The Night Watchman (2 page)

2

W
HILE
I
USED TO WAGE WAR
in the streets against felons and thugs, my largest battle now was staying awake for an entire shift. The height of last week's drama at the condo was when Mrs. Ragland's Yorkshire terrier left an unwanted deposit on the carpet in the lobby. In a short time, my world had disintegrated into this.

I navigated my way across Jackson Street to the glass double doors of Coral Bay Condos. The eight-story building was about twenty-five years old. The sign above the doors read Where Luxury and Comfort Meet.

I rapped my knuckles on the glass. The doors were locked from 8:00 p.m. until 5:00 a.m., and my shift started at 9:00. The second-shift guy, Hank Karpinski, was sitting in my chair at the front desk. Hank didn't move. I doubted he could hear me. He was easily a hundred and thirty years old and the only person on the planet I might be able to take in a dead sprint. I rang the door chime. His gray head bobbed my way, and I waved. He squinted, then pressed the metallic buzzer to let me in.

I pushed through the door. “How are things going, Hank?”

“Crazy as usual, Ray.” Hank made his way around the counter. “Mrs. Campola is off her medication again. She's been mean as a snake all day, calling down and hollering at me.”

“Sounds nice.”

“Busy, busy, busy.” The old man shuffled past me toward the door. “Watch Crevis tonight too. He's already here and fired up as usual.”

“I figured.” I eased into the cushioned swivel chair at the front desk, then propped my cane on the table next to me. Hank had kept my seat warm.

Four security monitors hung on the wall behind me, covering different areas of the complex—the front door, the back, the underground parking garage, and the elevators. The front desk faced the lobby and the glass double doors.

Two maroon couches were in the lobby, so residents could sit and talk. At night, they were virtually unused, which was one of the reasons I volunteered to work the midnight shift. I could sit back in my little kingdom, alone, watching the world pass by. Like a wrecked voyeur of sorts, my life was more of a spectator sport now.

The job wasn't too bad, though. I answered phones, buzzed folks in and out, watched the monitors, and called for help if we needed it (usually an ambulance, since many of the residents were elderly). The pay wasn't great, although it did supplement my retirement benefits. A friend suggested I pursue a second job, if for no other reason than to get out of my apartment more. He might have been right.

Stretching out my right leg, I massaged it, hoping it wouldn't cause me too much discomfort tonight. The walk and near rumble left me a bit sore. I needed to talk with management about letting me park on the premises. I thought parking a couple of lots away would give me some exercise, but now I wasn't so sure.

I pulled my
Sudoku Masters
book from my pocket, then flipped to my current puzzle. I loved a good puzzle. As a kid, I wore out a dozen Rubik's Cubes.

“Ray!” Crevis Creighton rounded the corner from the first-floor hallway and burst into the lobby. “I got a new knife at the flea market. Wanna see it?”

So much for being undisturbed. “No.”

He plopped his size-twelve hoof on the chair next to mine and drew a dagger from a sheath tied to his boot. Crevis's face lit up as he held the blade in front of him.

Crevis was my nighttime co-worker who walked the property while I manned the desk. I couldn't bring myself to say
partner
in the same sentence with Crevis; it violated all good standards of decency.

About my height, a good six foot, Crevis had a wiry build and was a little lighter than me (especially since I'd put on some pounds recently). With a bright red flattop haircut and long gangly arms, he resembled a spider monkey with a pencil eraser glued to its head—with all due respect to the little primates who might have a couple of IQ points on him. He was in his late teens or early twenties and had ruddy skin, pitted with acne scars like a wall-spackling job gone awry.

“Pretty cool.” Crevis twirled the implement of war, mesmerized by the shiny dagger in a way that should cause concern to any person with even a rudimentary understanding of psychology. “Wanna hold it?”

“No.”

Crevis held it out to me. I glared back at him.

“Okay, okay.” He slid it back into its sheath and stood tall, his PR-24 police baton dangling on his web belt. The guy had every security gadget known to man on that thing—pepper spray handcuffs, an expandable baton, plastic Flexicuffs, a flashlight, a Leatherman tool, and a Velcro pouch containing who-knows-what, and I didn't dare ask him.

“Wanna hear what happened at the flea market?”

“No.”

“When I was looking at the knife case, these three guys were behind me. One of them started gettin' mouthy because he said I was standing in front of him. They all got in my face, so I stepped back, ready to go at it with them.”

Crevis raised his hands and took a feeble karate stance. “I told them to bring it on. They just backed up and walked away. They were scared.” Crevis planted his hands on his hips and puffed his chest out like it should have a large
S
on it.

“Lucky for them.” They could have damaged their fists on his face.

“You know it.” Crevis worked a quick series of jabs and hooks in the air, a triumphant smirk sliding across his uneven teeth. “They had no idea who they were dealing with. I'm a weapon of death and destruction.”

This conversation needed to end. I glanced at the garage monitor and rolled my chair closer, seemingly fixated on the screen.

“You see something?” Crevis hurried around the front desk and went shoulder to shoulder with me, eyes locked on the monitor.

“I'm not sure. I thought I saw a shadow or something move in the garage area by one of the vans there.” I tapped the screen with my finger. Pausing a second for effect, I waved a dismissive hand in the air and leaned back in my chair. “It was probably nothing. I wouldn't worry about it.”

“You never know. I'm on it.” Crevis scampered down the hall toward the stairs, his gear rattling. “I'll call you if I see something.”

Worked every time. One night I must have sent him to a dozen different shadows and movements. The kid had been lacquered in a healthy sweat before that shift ended. I almost felt sorry for him… almost.

After just a few minutes, Crevis crept past the garage camera, gazed back, and gave me a thumbs-up, as if I cared. Flashlight in hand, he slipped out of view. That should be good for a half hour, maybe forty-five minutes. His parents must have been hippies who ingested large quantities of narcotics in their day. There's no other rational reason why someone would name their child Crevis.

I positioned my chair so I could keep an eye on the monitors and the front door, then I returned my attention to my puzzle. Didn't want my back to the door; old cop habits were hard to break. One of the benefits of this job was lots of time for my Sudoku. I checked the puzzle pattern to this point and added two more numbers when the buzzer drew me to the front door.

An attractive blonde in her late twenties knocked on the glass and waved. She wore blue jeans and a white shirt, and her hair was in a ponytail. I'd never seen her before. Then again, I hadn't been working here all that long.

“May I help you?” I said through the intercom, resting my unchallenged puzzle on the desk.

“I'm here to see my brother.”

“Did you ring his unit?”

“He won't answer. Please let me in.” She rested a hand on the glass. “I'm worried about him.”

I pushed the button, feeling a little guilty for not buzzing her in right away.

She hurried to the counter and leaned her elbows on it. “I'm sorry to bother you, but I haven't been able to reach my brother since yesterday. He hasn't answered his cell or house phone. This isn't like him at all.” Her hazel eyes were a nice complement to her pretty face.

“What's his name?” I pulled the resident listing book from next to the telephone.

“David Hendricks.”

I wasn't familiar with his name either. I found his number and picked up the phone. “I'll call his apartment.” I got an answering machine with a man's voice, probably her brother, telling me to leave a message at the tone. I didn't leave one.

“Answering machine.” I shrugged.

“Can you please let me in his apartment? He's a pastor and runs Outreach Orlando Ministries. He didn't show up for work today and didn't call in.” Her voice cracked, but she caught herself and regained composure. “Something's wrong; I just know it.”

After fifteen years of police work, I was pretty good at spotting trouble and troubled people. She was neither. I had the master key and would escort her up to his unit. I could have let Crevis do it while I attended to my puzzle, but even though I didn't know this lady, she'd given me no reason to subject her to Crevis.

“Hey, Crevis,” I called into my radio. “You need to cover the front desk for a minute. I'm going to let someone in an apartment on the fourth floor.”

“On my way.” He was out of breath and no doubt running to the desk, as he did with every request.

She leaned over the desk and touched my forearm as I stood. “Thank you.”

“No problem.” I got my cane and started down the hallway. She followed.

“Everyone at the mission is worried. David is the most responsible person I know.”

A pastor? Fifteen snarky responses piled up in my head like rush-hour traffic. I have a filter in my brain that's often “out of order” and allows whatever I think to flow way too freely across my lips. It's been my undoing more than once. But today for some reason, I shut off the comments and didn't tell the lady what I thought of pastors, religion, or anything else, for that matter. Didn't know how long the filter would keep working, so I'd best get this done and finish my puzzle.

“What's your name?”

“Ray.” I fumbled with the keys in my hand. “Ray Quinn.”

“I appreciate this, Ray.” She scooted ahead of me to the elevator and pushed the Up button. “I'm Pam Winters.”

I nodded. Different last name than her brother, no wedding ring, but a rather fresh indent on her ring finger. Must be a story there. I pay attention to hands. When I was a cop, it was a matter of life or death. The hands were what could cripple or kill you. Not to watch them was a dereliction of duty. Now it was just an annoying remnant of my former life.

We were on the fourth floor before I knew it. Pam exited first, well in front of me. I did what I could to keep up with her brisk pace.

She stopped at room 419 and knocked. No answer. I knocked. I didn't want to be jiggling the door with the key and have some goofy, scared resident pop a few rounds my way. Maybe this guy just wanted to be left alone for a day. I'd had whole months where I didn't want to be bothered.

Pam tapped her foot and then pounded on the door. “David. It's Pam. Open up. Are you okay?”

I waited for a second. Still nothing. I unlocked the door and eased it open. “Mr. Hendricks, it's the night watchman. Are you all right?”

“David.” Pam stepped around me as we entered the living room. No one was there.

The living room was nice with an open kitchen area. Nothing opulent, but not a bad place for a single guy. Sure beat my digs.

Pam walked into the kitchen and over to the phone on the counter. The message light flashed.

I stayed where I was because I didn't feel comfortable milling around someone's apartment. But I didn't want to leave her alone here either, just in case I was being duped and she was some crazed stalker chick or something.

She called to her brother again and then moved down the hallway toward the bedrooms. As she opened a door on the left, her scream could have peeled paint off the wall. I ran forward as best I could, nearly stumbling in the hallway.

Pam halted at the doorway, hand over mouth, another shriek tearing through the air. I stepped into the room and found out why.

I pulled my radio from my belt. “Crevis, call 911 now!”

“What?”

“Call OPD right now. We've got two people down.” I switched hands with my cane and grabbed Pam by the arm because she looked as if she was going to faint.

“Tell them it's a homicide.”

3

C
RIME SCENE TAPE
is like flypaper for busybodies; the second you put it up, they all come buzzing around and stick to it.

Coral Bay Condominiums' fourth floor was as packed as a Christmas sale at Penney's. Orlando patrol officers had cordoned off the hallway and were keeping folks back from the apartment. I didn't recognize any of the uniforms. They were probably new. I didn't ID myself to them. No need to go through that rigmarole.

Crevis mirrored the movements of one of the officers and echoed the commands to step back. He would be tough to live with after this.

The crowd at the end of the hallway parted as a tall African American detective lifted the yellow tape and passed underneath. Sergeant Oscar Yancey my former boss, checked in with the officer manning the crime scene log.

Six-three with a sinewy build, Oscar sported his tailored gray dress shirt, slacks, and tie as if competing for best-dressed crime scene apparel. He'd win hands down. In his early fifties, Oscar was a cop's cop. Smart, diligent, tenacious. A good boss to have and solid backup when you're out with an ornery felon at two in the morning. No one messed with Big O. He'd been a sergeant in Homicide for a dozen years.

“Ray.” Oscar smiled, hand extended. “Great to see you.”

“Hey, Oscar.” I walked toward him, leaving Pam still catatonic against the wall in the hallway. His hand engulfed mine. “How are Mimi and the kids?”

“Good.” He nodded as he unbuttoned one sleeve and rolled it up. “We miss having you come around.”

“Who's on call tonight?” I said before he could invite me to his house again. He'd been leaving messages on my machine about once a week. Sometimes I'd call him back, more often not. Didn't want to get into it with him again.

“Me.” A
shrill voice pierced me like an ice pick in the eardrum.

I didn't have to turn around. Detective Rick Pampas just slithered into the crime scene.

“What are you doing here, Quinn?” He looked down at my nametag and Coral Bay security shirt and let out a thunderous laugh. “You're a rent-a-cop now? This is priceless.”

He sneered. His black hair contrasted with a pasty white face that just couldn't be punched enough. Two inches shorter than me and lean, Rick ran marathons for giggles. If he'd put half the effort into his cases as he did with his running, maybe I wouldn't have such a problem with him. He was also the second-best shot in the unit, next to me. I imagine my trophy was somewhere on his desk now.

Crevis hurried toward us and pressed in on the circle. He bumped me with his shoulder and nodded to Oscar. He wanted an intro.

I rolled my eyes. “This is Crevis Cretin.”

“Creighton.” Crevis seized Oscar's hand and wrestled with it. “I'm the one who called. I'm gonna be a cop. I'm testing now to go to the academy, so I'll be working with you guys soon.” He hooked his thumbs in his duty belt and rose up on his tiptoes.

“That's nice.” Oscar turned back to me. “Ray, what did you see?”

“I let the victims sister into the apartment.” I pointed to Pam. “She found them first in the bedroom. Two people down. I'm assuming the male is her brother. He was on the floor at the foot of the bed. There's a female on the bed with what looks like a gunshot wound to the head. A pistol's on the floor between them. Don't know the caliber for sure, maybe a nine mil or forty cal. I wanted to get the sister out of there, so we left the apartment and Crevis called.”

Oscar ran his hand through his graying hair. “What's your gut tell you?”

“Didn't have enough time in the scene, so I can't really say. Whatever it is, it isn't good.”

“So you've already been inside my crime scene, messing it up, no doubt.” Rick drew a pair of latex gloves from his pants pocket and worked them onto his hands. “Not much has changed. You never could wait to pilfer through other people's cases.”

“Give it a rest, Rick, and go survey your scene.” Oscar dipped his head toward room 419.

Rick looked at me and shook his head with a stupid sneer. I knew what he wanted to say, and if he did, I would hammer him with my cane so hard I might actually knock some sense into him.

“You were a cop?” Crevis said, his face beaming.

“He was the best homicide detective who ever worked for me.” Oscar flashed a patronizing smile my way. His eyes couldn't lie about the truth, though. “The man was good.”

“You told me you worked in the circus and got hurt in a freak elephant accident.” Crevis scrunched his mug and scratched his head.

I chuckled; I still couldn't believe the kid bought that story.

“Hey, Ray-Ray” Steve Stockton, Ricks partner, called from behind me. He ducked under the tape and meandered over to us.

Steve was a decent guy, albeit not the shiniest star of the homicide unit. He'd packed on the pounds since I'd last seen him. He'd been a cop for over twenty years, and I'd often pondered how much police knowledge had been lost in the doughy expanse between his ears.

“How ya holdin' up?” Steve slapped me on the shoulder.

“Doin' okay.” I shook my head. “I'm sorry, though.”

“Sorry for what?” He raised an eyebrow.

“Sorry you're still partnered up with Pampas.”

“Ah, you two need to kiss and make up.” Steve waved a hand at me. “It's been a tough year for all of us.” Steve gave me the look, too, but avoided stating the obvious.

“Stockton, you need to talk with the deceased's sister,” Oscar said. “Get a statement from her and see what we're looking at.”

“Got it, boss.” Steve approached Pam and introduced himself.

“Well, I've had enough fun for one night.” My heart was pounding in my ears. The hallway seemed to be shrinking. For some reason, I didn't do crowds well anymore. It had been that way since the shooting. The psychologist said that could happen, but I didn't have to like it. “I'm going downstairs if you need anything.”

“Why don't you hang out awhile? I could use your insights on the case.”

“Nice try, Oscar, but I'd hate to miss any of the fun at the front desk. I've got a Sudoku puzzle down there just itching to be worked. The Coral Bay Condos can be a pretty happening place at night.”

“Promise me you'll give me a call. We've got a lot to talk about.”

“Yeah. I'll give you a buzz later this week. We'll do lunch or something.”

“Promise?”

“Sure.” I hated lying to Oscar. He's been good to me over the years, but I'm about as likely to call him as I am to return to kickboxing. That part of my life is over, and I didn't like reliving it.

Crime scene investigators Dean Yarborough and Katie Pham checked in. Katie was just starting the job when I retired, so I didn't know her well. Tall and slender with blond highlights in her dark hair, she was an attractive Asian woman. Word was, she did decent work.

Katie toted a gym bag filled with all the necessary crime scene accoutrements—latex gloves, fingerprint tape and cards, ample amounts of plastic and paper crime scene bags, gunshot residue kits, DNA and blood swabs.

Dean had his camera bag slung over his shoulder and was carrying an alternate light source case in one hand and a laptop in the other. He lived and breathed crime scene work—no girlfriend, no life.

Dean traded eye work with me as he passed but didn't speak. No surprise there. We never got along. I caught him surfing some Internet dating site at his desk one day and teased him about it… a lot. He hadn't forgiven me since.

Dean had a build conducive for crime scene work: short, thin, able to fit into places average-sized folks couldn't go—like a hobbit. The bespectacled CSI had, covering his balding head, a comb-over that fooled only him. He and Katie entered the apartment without so much as a word.

Pampas stepped from the open apartment door and beaded in on me. “Did you sign in on the crime scene log?”

I didn't answer him but gauged the range of my cane to his melon. I was a little far away but that could be corrected with a single step, should I need it.

“Great, sign yourself out then, unless you want to run and get me some coffee,” Pampas said.

“Since when did you ever stay awake at a scene, anyway?” My filter was off with Pampas.

He snarled. Time for me to go. I glanced back at Pam, who still leaned against the wall, talking with Steve. I'd seen that vacant stare before, too many times. Some unsuspecting relative finds a loved one in a gruesome, shocking fashion. The human mind is not programmed to process that kind of information. It usually leads to a temporary shutdown.

That being true, Pam was in full-blown disconnect. She stared at me with a look on her face that made me wish I hadn't seen it. That terrible pain. I knew exactly what she was experiencing.

“We need to go, Crevis. They've got a job to do.”

As Crevis and I prepared to leave, the building manager, Mr. Savastio, made frantic hand gestures and talked boisterously with one of the uniforms protecting the crime scene. Crevis and I slid underneath the tape.

Mr. Savastio was in his sixties with salt-and-pepper hair and a swarthy complexion, made darker by a two-day growth on his face.

“Back in my country, policemen never treat citizen like this.” Mr. Savastio poked his finger toward his feet as he squared off in front of the patrol officer. “I demand to see scene.”

“He can't do that, Mr. Savastio,” I said. “He's only doing his job.”

“Ray,” he said, sounding more like
Vay
. “Tell him I run this place and must be allowed to assess what is happening.”

“He runs this place and must be allowed to assess what is happening,” I said to the uniform in monotone. He chuckled; Mr. Savastio did not. I shrugged.

“Is damage bad?” Mr. Savastio said. “Will owner be able to clean the apartment and get it on the market? We have many people interested in buying these.”

“I don't think this owner is going to be selling anything anytime soon,” I said.

“Why didn't you two stop this from happening?” The manager pointed his little crooked finger back and forth between Crevis and me. “That's why we pay for security… to feel secure. Now this.” He twirled in a circle with his hands in the air. “Crime scene tape. Policemen everywhere. This looks very bad.”

“First, we were off duty when these people died,” I said.

“How do you know that?”

“I can just tell, Mr. Savastio… trust me.” I didn't think explaining how a human body decomposes would ingratiate me with him, so I let the comment stand. “The officers will clear out of here soon, and everything will go back to normal. We'll handle it.”

He rubbed his woolly face. “I want full report in the morning. I do not like this, Ray. Not at all.”

“Will do.”

Mr. Savastio glared at the officer and hurried to the elevator.

I didn't want to listen to Mr. Savastio prattle on anymore, so Crevis and I waited until he left, then we ambled toward the elevators. Crevis kept checking over his shoulder, looking back at the scene. I couldn't afford to look back.

“You were a homicide cop,” Crevis said as the door closed. “How cool is that? How many cases did you work? How many dead people did you see?”

Crevis peppered me with rapid-fire questions the entire ride down to the lobby. I'd never realized how long a four-floor elevator ride could be, nor been so thankful in my life to hear the
ding
of the destination floor. Crevis's gums hadn't even slowed.

“What's it like being a cop?” He moved in front of me, arms out like he was fixing to tackle me.

“Back off, Crevis. I'm not in the mood.”

“C'mon, Ray. All I've ever wanted to do my whole life is be a cop. Tell me about it.”

“You really wanna know what it's all about?” I stepped nose to nose with him. “You want all the dirty secrets?”

Crevis nodded, unable to speak, near euphoric.

“There's no other job like it.” I jabbed a finger into his bony chest. “You'll give everything you have to help people who don't want to be helped. You'll try to save a world that doesn't want to be saved. And by the time your career is over, your head will be so messed up that you'll have to take medication to sleep because all the crud rolls through your mind, like a morbid movie playing over and over again. And if you live long enough to make retirement, you'll be a cynical shell of a man, begging to die just for relief. Heard enough yet?”

He wanted it, so I gave it to him—both barrels. He needed to understand what the job does to perfectly normal human beings. Well, I didn't know if Crevis was normal or if I ever was. I just knew what I was now.

Crevis stepped back and gazed at me in a pensive manner. Then he smirked. “Did you ever shoot anyone?”

“I'm thinking about shooting
you.”

“Do you have a gun on you right now?” He scanned me up and down as he side shuffled behind me. “Where is it? Can I hold it?”

“I'm going home. I'm done for the night.”

“C'mon, Ray. Let's go get a burger or something. I want to hear some stories.”

I'd give him some stories—scary and depressing ones that would keep him up late at night.