monthly meetings here. Can’t wait for the T-shirts. When one of us has an overwhelming urge to call you, he calls his BRA sponsor, who rushes over no matter the time of day or night, and the two of them get drunk together.”

“Very funny,” she said. “You don’t have to be mean.” She got up and stomped away. According to Willa, she’d be back. I was counting on that.

I finished lunch and counted the money out. Rodney came in.

“Uncle Stanley, I hoped you’d be here. Can you stay while I have lunch?”

“Sure.”

Rodney ran up to the counter and gave Bunny his order. He came back and sat across from me.

“No candy bar and Coke?” I said.

“No. The dental hygienist at my dentist’s said I needed to take better care of my teeth.”

“You go to the dentist?” That was new.

“I do now.”

Apparently Rodney was serious about a professional career.

“What are you going to do with all those low-crotch shorts you used to wear?”

“Mom had a yard sale.”

“Heaven help the neighbors.”

“Okay, Uncle Stanley, I did some of the research you asked for.”

I sat forward. Anything he could get would be better than nothing.

“Did we get anything?”

“Did we ever? You aren’t going to believe it.”

He sat and looked smug. Bunny brought his lunch, a burger just like I had, and plopped it down without speaking.

“Well,” I asked Rodney, “how long do I have to wait to hear it?”

“Brace yourself.” He took a bite of the burger and talked through his food. “I found only one person in this area in witness protection.”

“Who?”

“Grab your jock strap. It’s William Sproles.”

“Holy shit! That is something.”

Rodney was excited and proud about his find. “That’s why I couldn’t find anything about them before they moved here. I wasn’t looking in the right place.”

“Was Vitole blackmailing him?”

“I didn’t find any record of it.”

“Sproles has a crappy job and house and car payments. He couldn’t pay Vitole squat.”

“I checked OnlinePay. There’s no record of Sproles sending any money to Vitole.”

“Well, they were neighbors. Maybe he paid in person.”

Rodney shook his head. “I got into their financials pretty deep, Uncle Stanley. I found no record of Sproles paying anyone anything out of the ordinary.”

If Sproles wasn’t paying money to keep Vitole’s mouth shut, how was he doing it? I had a hunch. But it wasn’t much more that that.

 “Well, that’s good to know. Good work, Rodney. See what a haircut and a bath can do for a guy?”

“Now can I go on the next interrogation?”

“No. But you get a bonus.”

“I do?”

“Yeah. I’ll buy your lunch.”

“Thanks a lot.”

“Who did Sproles testify against before he went underground?”

“He was an accountant. Used to do the books for a syndicate of drug dealers in Baltimore. He rolled on them when the IRS found shaky bookkeeping in his own personal finances.”

I put money on the table for Rodney’s burger. Rodney gulped down his meal, chug-a-lugged his coffee, and we left.

Bunny watched us go but didn’t say anything.

Chapter 26  

Rodney and I returned to the office. The stairs were getting easier. He added the new information about Sproles to the whiteboard. I sat back, and chewed on it a while. All I had was speculation. Nothing concrete.

Given that William Sproles was in witness protection, and that the late Mario Vitole was a retired handler, I wanted to go back and interrogate Sproles, Marsha Sproles, and Stella Vitole. But I didn’t have anything to go on.

This would be one of those occasions where I could have used Bill Penrod’s skills in the room. I was hoping for a confession. One of them, two of them, or all of them had something to do with Vitole’s killing, of that I was certain. But first I needed more evidence, something to back up my suspicions, something they couldn’t deny. I called Buford.

“Are Ramon and Sanford available?”

“I can make them available. When do you want to see them?”

“Right away.”

“Come on out.”

I drove to the Heights. By now Bob knew me on sight and waved me through the gate. Same with Buford’s guards at his gate and his door. The guy at the door told me to go into the study.

Buford, Ramon, and Sanford were in the study. Buford had a drink and sat in one of the easy chairs. The other two stood alongside him.

Buford wasn’t wearing his bracelet. I didn’t ask.

“You need me to leave?” Buford asked.

“No. There’s nothing you can’t hear. With luck, what we learn here will get you off the hook. Let’s all sit down.”

The two employees sat on the leather couch, and I sat in the other chair. I got straight to the point.

“Your alibis don’t wash. You weren’t here shooting pool all day. Now I know you guys take turns chauffeuring the ladies around when they go shopping or wherever. What I need to know is this. From the time of the murder until when Mr. Overbee was formally charged the next day, is there any time that the Rolls was left in a public place unattended?”

They looked at each other as if one could tell the other what to say.

“We usually stay with the car,” Ramon said.

“Except when we don’t,” Sanford said.

Ramon seemed to want to cover his ass. Sanford didn’t seem to care.

“That’s what I want to know. When and where was the car out of your sight?”

Buford signaled to Ramon to go get him another drink. “What’s the point of all this?” Buford asked me.

“You said it yourself,” I said. “Somebody planted that gun. It had to be when none of your people was with the car. Unless, of course, one of your people planted the gun. We are assuming that neither of them did.” Ramon returned with Buford’s drink. I turned to him and Sanford. “So think, guys, where and when?”

Ramon looked at Buford who said, “Don’t worry. You won’t get in trouble. Tell the man what he needs to know.”

Ramon said, “I went to Starbucks when the ladies were shopping.”

“When?”

“One o’clock.”

“For how long?”

“Most of the afternoon. I read a book and drank coffee. The ladies called me on my cell phone when they were ready to leave. I guess this is my fault. I am sorry.”

“Did you do that any other time?”

“That morning too, Señor. I walked around the mall.”

I turned to Sanford. “How about you?” I asked.

“No. I usually take a nap.”

“Could anyone have gotten into the trunk while you were sleeping?”

He shot me a look that said I had asked a stupid question. Buford laughed. First time I ever saw him laugh.

I went back to the office and called Bill Penrod.

“Bill, I need a favor.”

“Name it.”

When Bill said that, he was saying only that you should name it. No promises.

“Can you see if there are surveillance cameras anywhere around Belksdales?”

“I’ll call you back.”

He called back in about five minutes.

“The whole parking lot is covered. The store maintains them.”

“Great. What’s chances of getting a warrant for the tapes the day Vitole was killed?”

“Based on what?”

“New evidence.” I explained about Sproles being in witness protection and my suspicions.

“That’s quite the fishing expedition. I doubt we could get a judge to issue a warrant based on that. Particularly since my boss considers this a closed case and doesn’t like you. And because of privacy laws that shroud public surveillance videos.”

“I figured as much. Thanks.”

I hung up the phone, lit my last cigarette ever and looked at Rodney.

“Did you make that appointment with Overbee?”

“Yes.”

“Did it have a good outcome?”

“Yes.”

“You understand that I don’t know anything about that?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Go on line, and see if you can find a blank warrant form for evidence in a criminal case.”

Tap, click, tap. “Got it, Uncle Stanley.”

“Print a copy on Willa’s laser.”

He did that and brought the form to me. I scribbled what I wanted on the scratch form and gave it to Rodney.

“Fill in a new copy with a typewriter font, print it, and sign the judge’s name.”

“You’re kidding,” he said. “Judge Roy Bean?”

“Sure. Why not?”

I got Roscoe out of the safe and clipped it to my belt. With my official-looking counterfeit warrant in hand, I headed out to go shopping.

Belksdales is on the east side of town in an upscale shopping center north of the Interstate. It’s one of the bigger stores there and has its own parking lot.

I went inside and went through the store to management’s offices. I asked a receptionist for directions to security. She sent me down a flight of stairs into a small glass-enclosed space with a wrap-around console housing video monitors surrounding a chair. An elderly man in the usual ill-fitting uniform sat dozing in the chair. His name tag said Jim.

I tapped him on the shoulder. He came awake and looked me up and down. Here I was, a man with fading bruises on his face, casts on his arm and leg, and a crutch, and I was interrupting his busy day. He looked annoyed until I flashed the gold P.I. shield at him. He came to attention and said, “Yes, sir. How can I help you?”

The gold shield again. Best thirty bucks I ever spent.

“Got a warrant here for copies of your parking lot videos.” I held up the warrant and told him the date and times.

“I should probably run this by the general manager,” Jim said, “but he went home. Can you wait until tomorrow?”

“No. This is for a murder investigation. You might have read about it, Jim. A fellow got shot down in the street in one of the southern subdivisions. I’m under a lot of pressure to close this case.”

“Oh, yeah. Right near his own house. I remember it was on the news. Didn’t you guys get the killer?”

“We did, but our case is weak. He might walk on a technicality. He’s rich and can afford the best lawyers. All we have is a limited budget and not enough manpower. Hell, man, you’re in law enforcement. You know the job.”

He seemed pleased that I included him among the finest.

“Seems the criminals have all the rights and the poor victims ain’t got none,” Jim said. “Have a seat over there, please. It’ll take a bit of time.”

I sat and waited while Jim typed on his console’s keyboard. After a couple of minutes he got up and brought a DVD and handed it to me.

“Always happy to help my brothers on the force,” he said. “Don’t take the stairs. There’s a freight elevator down that hall. I use it. Ain’t getting any younger, myself.”

I thanked him, went to the elevator, and up and out to my car. I drove back to the office whistling all the way. I hoped the video would prove my theory.

I gave Rodney the DVD and said, “Watch the whole thing. There will be several clips, one for each camera. Look for the Rolls. Pull off any sequences in which there is activity around the Rolls, and make a video of only those scenes. Put the new video on another DVD, and make three copies. Put one in the safe. I’ll take the other two.”

“You got it, Uncle Stanley.”

Why do people always say that before you get anything?

“No I don’t,” I said. “But I will after you’ve done what I ask.”

“How do I get into the safe?”

“Willa has the combination. I’ll look at the DVD tomorrow. I’m whipped, and I’m out of here.”

Dinner at Ray’s was quiet. Bunny tried to ignore me while I ate, but whenever I glanced over at her, she was staring at me and quickly looked away.

I went home alone after I ate. I needed a night off. I had a couple books I wanted to read, and I tried that but couldn’t get into either one. The case had me preoccupied. I was dead sure that one of those three people had killed Vitole, and I hoped the DVD would prove it. If it didn’t show anyone opening the trunk, then the culprit had to be Ramon or Missy. Neither Buford nor Sanford were stupid enough to keep a murder weapon where the cops would find it. And Serena had an air-tight alibi.

I went outside and tried walking up and down the sidewalk without my crutch. That was almost a success. I only fell down once.

A man came running up and helped me to my feet.

“You should get a cane,” he said.

I thanked him and went back to the apartment to get my crutch. I drove to Walmart and bought a ten-dollar cane. That worked well, and I went home and put the crutch in the hall closet next to its brother.

I mulled everything over for a while thinking about the case. I couldn’t stand it any more. I went outside and drove to the office. I hoped I didn’t slip with the cane and fall down the stairs.

I made it upstairs, went in the office, and got the DVD from the safe. There was no way to watch it in the office. Normally, we’d use Rodney’s laptop, but he’d taken it home with him. Maybe Willa’s computer could do it, but I didn’t know how.

I went back to the apartment and watched the DVD. Rodney had done a good job of editing. It started with Buford’s Rolls pulling up to the curb at about nine in the morning. Serena got out and walked away from the car.

I could’ve stayed right there watching Serena walk, but I had work to do.

The scene changed to the parking lot where the Rolls pulled into a space. Ramon got out and walked away. The scene faded out and then back in when the car left the parking space. The time stamp showed it to be about eleven o’clock.

The next scene, at about noon, showed the Rolls returning, pulling up to the curb, and letting Missy out. Then the car parked in another space, and Ramon got out and walked away.

So far, the video bore out what Ramon had told me. The surprise came next.

At about one-thirty a panel van pulled up next to the Rolls. I could make out the Arnold Locksmith and Security logo on the side. The driver got out and looked around. The resolution of the video wasn’t good enough to clearly show his face, but it was William Sproles, there was no doubt about that. The shape of his head, his hair, and his mannerisms all fit. I wished we could do what they do on CSI and zoom in and sharpen the image, but that’s only on television.

Sproles was holding a box. He took the box to the rear of the Rolls and opened the trunk.

Sproles returned to the van, got something else, which could have been a gun. He put it in the trunk of the Rolls and closed the trunk lid. Then he returned to the van, got in, and drove away.

This was what I needed, a video of someone, anyone planting something in Buford’s Rolls where the cops had found the gun. It being someone closely related to the crime made it that much better. Of course, none of the details in the low-res video could clearly identify him or verify without a doubt that that’s what he was doing. Any moderately competent defense lawyer would have a field day shooting down the evidence, particularly since it was obtained with a bogus warrant, and given the quality of the video. But maybe it would be enough to coerce a confession.

I was satisfied. I went to bed.