Detective (55 page)

DETECTIVE 461
pie, having heard police radio
calls, arrived in full flood.

Dramatic pictures of the wheelchair
being brought ashore, with the
slumped figure still secured by
ropes, appeared widely in newspapers
and on TV. Unwittingly, this
attention fulfilled the criminal
objective providing a warning to
others, especially the wheelchair
vets. In the face of wide knowledge
about their group and its methods,
the drug vigilance ceased, as did
tip-offs to the police antidrug task
force.

"Too bad about Stewie," one task
force member said to another soon
after. "Somebody must have talked
too much. Always happens."

Several days after the event, Jensen
phoned Cynthia at her apartment to
ask for a meeting. Before leaving
the Bahamas, she had warned him they
should not be seen together until
their objective was accomplished,
and for some time beyond. Therefore
Jensen was not to come to the apart-
ment, but should telephone her there
and nowhere else, and they would
arrange any absolutely necessary
rendezvous at a place where neither
was likely to be recognized. During
the phone call, Cynthia instructed
him to meet her the following Sunday
in Boca Raton, a manageable drive,
but well clear of Miami. She named
Pete's Restaurant on Glades Road,
where they were unlikely to
encounter anyone who knew them.

Jensen arrived early and remained
in his car until Cynthia appeared
and parked nearby. He joined her and
they entered the pleasant restaurant
together, choosing an indoor
verandah table, facing a lake and
fountain, where they could talk
privately. Cynthia ordered a Greek
salad, Jensen the catch of the day
without knowing what it was; the
name somehow seemed appropriate.

462 Arthur Halley

When their waiter had gone, he
came directly to the point.

"I've found the man we need." He
described Virgilio, and what had
been revealed about the burly
Colombian by his cronies at the
Brass Doubloon.

"How do you know he " Cynthia
began, but Jensen waved her down.

"There's more. I watched him
operate." Lowering his voice, he
began describing the events of a few
days earlier, beginning with Card
Sound Road. He had reached the point
when the tradesman's van arrived,
then the appearance of the
wheelchair, when Cynthia, glaring,
snapped across the table, "Shut up,
goddam you!" Jensen paused and she
added, "Don't tell me that. I don't
want to know."

Patrick shrugged. "Well, you know
now. The point is, Virgilio did the
wheelchair murder. You must have
heard about it."

"Of course I heard." Cynthia,
angry and flushed, was breathing
heavily. "You stupid idiot! You
didn't have to tell me, and now
forget you did. Wipe those last few
minutes out."

"Okay, if you say so, but let me
tell you this." Jensen paused as
their food arrived. When the waiter
had gone, he leaned forward,
lowering his voice still more. "The
point is, this guy Virgilio enjoys
killing; I watched him that night.
He's smart and not the slightest bit
afraid."

Cynthia waited, still visibly
disturbed, before asking, "Are you
sure he'll contact you again?"

"Yeah, I'm sure. He's clearly gone
to Colombia while things cool down,
but he'll be back; that's when I'll
talk to him about doing your
parents. I know he'll do it. In the
meantime we have to take care of
some things. Cash, for one."

"I have it ready."

DETECTIVE 463

"Two hundred thousand?"

"That's the amount you said."

"And then the same for me."

Cynthia hesitated, then: "All right,
but afterward."

"Fair enough."

More calmly now, she announced, "I
have had an idea about the
killings."

"Tell me."

"There have been two murders
recently, one in Coconut Grove,
another in Fort Lauderdale; both
look as if they were done by the
same person, with some odd features.
Homicide thinks there may be more."

"What features?"

"At Coconut Grove it was at the
Royal Colonial Hotel there were dead
animals left at the scene."

"I read about the Royal Colonial,
though nothing about dead animals."

"It was held back from the press."

"And Fort Lauderdale?"

"I don't remember exactly, but
something similar." Cynthia
reflected. "What I was thinking was
that if my parents' killings could
be made to look like those two . .
."

"I'm with you," Jensen said. "It
would divert any suspicion, make it
look like one more by the same
person. Can you get more details?"

She nodded.

"Good. Then let's meet again two
weeks from now."

They left the restaurant soon
after, Cynthia settling their bill
with cash.

Jensen's Volvo was behind Cynthia's
BMW convertible as both turned onto
I-95 for the return journey south to
Miami. Cynthia drove faster and
Jensen let her car disappear

464 Arthur Halley

from sight, then took the next
freeway exit and drove to a
shopping area, where he parked.

Without leaving the car, he groped
under his jacket and shirt. He
removed a small tape recorder. He
rewound the tape and, using a tiny
earphone, listened. Despite their
guardedly low voices, the recording
was excellent. Every part was
clear, including Cynthia's reaction
when she learned the name of the
wheelchair murderer, followed by
their agreement on Virgilio as the
man to kill her parents.

Jensen smiled. Cynthia, he mused,
you are not the only one who can
record incriminating conversations.
He hoped never to have to use
today's recording, but one thing
was now certain. If something went
wrong, if he was exposed and went
down, he sure as hell would take
Cynthia Ernst with him.

4

"Remember those two homicides I
talked about last time?" Cynthia
asked. "The one at Coconut Grove
and "

Jensen said edgily, "Of course I
do. You were going to find out
more."

"Well, I have."

It was the third week of June, two
weeks after their liaison at Boca
Raton. They had needed to get
together again, though Cynthia's
work schedule made a meeting in the
Caymans or Bahamas impractical.
Instead she chose Homestead, a
small-town gateway to the
Everglades, thirty-five miles south
of Miami. They drove there sepa-
rately, then met at Potlikkers
restaurant.

The drive had left Jensen feeling
tired; he had not slept well the
night before, or for a succession of
nights before that, either. And
there had been nightmares the
details vague, except they left him
drenched with sweat, and in the hazy
no-man's-land before waking, he
recalled a wheelchair half-immersed
and Virgilio's menacing face inches
from his own.

Potlikkers' decor was rustic, and
Jensen and Cynthia were seated on
benches at a knotty pine table away
from other diners. She had brought
a small leather attache case

466 Arthur Halley

and now set it beside her. She
looked across at him. "Something
wrong?"

"For Christ's sake! Is anything
right?" He almost laughed, and
considered saying, No, nothing's
wrong. We're just meeting here to
plot two murders for which we both
have motives, in case you hadn't
noticed, and some of the best brains
in the detective business will be
trying to solve them... They may
even do it, and who knows? Maybe
we'll be electrocuted side by side.
. . But, no!. . . Apart from that,
there's nothing wrong at all.

"Keep your voice down," Cynthia
said. "And don't lose your nerve.
There's no need, because everything
is going to work remember, I'm in a
position to judge that. Have you
heard from your man, the guy you
talked about? And don't use a name."

Jensen nodded. "Three days ago."

The long-distance call had come
fifteen days after the wheelchair
murder. There was no indication of
where the call was coming from, and
Patrick hadn't asked, but guessed it
was Colombia.

"You know who I am, but do not
say." The voice was clearly
Virgilio's.

"Yes, I know."

"I come soon. You still want?"

"Yes." Obviously, Virgilio was
using the fewest words possible.
Jensen did the same.

"One week, maybe two. Okay?"

"Okay."

And that was the total exchange.
After Jensen had described it,
Cynthia asked, "You're sure your
instinct's right? He understands
what we want?"

"I'm sure. You don't arrange to
meet his kind for lightweight jobs,
and he knows it. So tell me about
those other

DETECTIVE 467

murders. The odd features isn't that
what you called them?"

"Yes." A pause. "At Coconut Grove,
four dead cats were left beside the
victims."

"Four cats?" Jensen's voice was
unbelieving.

"Don't ask me why because I don't
know nor does anyone else. In
Homicide they're still guessing."

"You said there was a similar case
in Fort Lauderdale. What about
that?"

"It's more complicated. The man's
feet were burned, and no one knows
why, except for a belief that both
things were symbols in some killer's
crazy mind."

"So what are you suggesting?"

"Copy the first one. Tell your man
to take a dead animal and leave it."

"Not four cats, I hope."

Cynthia shook her head. "It should
be the same but different, and one
will do maybe a rabbit. It's just
another symbol. Besides, there are
other things."

"Such as?"

She described how, in both the
Frost and Hennenfeld cases, the
victims were found gagged and bound
and facing each other. "And the
murder weapon both times was a bowie
knife. You know what that is?"

Jensen nodded. "I used it once in a
story. Not hard to get. Next."

"Again at both murders a radio was
playing loud. Hard rock."

"No sweat." Jensen was
concentrating, memorizing; he would
write none of this down, either now
or later.

"Every bit of money that's there
should be taken," Cynthia said. "My
father always carries plenty and
leaves it beside his bed. But my
mother's jewelry must not be

468 Arthur Halley

touched. That's how it was with
those other scenes. Make that very
clear."

"Shouldn't be difficult. Jewelry's
identifiable and can be traced; I
guess the other guy knew it, too."

"Now about the house," Cynthia
said. "You may need this."

She passed a folded real-estate
brochure across the table. It
featured the Bay Point community,
and as Jensen opened it, he saw a
page displaying the layout of
streets and lots. On one of them a
house site was marked with an X.

"This is the . . . ?"

"Yes," Cynthia said, "and
something else you should know is
that there's a staff of three a
butler and his wife, the Palacios;
she also works and they both live
in. A day maid comes in early and
leaves at about four in the after-
noon."

"So at night there are four people
in the house?"

"Except on Thursdays. That's when
the Palacios always go to West Palm
Beach to visit Mrs. Palacio's
sister. They leave by late afternoon
and are never back before midnight,
sometimes later."

Jensen's memory was loaded. "I
might forget that. Let me get it
right." He reached for the brochure
and fumbled in his pocket for a
pencil.

Cynthia clucked impatiently. "Give
that to me." On the brochure she
wrote:

D.maid in early, leaves 4p.
P's Thurs out late afternoon, back midnite

Pocketing the brochure, Jensen
asked, "Anything else I should know
about those other killings?"

"Yeah, they were messy." Cynthia
grimaced as she de

DETECTIVE 469

scribed the knife slashes and body
mutilations accompanying the Frost
and Hennenfeld killings information
she had obtained from Miami
Homicide's files.

A few days earlier, during a weekday
evening, Cynthia had walked from her
own department to the Homicide of-
fices. Senior of fleers from other
departments often dropped into
Homicide to chat and pick up stories
about important cases; also, the
coffee there was always good.
Cynthia, as a former Homicide
detective, frequently came and went,
sometimes on Community Relations
business.

She had chosen a time when the
offices were quiet. Only two
detectives were at their desks, along
with Sergeant Pablo Greene, the
senior officer present. After
friendly greetings she told him, "I'd
like to look at a file."

"Be my guest, Major." Greene waved
airily to the file room. "You know
where everything is, but call if you
need help."

"I will," Cynthia said.

Alone inside the file room, she
worked swiftly. Knowing where to
look, she located the files for the
Frost and Hennenfeld murders and took
them to a table. The first file was
large, but Cynthia quickly extracted
two sets of notes, one by Bernard
Quinn, who had been lead
investigator, the other by Malcolm
Ainslie as supervisor. Skimming both,
she paused at usable information and
transferred it to her own small
notebook. Within minutes she closed
the Frosts' file and opened the
other. This was slim because it was
not a Miami case, but had resulted
from the visit of Sheriff-Detective
Benito Montes of Fort Lauderdale. He
had, however, supplied a copy of the
original Offenseincident Report and
supplementary notes that gave
details.

After replacing both files, she
returned to the main of lice

470 Arthur Halley

and bid a friendly good night to
Sergeant Greene and the other two
detectives. Checking her watch, she
saw she had been in Homicide barely
twelve minutes, and no one knew
which files she had reviewed.