The Night Watchman (16 page)

32

I
TOOK A LONG WHIFF
of the ripe beast. Resting my glass on my apartment windowsill, I shifted position on the bar stool outside, hoping to give the leg at least a little comfort. The night air didn't even stir; the pool stench hovered unchallenged around me.

I'd brought my Sudoku book out with me, but I wasn't sure if I'd be able to finish this puzzle. It didn't matter because I needed some time out of the apartment to process everything. I'd had a busy day and needed to sort through all the information.

I was still flying under the radar with Oscar and Pampas, but I wasn't sure how long I could keep that going. My meeting with the commissioner and his lapdog went well, but I really didn't learn more than I already knew. I was just able to confirm the phone number and have a whole lot of fun at their expense. Maybe if I shook them up enough, they would make some mistakes in the future. I'd see about that.

Dante Hill had spoken with conviction. He gave information rather freely, which was unusual for most cons. Maybe he was just reaching out because he had nothing else to help him. It didn't make sense that he would ambush Trish and me and then go back into his house and call 911. Then he didn't even remove the cocaine and two pistols from his house before the police arrived. I had to agree with him about that.

But Dante confirmed another disturbing element of this whole ordeal: a cop was definitely involved. Jamie seemed to be making her rounds—from Dante Hill (scumbag extraordinaire), to a phantom cop, to County Commissioner Vitaliano, to a pastor. She demonstrated a rather eclectic taste in men, to be sure. But why the connection to me and my shooting? Just a coincidence? A random chance that I would be investigating David's and Jamie's deaths? Or was there something more calculated in the equation that I'd yet to consider?

Another swig of Jim cooled my thoughts. No way was I going to finish my puzzle, so I let the pool funk chase me inside. I logged on to my laptop and pulled up a picture of Jamie. She was a beautiful yet troubled girl. Everything so far in this case, or these cases, seemed to revolve around a twenty-three-year-old girl who danced for men at night… among other things. I needed to know more about Jamie, about the Lion's Den. I needed to know a lot more about a lot of things. The deeper I dug in this case, the more I felt like I buried myself.

I reviewed my notes on the J & M Corporation. On a hunch, I ran J & M through the property appraiser's Web site. I was more than a little surprised to discover that J & M owned three properties in Orange County—all purchased within the last year. I saved and printed those pages and would sort through them later.

I pinned some more items on my living room wall and stepped back to admire my work. My mosaic of murder suffered from the disjointed, nonsensical patterns that would make it a great piece of modern art, but it was a poor representation of an allegedly ordered police investigation. Many pictures. Many lines. Much speculation. Few hard facts.

The knock on the door wasn't unexpected. Pam had arrived. She wore white pants and a nice green blouse, not that I'm all that into clothes. She smiled as I held the door open for her.

We said our hellos. As I directed her in the latest chorus that was this case, I made sure the more gruesome crime scene photos on the wall were covered. I filled her in on the games I'd played with the commissioner and Kurfis. She seemed to appreciate it.

Pam sat down at the kitchen table. “So how'd it go with Dante Hill?”

I shrugged. “He's a tough one to figure. He's got every reason to lie to me about the shooting. If they can pin it on him, he'll be on death row for killing a cop.”

“But is he lying?”

“My gut tells me no. His story made sense. He thinks he's slick, but I don't think he would have called 911 to report the shootings, given his real name and address, then waited for the cops to show up and not gotten rid of the drugs and guns in his house.”

“Did he know anything about Jamie?” she said.

“More questions than answers.” I joined Pam at the table. “He and Jamie were on the outs around that time. She started dancing at the club and was bringing in a lot of money, and she was seeing…a cop.”

Pam raised her eyebrows. I was beginning to get a feel for the lady. “She was dating a cop while dating Dante? He must have been furious.”

“Not this guy. He couldn't care less, as long as she was bringing him money.”

Pam crossed her arms and shook her head. “I'm so lost here sometimes. I can't believe people live like this.”

“Believe it. Dante is a parasite and would leech off anyone he could. Women are just objects to him. Jamie was a moneymaker and part-time lover. That's it.”

She seemed to agree with my assessment of the marvelous Mr. Hill. “So if she was seeing a police officer at the time when you were shot…” She paused.

“I don't know what it means, if that's what you were going to ask. And how does it relate back to David? The obvious answer is Jamie. The only other connection between them is me.”

“What case were you investigating with Dante to begin with?” she said. “Maybe there's something else there that connects the events.”

“I needed to talk to Dante about a shooting that happened the week before at a rival drug dealer's house. The guy wasn't seriously hurt, but Oscar ordered me to follow up anyway so a drug war wouldn't open up with us having to clean up the mess. We typically worked homicides and suspicious deaths, but Oscar insisted. He wanted to head off any problems. Trisha and I parked a little ways down the street, as usual. The sun was setting, and it was getting dark. There weren't a lot of people out. We were talking as we turned up the walkway to his house.”

I stopped for a breath and hid my hands from Pam because they were trembling. It's not that I haven't relived that night. I did every single day, many times a day. But I hadn't given it voice since I made my statement during the initial investigation.

“A tall hedge ran parallel to the walkway to Dante's front door. As we were heading to the porch, I heard something to my right. The first shot was so close I felt the flash of the gunpowder on my face. The round pierced my arm and then the side of my chest and both lungs.” I rolled up my sleeve and revealed the scar just underneath my shoulder on my triceps. “The second tore through my hip and pelvis. I was down like a rock after that.”

My voice cracked. “Memory is a funny thing. The seconds are etched in my mind as if they were in stone tablets, but I can't trust everything I saw, or believed I saw. I don't know if the medications later or the trauma did something to my mind, my judgment. But as I went down, I looked up at Trisha. My arm was broken, and I couldn't get my gun from my holster. She'd pulled her pistol and stepped to the side, like we're trained to do. It seemed like she was on target for a long, long time, but she didn't pull the trigger. I thought at one point her gun lowered, but I can't be sure. Then I heard the shot and she went down.”

“I'm very sorry.” Pam squeezed my forearm. “I can't imagine what you must have gone through.”

Her kindness did little to stem the flood of raw emotions pouring out of me. “But then, as I lay there knowing I was going to die, someone came up to me and…”

“Someone was there? What did he look like?”

“I have no idea. I know this sounds crazy, but I was curled up, trying to crawl over to Trish and fighting to stay conscious, struggling to breathe. Someone stood between us. As sirens sounded in the distance, that person knelt and placed a hand on my shoulder. Whoever it was had to have been there for the entire shooting. Dante said he didn't see anyone, but I know what I felt. There's a witness out there, and whoever it is watched Trisha's murder and knows the truth.”

“Trisha was more than your partner, wasn't she?” Pam said.

I knew Pam had a good right, but I just found out she had a pretty solid left hook as well. I didn't see it coming. I couldn't answer her right away because if I had, my voice would have splintered and I would have fallen apart on the spot. I stood and turned my back to her. I fiddled with a napkin on my kitchen counter.

“What makes you say that?” I said in little more than a whisper.

“It's how you say her name.
Trisha
. Your affection carries in your voice.”

Could she hear the guilt that carried in my voice too? The shameful knowledge that when Trisha needed me most, I wasn't there for her? I watched her die and was helpless to stop it. For all my training and experience, I didn't see the ambush coming. I was her partner; I was supposed to protect her and watch out for her. I failed, and she died.

She paid the ultimate price for my mistake, and that had haunted me from the second I woke up in the hospital until now—with no indication that it would ever leave me in peace. I steadied myself with the kitchen counter and kept my gaze as far from Pam as I could.

“No one was supposed to know,” I said. “If someone discovered that we were dating, one or both of us would have been removed from the unit. We wouldn't have been allowed to be partners anymore. Neither of us wanted to leave Homicide.”

I still couldn't face Pam, or she'd see my red, moistening eyes. No way was that going to happen. She wasn't going to see me cry.

“We were getting ready to tell everyone. I had just asked her to marry me two days before.”

33

A
FTER
P
AM LEFT
the apartment, I drained the life out of Jim, leaving him empty on the counter in the early-morning hours. I watched an oldie but a goodie in
The Fighting Seabees
, starring Master Wayne, and then
Sands of Iwo Jima
. I hoped the war flicks would assuage my foul, tortured mood. It must have worked because I didn't remember much after midnight.

I awoke in the late afternoon and began my ritual. There was a lot to do, regardless of how I felt. We needed to know more about the Lion's Den. Since it was unlikely Chance Thompson would sprout a tree of conscience and tell me everything I needed to know, intentionally anyway, I felt it my duty to tease it out of him by whatever means necessary.

I picked up Crevis at his house and briefed him on the plan. We pulled into the parking lot of Club Venus. Chance's tank of a Hummer was parked in the back. His Roidness was in the house.

We found a spot where I could watch the back door and most of the parking lot while I was in the shadows. The club was jumping. Cars streamed in and out, circling for parking spots. Since Chance knew what I drove, I had borrowed Pam's car. I turned on my scanner and went to work.

I checked Chance's cell phone number from the log I had made. I'd purchased a prepaid phone earlier in the day. I needed something to distance myself from some calls I'd have to make. If a cop were in the mix somewhere, eventually these calls could be traced to me. I wasn't going to make it easy for them. I dialed Chance and handed the phone to Crevis.

“Chance,” he said, the gravel voice dripping with bravado.

“May I speak with Maddy Martin, please?” Crevis said in a British accent.

“You've got the wrong number.”

“Are you sure, old chap?” Crevis grinned. “She did give me this number just last night.”

“Look, you got the wrong number.”

“Really, good man,” Crevis said, “I do hope that she's not put you up to something dastardly.”

“Listen, freak, don't call this number again.”

I finally tuned in to his frequency and nodded to Crevis.

“Very well. Have a lovely evening.” Crevis hung up.

“You're enjoying this a little too much,” I said. “Now let's see if we hear anything worthwhile.”

We waited in the dark as the traffic flow didn't cease for nearly two hours. No calls from Chance. People are creatures of habit, and even though the chromosome test might be close for Chance, he was still human. He had called Jamie about once a day using his cell phone. If his connection to Jamie was what I suspected, Chance wouldn't risk calling her on the business phone at Club Venus. His calls were usually between 9:00 and 11:00 p.m. That would be the time Chance would check on his girls from the Lion's Den. If he called Jamie then, who else did he call? And would we get the opportunity to track them down?

As midnight approached, Chance's bellowing voice blared over the scanner. “Hey, Brigitte. How's everything going?”

“Doing great,” the female said. An alluring, sensual voice to be sure. “I'm getting ready to head over to Ben's. Marie is out of town. Should be a fun weekend. I'll let you know how things go.”

“Good. Tell Ben I said hello.”

“Hello, Brigitte.” I made some hasty notes. It was time to shut down the Club Venus surveillance because we had some good info to start on, and the pulsating purple was giving me a headache.

34

T
HE NEXT AFTERNOON
I called Ashley, and she seemed glad to hear from me. I was a little leery about trusting her, but she'd already taken some risks telling me what she knew Plus, I didn't have a lot of options.

I asked if she knew a Brigitte who worked for Club Venus in the last year. She said she did, and like Jamie, Brigitte was stunning and made a lot of money fast, then disappeared from the club scene. Her last name was Mathis. In short order, I had an address in Winter Park. She owned two cars—a Lexus SUV and a motorcycle. Her driver's license picture could have been a work of art. Chance had the ability to draw in some of the most beautiful—albeit naive—young women I'd seen in a long time. That gave me more incentive to nail him.

Brigitte was going to see “Ben” for the weekend. It sounded like Ben's wife was out of town. I'd probably ID'd another dancer in the Lion's Den, but now I had to find out who the other lions were besides the commissioner. I had a lot of guesswork right now but needed more names to make the important links.

Crevis and I arrived at her street in Winter Park, a well-to-do town just north of Orlando. Brigitte owned an impressive, older three-bedroom ranch house on Lake Sue Avenue near Rollins College (my alma mater). The path around the lake was lined with oaks and royal palms. The homes were older but well cared for and stately. If she was going to see Ben, she probably wouldn't take the motorcycle—I hoped, anyway. So the Lexus would be our target.

“Hold on to this.” I handed Crevis the GPS tracking unit.

Crevis played with the rubber flap. “What's this?”

“I glued a rubber flap over it to help conceal it. It should blend in with the bumper. Now you have to glue it down just like I showed you. On the inside of the front bumper so the GPS can locate its signal but still be out of sight.”

We'd practiced a couple of times on my truck before going out. The faster he could get it on and get out of there, the better we would both be. We didn't need a repeat of our trash-search fiasco.

I gave Crevis his last-minute instructions and sent him on his way. He hurried along the sidewalk and passed her house, as I had told him. The silver Lexus was parked in the driveway. He walked about three houses down, then turned back around. As he approached the house again, he ducked down next to the car, dropped to his back, and wiggled underneath. Good thing he was lean and gangly. In my condition, I couldn't imagine trying to shimmy underneath the car and back up again. I was beginning to appreciate the little monkey.

I scanned up and down the roadway. A car approached from the north, then passed by. No problems. Crevis was in a good spot. It was unlikely anyone would see him underneath the SUV.

A few moments later, Crevis's head peeked out. He checked around and then hopped to his feet. He was back to my truck in no time. No neighbors, no dogs. Not a bad mission. Maybe Crevis and I were getting this partnering thing down.

I started the truck and drove away. I instructed Crevis on how to use the laptop to get to the Web site we needed. We'd see if our little present was up and running right. He found the site and the larger Web map. The GPS must have already acquired its satellite because our red dot was pulsing away at Brigitte's house. Now she would lead us to Ben and/or the Lion's Den.

Crevis and I made it to the Coral Bay just in time for our shift. I set up my laptop and kept the mapping page open. Crevis made his rounds. At 10:12 p.m., Brigitte's Lexus left her driveway and traveled south toward Orlando.

I wolfed down a ham sandwich as she wound her way through the city streets. When I first started in police work, surveillance like this would require at least four or five detectives, switching off the lead as they went, always with the risk of losing contact with the suspect or getting burned. Now, all I needed was the GPS tracker, a laptop, and a Crevis.

After a twenty-minute ride, Brigitte's vehicle stopped in a neighborhood in Windermere, where several professional golfers lived.
Extravagant
didn't do the neighborhood justice. I minimized the screen and checked the address with the property appraiser's office. The owner was Benjamin Scott. I knew the name from somewhere, but I couldn't be sure. I ran a name check through Google for “Ben Scott Orlando” and found Benjamin Scott, Esquire, attorney for the Orange County Board of County Commissioners.

I sat back and drew a breath. Brigitte Mathis had just headed to commission attorney Benjamin Scott's house for a weekend of… fun.

I searched for Scott's name paired with Vitaliano's. Another score. An article in the
Orlando Sentinel
detailed their relationship. It seemed that Scott and Vitaliano were working together to strengthen the county's adult entertainment ordinance. Lovely. A picture of the two guardians of virtue was displayed prominently both smiling and shaking hands. Ben was about three inches shorter than Vitaliano and had sandy blond hair receding toward the back of his head.

I saved the article and rocked back in my chair. Two dancers from Chances club, both “entertaining” two of Orange County's largest powerbrokers, who just happened to be working on an adult entertainment ordinance. Chance's fleshy fingers were wrapped all around this ordinance. I needed to find out more about it and what he was up to.

I had time to kill, and I needed to finish some of the early work with Jamie and David. I reviewed more of their e-mails.

Dave,

I was thinking about u last night. i was with someone know i shouldn't be with, doing things i know i shouldn't be doing. i just keep asking myself how i got here. When i was kid, i wanted to go to college and get a decent job and have a life. i used to write poetry when i was a little girl. Now? My life is so out of control and not the one i ever imagined for myself. i feel so dirty and ashamed. And then u said that god sees everything and knows my heart. That thought terrifies me more than anything. i wish there was some way i could hide from his all-seeing eye. Some way that your god could not see me in my filthiness. i'm trapped with no way out. There's no way i can come back from the things i've done, from the life i'm entangled in. i don't mean to dump all this on u, but i'm really struggling with so many things. Please pray for me.

Jamie

I checked David's reply.

Jamie,

God does see all and knows our thoughts, motivations, and actions. And in our wicked, depraved state, He still loved us enough to send His Son to die for us. That fact alone boggles my feeble mind. Please know that there is no such thing as too far for God, and there's no sin that is too deep. He yearns to forgive you and heal you. You just have to get to that place where you're ready to ask Him. I'm here if you need me, 24/7. I
am
praying for you and will continue to. Take care and God bless.

David

I didn't know whether to laugh at David's ignorance or weep for his loss. I couldn't tell if he was being played by a dancer used to manipulating people, or if she was a hurting young lady reaching out for help. Either way this case troubled my sleep.