The Night Watchman (25 page)

55

B
Y THE TIME
I had my footing, Crevis was approaching the group. Carl still clutched the scruff of Katie's neck, holding her firm, with his pistol at his side. Carl didn't seem to see Crevis barreling right toward him.

I pegged at top speed, but there was no way to catch Crevis. I was about fifty feet back when he tore through their circle. Since I couldn't fire on the run with Katie, Crevis, and the others standing around, I holstered my pistol so I could move quicker.

“Hey!” Crevis called to Carl as he leapt in the air. Carl turned just in time to catch a flying side kick in the chest, knocking him and Katie to the ground, his pistol skipping across the pavement and into the grass.

“Run, Katie!” Crevis rolled to his feet, hands up.

Katie darted into the night.

“Mike, we need to leave now!” Kurfis screamed as the desperate feet of the Lion's Den scampered away.

Carl jumped up. Crevis launched a roundhouse kick at his head, but Carl blocked it and caught Crevis with a haymaker to the face. Crevis went down hard.

Carl kicked him in the ribs twice before I stabbed him in the back with the tip of my cane, sinking it deep in his kidney. Carl yelped and collapsed to his knees.

I butt-stroked him in the back of the head with my cane handle, then drew the cane back for a home run when Chance tackled me full force. Smacking the ground hard on my side, I twisted to my back and used my momentum to slip my Glock from its holster.

Chance straddled me and caught my wrist, forcing the gun to my side. His right claw locked down on my throat. “You're a dead man, Quinn.”

He smacked my arm on the ground twice, my gun flipping onto the grass. Chance and I grabbed the pistol at the same time. I yanked it back toward me. Chance fell forward with it and went to jerk it back again when I jabbed my thumb in his eye.

“Aaah!” Chance shook his head but kept hold of the pistol. He connected on my cheek with a solid left that rocked me. I lost my grip. He ripped the Glock from my hand and stuck it in my face, still sitting on top of me.

He was too strong, and I couldn't roll him off. I pushed the gun away with my left hand and reached for my backup pistol. I couldn't get my hand in my pocket, so I grabbed the .380 cal from the outside of my pants, forced the barrel against Chance's thigh, and pulled the trigger.

The muffled thud of the round piercing Chance's thigh caught him by surprise as he screamed and fell off me. The powder burns from the pistol scorched the skin down my leg, and the backup gun was tangled in my pocket because the slide had locked back. It was useless now.

Chance scurried to his feet, blood pouring from his leg wound, and trained the gun on me. Staring down the barrel of my own pistol was not how I envisioned this ending. I was out of breath and options. I'd been shot before and only hoped he'd make it quick. Pam should have called the police by now. At least they could solve this homicide—it was on tape.

“You've caused me a lot of grief, Quinn.” Chance sucked in wind as he held his thigh with one hand and my favorite pistol with the other. “And now you're gonna pay for it.”

Crack!
Another shot echoed around us. I flopped around on the ground, anticipating the blazing pain. It didn't come.

Chance flashed a blank stare and dropped the pistol to his side. He took one step, collapsed to a knee, and crashed facedown in the grass.

Crevis stood behind him with Carl's gun in his hand—smoke rolling out of the barrel. “I had to do it, Ray. He was gonna kill you. I didn't want to shoot him. I swear I didn't!”

“Ray! Crevis!” Pam crossed the deck at a sprint. “The police are coming.” She hurried to me and knelt by my side.

“Help me up, quickly.”

Pam handed me my cane and did her best to lift me from the ground. I wobbled but remained standing. She slid her arm around me to keep me steady. Chance had nailed me good.

Crevis's mouth was frozen open. He alternated his gaze between me and Chance, who was still facedown in the grass. Carl was unconscious behind us. Katie emerged from the shadows and hugged Crevis, who seemed catatonic now.

“It's okay, Crevis,” I said. “You did everything right. You saved my life. Now get me over to Chance.”

Chance moaned, and his legs fluttered.

“Roll him over,” I said.

“I…I can't,” Crevis said.

“Roll him!” There wasn't time to explain.

Crevis rolled Chance to his back. His breathing was labored, and he gazed at me with a glassy, distant stare that said he wasn't too long for this world. I tore off my shirt, balled it up, and handed it to Pam. “Put pressure on his wound until the ambulance gets here.” Katie knelt on Chances other side, a crimson puddle forming from the exit wound on his chest.

“Chance, you're hurt really bad, and you might not make it. This is your only opportunity to clear your conscience. Why did you have Trisha killed? Who's the cop working for you?”

He shook his head and smirked, blood trickling from his mouth. “You'll never know, Quinn…jerk.” He coughed and groaned, clenching his meaty mitts on top of Pam's hands as she kept pressure on the wound.

“Hold on,” Pam said. Chance convulsed and moaned louder this time. “Help is coming. You're going to be okay.” Pam started praying over Chance, who went unconscious in her care.

The distant call of the sirens hauled me back to reality. The pavilion lit up as the Orange County sheriff's office helicopter thundered above us, the spotlight bathing the area in near daylight.

I held my hands up in the air. Strobes and sirens came from several different directions. It was going to be another long night.

56

I
USED TO LOVE
interrogation rooms. They were a playground where I could psychologically strip suspects' emotions and thoughts, like peeling an onion, until they crumbled into weeping heaps, confessing to uncountable, unconscionable crimes.

But now it didn't have the same comfortable feel to it. The gray, drab carpet in the closet-sized room made the impact on me it was designed to do: to steal my confidence and make me vulnerable to my interrogator.

Chance Thompson died on arrival at Orlando Regional Medical Center without answering my questions.

Crevis was in the room next to me, about to be interrogated for the shooting. Pam and Katie were in the building somewhere. They had us all separated to get our statements. Good police procedure, but maddening when you're on the receiving end. I imagined how scared and messed up Crevis must be right now.

At the scene I had briefed Oscar and the other detectives on the basics of the case. But now, in this interrogation, would be the official version where I had to decide how much I would or wouldn't disclose—possibly to my peril.

Oscar sat opposed to me, in more ways than just the position of our chairs. His glasses were down on his nose as he reviewed his case notes on a legal pad. His once-chiseled features showed some serious slippage and wear, like a wax figure set a little too close to a fire.

“I want you to go easy on him, Oscar.” I adjusted the T-shirt Oscar got for me before the interview. Mine was blood soaked and in evidence by now. “I don't care what you do to me. You can lock me up, beat me up, whatever. But I want Crevis taken care of. He did what he had to do.”

“You dragged him into all this drama,” Oscar finally said, glancing over his notepad.

“I know. And I'm sick about it. But he shot Chance to save me. It's all on the laptop. Just review the recording and you'll see.”

“Since when did you start caring about anyone but yourself?”

“This isn't a psych eval.” I leaned forward. “It's a police investigation of a fatal shooting. I know how that goes. It's an easy narrative to follow—I shot Chance in the leg to keep him from killing me; Crevis picked up Carl's gun and used deadly force to defend me, so don't put him through all the rigmarole just 'cause you're angry with me.”

“I've already reviewed your recording. I saw it all. Your friend will make it through this. But I don't know about you. You were taping conversations without consent. You wouldn't back off when I told you to. I can't guarantee anything.”

“I was taping in a public place and working to expose an ongoing criminal enterprise,” I said. “I can make the argument in court.”

“You might have to. We've got a businessman shot dead in the park, four other prominent county leaders conspiring to commit numerous felonies, and an ex-Orlando detective caught in the mix. I can't imagine what the headlines are gonna look like for the next few days.”

“I'm not worried about any of that.” I probed the hole in my pant leg, the powder burn numbed over for now. I'd feel it more tomorrow for sure. “I'm more worried about piecing together this group and tying them to the murders of Trisha, David and Jamie, and Ashley.”

“Well, I need your official statement first. The truth would be good right now, Ray. Your butt is on the line. We'll get into the other stuff later.”

Since I wasn't in custody for any crime, Oscar didn't have to read me my rights. I didn't give him any grief or play any games. I wasn't in the mood. I gave a mostly straightforward account of my investigation, leading up the point where Crevis shot Chance.

The only thing I left out was the police angle, but I'd tell Oscar at the right time—which could be soon. I didn't care if the statement would be used to burn me later with any of the legal gray areas I danced in. I came clean, and it felt surprisingly refreshing.

“Raise your right hand,” Oscar said, for the benefit of the videotape. I did. “Do you solemnly swear that everything you told me is the truth, the whole truth, so help you God?”

“I do. Now I want to see Crevis.”

Oscar nodded and escorted me out of the room and to the television monitor for Crevis's interview. He was sitting at the table next to Steve Stockton, leaning forward, his elbows resting on his knees. The left side of Crevis's face was swollen, and a dark, discolored lump appeared just under his eye. Carl must have clipped him hard.

I caught the tail end of his statement, where he recalled seeing Chance with the pistol, ready to shoot me. He grabbed the gun in the grass, pointed it at Chance's back, and fired once. Stockton used some soft follow-up questions but was easy on him. I owed Steve one too.

Oscar remained quiet as the interview progressed. I couldn't read what was going on with him. We moved to Mike Vitaliano's interview. He'd been stopped from leaving the scene by one of the patrol units. He reluctantly agreed to come to the station. Bowden was doing the interview.

“Detective, I've told you for the last time,” Vitaliano said, “I don't know anything about any shooting or this Chance character. And I certainly don't know what you're talking about with this ‘Lion's Den.’ I'm being harassed here for political motives.”

“Really?” Bowden said in a snarky way I appreciated. He pushed Play on the laptop and adjusted it around so the good commissioner could have the best view—the recording of the entire event scrolled out before him. Vitaliano was mum for several minutes as he watched the incriminating clip.

After the video, “family values” Commissioner Michael Vitaliano crumbled in a matter of seconds, wept, and vomited out every filthy detail about the Lion's Den—the land deals, the ordinance manipulation, and vulgar fine points about the girls, as well as his love for the now-deceased Jamie DeAngelo. The kind of love that cost him about four grand a month to procure.

He might have been sincere about his affections for Jamie (although I doubt it), but it really didn't matter at this point. His normally pristine hairdo was an unkempt silvery mess, jutting out in different directions like a sandspur. I knew he was weak at heart and would crack with the right pressure.

According to Vitaliano, it started out when he, Ben Scott, Gordon Kurfis, Morton Connelly, and Judge Garcia all went to Club Venus for a night out a little over a year ago. Knowing they were important county officials, Chance arranged for them to have a back room for privacy for their “entertainment” needs. The night was such a hit that they decided to meet regularly They dubbed themselves the Lion's Den that first night.

It was in those late-night ventures in the back room of Club Venus that the plans for the county ordinance germinated and grew. Chance paired up his best girls with the men of the Lion's Den, an early payment for cornering Orange County's adult entertainment market. Vitaliano locked himself and his compatriots into a rancid deal that would have potentially netted him and his delinquent friends millions to add to their already-swollen portfolios.

It didn't make a lot of sense in my book. The men of the Lion's Den had everything most people would want—great jobs, lots of money, wives and families who cared about them, but they were still tempted for more—sexier women, more zeros in their bank accounts, and the mesmerizing thrill of abusing their power. Now they stood to lose it all and pile up some pretty impressive prison time as well.

Vitaliano confessed that he had called Jamie several times on the day she was murdered to talk her out of leaving him and their arrangement. She told him that she'd had enough and wasn't going to be his or anyone else's girl. She had found God and wasn't going to live like that anymore. Vitaliano called her that day while on a business trip in Atlanta, with plenty of witnesses to boot. He swore he had nothing to do with her murder or any others.

All that would have to be verified, of course. His statement was remarkably void of any police involvement.

57

B
EN
S
COTT
, G
ORDON
K
URFIS
, Mort Connelly, and Judge Garcia were rounded up within the hour. Ben and Gordon played hardball—at first. Until they realized that the Commish had flipped on them and the little fact that there was video of our encounter.

When each investigator played my tape for them, the alpha males of the Lion's Den turned cannibalistic, each blaming the others with vigor and passion. The entire tasteless mess spilled out into the interview rooms. There wasn't enough bleach in the station to sanitize those rooms now.

They all shared one common element to their stories: each cast Chance Thompson as the mastermind of the Lion's Den, the adult entertainment ordinance, the girls, and the land purchases. While that might have been true, it was also quite convenient for them to put the majority of the blame on the dead guy. Names of two more girls involved were revealed. Oscar's crew would pull them in later.

Carl jabbered on at length to Pampas about his involvement. At one point, the behemoth bawled and asked for his mother. Not the most masculine thing for a professional tough guy to do. He confirmed the details of the Lion's Den as well, but there were no connections to any of the murders. But there was much more to his story, and I knew it. He was Chance's number one guy. He had to know.

“Let me ask him one question, Oscar,” I said while watching Carl blubber.

“You're joking, right? Your involvement in this investigation is over. We've got it from here, and you're gonna be lucky if you're not indicted for something.”

“Just one question. That's it.”

“What's the question?” Oscar said.

I told him, “This is the last thing I'm ever going to ask of you. Just one question.”

Oscar hissed. “I'm getting too old for this.” He opened the interview room door. “One question. Then you're out.”

I gimped in, my body sore and bruised. It was sad that I was getting accustomed to being beaten up on a daily basis.

“What's he doing—?” Pampas said.

“Don't go there.” Oscar held his hand out to Pampas's face. “He's gonna be quick, and then he's done. It's getting late, so don't give me any grief over this.”

Carl gazed up at me and then lowered his head and sniffled.

“Make it quick,” Oscar said.

“Carl, you're looking at a lot of time and some serious charges,” I said. “So you need to think about helping yourself out.”

He didn't respond, but I could tell he was listening.

“Who's the cop working for Chance?”

“What are you talking about?” Pampas jumped up. “You're trying to mess this investigation up even more. Oscar, get him outta here. He's crazy.”

“I should have known better.” Oscar grabbed my arm. “Get your butt out of this room before I knock you out.”

“Let him answer the question.” I shook away from Oscar's grip. “Tell me, Carl! Who's the cop on Chance's payroll?”

“I don't know.” Carl made eye contact with Oscar, then Pampas, then me, a look of abject fear crossing his face.

Oscar and Pampas shared stymied gazes; Carl's admission of a dirty cop stopped them for the moment I needed.

I caned closer to him. I had to press him before Oscar tossed me. “Who's the cop, the one who's killed for him? Who is it?!”

“I swear I don't know. Chance always said he'd never get in trouble; he'd know if the cops were looking at him. He had someone on the inside of OPD, but he never told me who it was.”

“You're lying!” I smacked my cane on the table for effect. “You're his number one guy. You knew about the land deals, the girls, and all the other things, but he didn't tell you who the cop was? You're full of it. You're gonna go down for the whole thing.”

“If I knew, I'd tell you,” he said. “Chance was smart. Maybe he thought if I ever got caught up with something, I'd snitch on him, especially talking about murder. Maybe he figured right. But I didn't kill anyone. Chance ordered me and one of the other bouncers at the club to jump you in your parking lot to scare you when you started shootin up the place. But I didn't have anything to do with those girls getting murdered or any of that. I swear. I'd never do somethin like that.”

“Did he order you to kill me at the apartment?” I said. “Now's your chance to help yourself.”

“No. Chance was angry about the garage thing. He said he had something better to take care of you. I figured it was his OPD guy.”

I pressed him for more, but he stuck tight to his story. And, unfortunately, I believed him about that. Chance was just devious enough to keep his hired gun close to him, so no one would know. Just like he was committed to die with his mouth closed to spite me.

Oscar and I left Pampas to clean up the rest of the interview.

“When were you gonna tell me about the cop?”

“There's a dirty cop, Oscar. I've had to walk carefully.”

“Since you started your crusade, we've got two more people dead now. I wouldn't call that walking softly.”

“One of our guys was connected with the Lion's Den and is a killer,” I said. “We've got to find out who it is.”

“Easier said than done.” Oscar removed his glasses. “Because it looks like that secret died with Chance.”