Killer Listing (18 page)

Despite finding no solid information, she knew she would now get some sleep. Hensley had written down a name. Darby felt sure it meant something, and that she would soon discover its significance.

_____

Officer Kelly McGee chirped out “Good morning” to Detective Dave DiNunzio, who was slumped at his desk in the middle of a big yawn as she passed. He mumbled something incoherent to Kelly and shook his shaggy head, reminding her of a big bear just coming out of hibernation. He was always exhausted on Fridays, recovering from his weekly poker game the night before. She smiled as he stretched, yawned again, and answered the phone. She saw him swivel in his chair and cup his hand over the receiver, suddenly alert. “Have you seen Detective Briggs?”

Kelly McGee frowned. “Not yet.” She thought about his dinner plans with the beautiful Darby Farr and felt the familiar ache in her ribs.
Knock it off
, she told herself.
You’ve just got to get over it.

Kelly looked over a pile of papers on her desk and wondered where to begin. The computer queries on ticket data, or the log book? Reluctantly she lifted the pile of queries and pulled out her chair. DiNunzio was at her side, a strange look on his face.

“The Lieutenant Governor was assaulted last night in Tallahassee,” he said. “Briggs is over there as part of a new task force she’s formed, and he’s tied up until lunchtime at least.” He shook his head at Kelly, who wore a confused expression. “Hard to believe, some asshole went and mugged Chellie Howe, huh?”

Kelly McGee’s red curls bounced as she shook her head. “Is she okay?”

“Yeah. Shook up, and more determined than ever to catch every criminal in Florida. Hence the new task force.” He checked the few notes he’d scribbled while talking to Briggs. “He wants us to head over to Driftwood to see that Darby Farr. She found something on her lawn late last night.”

Kelly nearly winced at the name Darby Farr, and yet could not contain a shiver of excitement at the prospect of gathering evidence.

“What are we waiting for?” she asked DiNunzio. “My car is in front.”

_____

Darby showed the scrap of paper to Detective DiNunzio and Officer McGee while a worried Helen, hands clasped in consternation, looked on.

“What does it mean, Detective?” she asked. “Can you tell?”

Dave DiNunizio put a beefy hand on the older woman’s shoulder. “Now don’t get too concerned, Mrs. …”

“Miss Near,” she said, shrugging off his placating hand. “You’re new in the department, aren’t you, Detective DiNunzio?”

He gave a sheepish nod. “Yes, Ma’am. But I’m not new to police work.”

“Then you listen up. I’m already concerned. A man installed a camera in my guest room window. He could have harmed Darby. I want to make sure you’re taking this seriously.”

Kelly McGee fixed Helen Near with a level gaze. “That’s why we’re here, Miss Near. This name could be a link to a murder suspect. It’s very important evidence, and I’m glad Miss Farr found it.”

Darby wondered at the previously garrulous officer’s sudden formality but did not react. “How quickly can we run it through your database?”

“I’ll take it down to the station right now.” She gave Darby a curious look. “Would you like to come?”

Darby nodded. “Definitely. I’ll take my own car and follow you.” She turned to Helen. “My appointment with Mr. Kobayashi is at ten, so I’ll head over to the island from downtown. Are you going to be okay?”

“Who, me? Sure, I’ll be fine.” Helen leaned toward Darby and whispered, “You really want to make me feel better, get your Mr. Kobayashi to write a check for St. Andrew’s Isle. Then I’ll be peachy keen.”

_____

Kelly McGee pointed to a plastic chair in the precinct’s waiting room. “Have a seat,” she said, heading toward the glass door of an office. Darby picked up a newspaper and glanced at the front page. Lieutenant Governor Chellie Howe was featured, discussing her plan to put more patrolmen on the streets of Florida’s cities. Darby looked for a mention of the Kondo Killings, and found several places where the violence of the murders was decried.

Darby was about to put the paper down when a familiar name—the byline of a wire service story covering rebel groups in Afghanistan—caught her eye. “Miles Porter,” she said aloud. They’d met in Maine, just a month earlier, and felt a mutual attraction. She scanned the story, hoping Miles was not in danger, but the report gave no indication of its author’s whereabouts.

Kelly McGee cleared her throat and Darby looked up, startled.

“I’m sorry,” the officer said. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“It’s fine. I just noticed this news story. It’s by a friend of mine, someone I haven’t heard from in a while.” She stood up. “Any luck?”

“Yes, as a matter of fact. Donald Bergeron and Clyde Hensley were incarcerated in the same Texas prison at the same time. Not only that, but they shared a cell for a few months.”

“Interesting. Do you think Clyde was planning to contact this guy?”

“Well if he did, he came up empty. Donald Bergeron died last year—just about the time Clyde Hensley was released.”

“Did he die in prison?”

“No, Bergeron was already out, still in Texas, when he was shot in an alley near his job. His shooting was never solved.”

“Maybe Clyde Hensley didn’t know Bergeron was dead.”

“Could be.”

Darby glanced at the clock on the wall. “I’d better take off. Thanks so much for following up on this.”

“I wish it had led somewhere,” Kelly said.

“Me too,” said Darby. “Me too.”

_____

Hideki Kobayashi arrived early at the St. Andrew’s Isle gatehouse, but Darby had anticipated this and was even earlier. Wearing a perfectly tailored suit and pristine white shirt, the dapper man with black hair going gray at the temples bowed to Darby and she gave a small bow back. With a twinkle in his eye, he greeted her in Japanese. Darby smiled and answered him back.

“I see your command of Japanese is very good,” he observed.

“I can manage the pleasantries, but beyond that, I’m afraid I don’t remember very much of what my mother taught me.”

“And yet your accent is flawless. What part of Japan is your family from?”

“South of Tokyo. A city called Kamakura.”

Hideki Kobayashi inclined his head slightly, but said nothing.

“And yourself? Where are you from, Mr. Kobayashi?”

“I now live in Tokyo, but I was raised in Yokohama City. Kamakura is a beautiful old town; I know it well.” He gave another subtle tilt of his head. “I believe that our meeting is fortuitous. We shall talk further about our Japanese roots, but first, may I examine this exquisite property?”

Darby nodded. “Of course.” She did not believe in omens, but it did seem her relationship with Mr. Kobayashi was getting off to a very auspicious start.

_____

Chellie Howe was ready to leave the hospital. Dressed in fresh clothes and sitting in a chair by the window, she pressed a few buttons on her Smartphone and reread her husband’s only message:

Heard what happened and that you’re going to be alright. Thank God. Listen, it’s midnight, and I’m not in any shape to travel. I’ll see you late morning
.

That was it. He had nothing more to say, even when she’d been attacked and left for dead on the street.

She swallowed and tried to steady her hands. This was the marriage she had chosen, this was the kind of man he was, a man with precious few feelings, a man who had blatantly taken a lover and showed little concern at the attempt on her life.

A monster.

Chellie closed her eyes. The pain and rage were almost more than she could bear.

There was a knock on the door and Mindy Jackson entered, oblivious to her employer’s mood. “Detective Briggs called and said he’d stop in before the task force meeting. Then I’ve got a press conference scheduled at eleven on the steps of the …”

Chellie’s emotions needed an outlet and the hapless assistant fit the bill.

“Get out of my room! I don’t care what you’ve done. Just get out.”

Mindy’s face colored and she began backing away.

“Fine,” she breathed, her voice sounding high and reedy. “I’ll leave and this time I’m leaving for good. But one more detail you may want to take care of, Lieutenant Governor Howe. The Sarasota Women’s Club called to reschedule your talk—the one you completely missed at the Ringling Museum? They’d like you to contact them as soon as possible …”

“You little shit!” Chellie’s face was twisted in anger, but then, just as suddenly, it melted to a look of pleased surprise.

“Detective Briggs! How lovely to see you.”

Jonas Briggs’ eyebrows were raised in a quizzical look.

“Everything okay here?’

“I was just saying goodbye to Mindy.”

“I see.” His blue eyes looked wary. “There’s good news regarding your assault last night.”

“Such as?”

“Your wallet’s been found in a dumpster near where the attack took place. The Chief here in Tallahassee said they’ve grabbed a couple of kids for questioning, too. You didn’t see the face of your attacker, correct?”

“How could I? I was hit from behind, and I’ve got the welt to prove it.” She looked around the room and sighed. “I can’t wait to get out of here. Can you check and see what’s taking the doctor so long?”

“Sure thing.”

Chellie watched as Jonas Briggs left the room, admiring, even in her frazzled frame of mind, the way he swaggered as he walked.

_____

Following her meeting with Hideki Kobayashi, Darby stopped at the Dive, looking for Marco. She found him in the storeroom, loading bottles of tonic water and ginger ale onto a small dolly. He looked up as she approached and frowned.

“What are you doing here?”

“Jack sent me. I need to know where your cousin Candy might be.”

“Why is that?” His voice wary, tired. “She’s not in trouble, is she?”

“No. I’m hoping she can help Jack. She might be able to corroborate his story.”

Marco thought a moment. “Candy is a very private person. She doesn’t like to draw attention to herself.”

“I understand. I only want to speak with her.”

He angled the dolly so that it could be pushed to the bar. “Why didn’t Jack give you her address? He certainly knows where she lives.” He frowned. “She’s in Bradenton, downtown. Right by the video palace—I think it’s 1280 Pelican.”

“Thanks.” Darby paused. “Have you heard from Jack?”

Marco shook his head. “No. I don’t think I will, except to find out that I’m fired.”

“What do you mean?”

“I gave you that note and you went to the police with it. Now he’s in jail. I should have burned the damn thing.”

“That would have been destroying evidence, Marco, and you would be in real trouble then. Listen, Jack wrote that note because he wanted help.”

The tall man shrugged. “I don’t know.”

“No one does for sure, but I do know that you did the right thing.” She touched his shoulder and turned to leave. “I’m going to see if I can find Candy. Thank you, Marco.”

_____

Forty-five minutes later, Darby drove by a tired brick building at 1280 Pelican. She parked the Mustang, walked back to the building, and muscled open a dingy entrance door. The walls were grimy and gray, and she had difficulty reading any names on the scribbled mail slots. Finally she found “C. Sutton” and pushed a tarnished bronze button.

A buzzer sounded and from inside the building, Darby heard the bark of a small dog. She opened the interior door. Inside it was murky, the air dank and musty. She climbed the stairs to the third floor, not trusting the elevator.

A woman opened the door of her apartment a crack and gave Darby a quizzical look. “Who’re you?” She was tall, and very thin, with honey-blonde hair cut in a bob and an even, golden brown tan. Her long, tapered fingers ended in bright red nails that tapped on the door frame with impatience. “I said, who the hell are you?”

“A friend of Jack Cameron’s. My name is Darby Farr. Are you Candy?”

“I am. What do you want?”

“A few minutes of your time.”

She glanced down the hallway. “Time is something I don’t have a hell of a lot of. Are you with the police? I told them I could speak to them tomorrow.”

“I’ll only be a minute.”

Reluctantly she opened the door and Darby stepped into the apartment, bracing herself for more squalor. Instead she blinked in amazement. It was a surprisingly bright, airy space, with sleek tubular furniture and polished wood floors. Abstract paintings in bold colors accented the walls.

“What a beautiful room.”

“Thank you. I enjoy the contrast with the rest of the building.” She frowned. “My lease is almost up, and to tell you the truth, I’ll miss this grungy place.” She waved in the direction of her furniture. A small white dog lay curled in a snowy heap, paying only the scantiest attention to Darby. “That’s Fang. Another reason this place has worked out well. Anyway, have a seat.”