Found: A Matt Royal Mystery (19 page)

“In my head,” said J.D., “but it might help to rethink it.”

“Okay,” said Logan, who was in his element. He loved puzzles and his mind worked in ways that were often odd, but always precise. It was as if he could look at a jigsaw puzzle and imagine the whole picture in his mind. “Tuesday,” he said, “some dude shoots and kills Ken Goodlow and King was seen talking to the killer just before the shooting. Then the killer drives off a bridge and dies. King leaves the island, spends Tuesday night with his girlfriend, and then disappears for the day on Wednesday. On Thursday, he lies to J.D. about that. Also on Tuesday, J.D. interviews Bud Jamison and thinks he’s lying about not knowing why Goodlow would need legal advice. On Thursday evening, King is at Pattigeorge’s and Sammy overhears him telling Caster that they have to take Jamison out, or something to that effect. On Friday, J.D. reinterviews Jamison, knowing nothing about the threat made by King, and again she thinks he’s lying about something. Matt, you and Jock go to Jamison’s house on Friday evening and find him gone, and Caster shows up and wants to kill you. You think it’s a
coincidence that he wants revenge for his Mafia buddy who attacked you on Wednesday, but he was really there to take out Jamison. Which, according to the theory, may tie Caster into Katie Fredrickson’s situation, whatever that is. Now it appears that King has absconded and the grove once owned by Jim Fredrickson has a house on it that contains an armory and a large safe.”

We talked it through, going over the last few days in minute detail, rehashing our thoughts and impressions. When we were through, J.D. said, “What about the documents we found in the killer’s car?”

“That doesn’t make a lot of sense,” said Logan. “I can’t see how they tie into all this. They might not be relevant to the murder. Anything else?”

“That’s about it,” I said. “You got any ideas, Logan?”

“Got any more of that Scotch?”

“You keep complaining about it,” I said, “but you keep drinking it.”

“The more I drink, the better it tastes. Kind of strange, don’t you think?”

“I need to get back over to Josie Tyler’s,” said J.D. “I want to do a photo lineup with Caster’s picture and some others who we know aren’t involved in this mess. I’m wondering if Jim Fredrickson might have been involved in those parties Josie told me about. I’ll slip a picture of him into the mix. See what she has to say.”

“What makes you think Fredrickson might be involved?” I asked.

“I don’t know, except that according to the caretaker over in Avon Park, there were parties going on at Fredrickson’s place. Josie told me she went to a party once at a house. I didn’t know about the Avon Park stuff then, and I didn’t think to ask where the house was.”

“Probably worth a try,” said Jock.

“I’m going home for a quick shower,” said J.D. “If you guys want to go downtown with me, I’ll only need a few minutes with Josie and then we can have dinner.”

“I’m in,” I said.

“Me, too,” said Jock.

“Not me,” said Logan. “I’m already pretty drunk. I think I’ll stop by and see Sammy and then head home.”

“You make another stop, buddy,” I said, “and Marie’s going to kick your butt when you get home.”

“You’re probably right. We’re going to dinner with her aunt tonight. I better not show up with a load on.”

Jock and I were sitting in the Explorer parked in front of a high-rise condo complex on Gulfstream Avenue in downtown Sarasota. J.D. had asked us to wait in the car while she went up to talk to Josie Tyler. We’d stopped by the Longboat Key Police Station to pick up the pictures J.D. needed. She had been gone about three minutes when my phone rang. “Matt,” J.D. said, “you and Jock get up here on the double. Twelfth floor.”

“What’s up?”

“Now,” she said and hung up.

“Let’s go,” I said. “Something’s up with J.D.”

We took the elevator to the twelfth floor. The doors opened and I saw J.D. standing about twenty feet down the hall in front of an open door, her weapon drawn. I pulled my pistol from the holster in the small of my back. The one I’d been carrying since I went to meet Appleby in Tampa. Jock’s pistol was in his hand.

We trotted down the hall. J.D. had her finger to her lips, signaling us to be quiet. She moved to meet us. “What’s the matter?” I asked.

“Maybe nothing,” she said, “but the front door was wide open. I didn’t want to go inside without backup.”

We moved toward the door and followed J.D. into a small foyer. A kitchen was to our left and the living room in front of us. It was night now and the lights of the living room reflected off the dark windows. A leather sofa came into view as we moved forward. A blonde woman was sitting upright, her head resting on the cushioned back. She looked like she was asleep, except for the bullet hole in her forehead.

I saw an open door in the wall on the right side of the living room, probably leading to the bedroom. I moved quickly that way, holding my
pistol in front of me. The lights in the room were on. I eased through the doorway, alert for any movement. I ignored the mess on the bed and slipped toward the door to the bathroom. I reached carefully around the doorjamb and found the light switch, turned it on. Empty. I turned back to the bedroom and to the king-size bed that took up a large part of it. A body lay sprawled on its back bleeding onto the coverlet, a large red splotch staining the left side of his shirt. I didn’t know the man, but I was pretty sure of his identity. A pistol that appeared to be a .22, an assassin’s weapon, was on the floor at the foot of the bed. A silencer was attached to the muzzle. I didn’t touch it. “J.D.,” I called. “You better come see this.”

She walked into the room and looked at the body, shook her head. “Well,” she said, “we found Porter King.”

We were back in the hallway when a young Sarasota patrolman arrived in response to J.D.’s 911 call. She identified herself and introduced Jock and me. “There’re two bodies in the apartment,” said J.D. “We went in, but came right back out. We haven’t disturbed the crime scene.”

“Okay,” said the young cop. “Captain McAllister’s on his way.”

“Captain McAllister himself?” J.D. asked. “Does he usually roll on homicides on weekends?”

“I don’t think so,” said the cop. “But my boss called me on my way here and said to be on my toes because the captain was on his way.”

We stood awkwardly while quietly waiting for the detective. In a few minutes a man in a suit and tie came up the elevator and walked toward us. “Doug McAllister,” J.D. said under her breath, and went to meet him. They talked for a minute or two, J.D. explaining what we found and who the victims were.

She led the captain over and introduced Jock and me as friends from Longboat. “We were on our way to dinner,” she said, “and I stopped by to have Josie look at a picture of Caster to see if she recognized him.” I noticed she didn’t mention the picture of Jim Fredrickson she’d slipped into the pile. I wondered about that, but figured she’d explain later.

“And you just went busting in there like the Three Stooges?” asked the captain.

“No,” said J.D. “They were waiting downstairs in the car when I came up. I saw the door standing open and called them in for backup.”

“Are you out of your mind, Detective?” asked McAllister, his voice rising in anger. “You called a couple of civilians for backup? Why didn’t you call us?”

“I did call you,” J.D. said, a bit of steel creeping into her voice. “I didn’t know what we had here, whether someone was hurt, whether there were others in the apartment or what. I sure didn’t want to be facing down more than one killer, if that’s what it was, by myself.”

“So you called on a couple of useless civilians to back you up?” The captain’s voice had gotten louder, incredulous.

“Hold the phone,” I said angrily. “Just who the hell—”

J.D. broke in. “I’ve got this, Matt.”

I knew I’d better shut up. I’d stepped into that minefield that was J.D.’s sense of self. She didn’t need some man coming to her rescue. She was able to take care of herself and didn’t need my protection, or my outrage at the way she was being treated.

She looked back at McAllister. “You’re out of line, Captain. I would suggest that you wait until you know the facts before jumping to conclusions. Now, if you want my cooperation on this little mess you have here, you’ll shut up and listen for a change.” Her voice was low and flat. She was irate, but holding it in. I’d seen her do this before. She had a steely control of her emotions when needed, and I wouldn’t want to be on the receiving end of the tongue lashing she was capable of meting out. I thought McAllister had better be careful.

“I noticed a security camera in the elevator,” said J.D., trying to lighten the mood, to move away from a confrontation.

“Yeah,” said McAllister, the heat gone from his voice. “I’ve got the manager on his way over to let us have a look at the video. You might as well go on to dinner. We’ll want statements, but we can get those by phone. I’ll have a detective contact you later this evening.”

“Maybe I should stick around until the manager gets here,” J.D. said. “I might recognize somebody on the video.”

“You don’t have to stay. I’ll send you a copy of it on Monday.”

“What’s up, Doug? You know if I can identify somebody on the video
you can start looking for him immediately. Why wait until Monday?”

“Look, Detective,” McAllister said, his voice tight, “this is my jurisdiction, my murder, my case. I’ll run it however I see fit. Now, y’all go on.”

“If you say so,” J.D. said curtly, and turned on her heel and walked toward the elevator. Jock and I followed.

“J.D.,” McAllister called after us, “I’m sorry. Can you guys stop back by here after dinner? I’ll have the video and a detective to take your statements.”

“Okay, Doug,” J.D. said. “We’ll be back.”

The restaurant was crowded and we had to wait half an hour for a table. Saturday night during season at Two Senoritas. We were lucky we had such a short wait. The hostess gave us a pager and we stood on the sidewalk in front of the restaurant. “What the hell was that all about with McAllister?” I asked.

“I don’t know,” said J.D. “That’s not like him. And I didn’t like being treated like a rookie.”

“He seemed a little nervous,” said Jock, “and angry. It sounded like he was trying to control himself and then the anger would take over again. I wouldn’t expect that behavior in an experienced detective.”

“I wouldn’t either,” said J.D. “I was surprised that he showed up on the scene.”

“Maybe,” I said, “it was the address. A couple of murders on Gulf-stream are quite different than a murder in some other parts of the city.”

“That’s probably it,” said J.D. “A lot of political heat can come down on a case like this. Rich guy from Longboat Key, stripper girlfriend being kept in an expensive downtown condo. The newspapers will be all over it.”

“Maybe the pistol will give them some leads,” I said.

“I’ll be surprised if it does,” she said. “I think whoever killed them knew what he was doing. I don’t think he’d have left the murder weapon unless it was on purpose. I doubt they’ll ever be able to identify it.”

“I wonder why he would leave the weapon,” I said. “Why not take it with him?”

“Maybe he didn’t want to get caught with it on him,” said J.D. “If the gun can’t be connected to him it’d make sense to leave it rather than take
a chance on getting stopped with a murder weapon in his pocket.”

When we finished dinner, we drove back to Gulfstream Avenue. McAllister was waiting for us outside Josie Tyler’s condo. The bodies had been removed.

“Sorry about earlier, J.D.,” McAllister said. “I guess I’m just having a bad day. But I still don’t understand why you put these two civilians in danger.”

J.D.’s voice was cold. “Your apology’s accepted, Doug. But don’t ever do that again. I’m not some rookie. I’ve probably handled more murders than you have, and I damn sure don’t appreciate being talked to like that.”

I was surprised at J.D. She almost never used curse words, and if she did, she was really pissed. I guess McAllister caught that, too. He said, “It won’t happen again, J.D. I’ve got too much respect for you. I hope we can still be friends.”

She smiled at him. “I don’t see any reason why we can’t. And these two civilians? They’re not as dumb as they look. Call my chief or Detective Sims in Manatee. They’ll vouch for them. Can I see the video from the elevator now?”

“There isn’t one.” he said.

“I don’t understand,” said J.D. “This isn’t the kind of place to put up fake cameras.”

“The camera is real. The video feed goes into a computer in the manager’s office. Somebody disabled the damned thing.”

“How?” J.D. asked.

“The video camera is wireless and the images are sent to a router in the manager’s office and from there to the computer. The router runs on electricity and somebody unplugged it. The video couldn’t make it to the hard drive in the computer because the router shut down.”

“No battery backup?” asked J.D.

“None.”

“Sounds like somebody had to know his way around,” J.D. said.

“Maybe not,” said McAllister. “The cleaning people were in earlier today, and they might have accidently knocked the plug out of the wall.”

“What about the gun on the floor?” J.D. asked.

“No prints and the serial number had been obliterated by acid. No way to trace it.”

“Do you know yet if the gun is the one used in the murders?”

“No, but our ballistics people are working on that.”

“Did you find anything else?” J.D. asked.

“Not yet. Our forensics people are still in the condo. They’ll be finished soon.”

“Doug,” said J.D., “I know these murders aren’t in my jurisdiction, but they touch on my case. I’d like to be kept in the loop on this.”

“Not a problem,” said McAllister. “I’ll make sure you’re copied on everything.”

“How do you think it went down?” J.D. asked.

“It looks like the killer just walked in the front door, found Josie on the sofa and shot her and went to the bedroom. Maybe she didn’t lock the door, or maybe the killer had a key. Maybe Josie didn’t have time to get off the sofa when the guy opened the door, or maybe he motioned her to sit back down.