Sideswipe (32 page)

"I still don't understand why they would kill a baby, Hoke." She brushed her eyes with the back of her hand. "An eighteen-month-old baby couldn't identify anybody. He'd hardly know his mother!"

"It was a little girl. I know, it was totally senseless. But what we're dealing with, Ellita, is a crazy double-donged sonofabitch. The same guy who shot you probably killed the baby, and they must've shot Davis when they took his car for the robbery. This killer's a scary guy."

"What about prints on the car?"

"Nothing, except for smudges and Davis's prints. You said the person driving could've been either a man or a woman, probably a woman because there was the scarf over her head, but we can't verify that. You can't describe the guy with the shotgun because he was in silhouette, so we don't know if he was black or white."

"That red light, flashing off and on, was like a strobe, Hoke. I couldn't tell anything for sure."

"Well, we know the Bajan was a high yellow, so we've been figuring the guy with the shotgun's probably black, too. But that still doesn't explain the old white man. You say he was a shopper in the store, but he must be a member of the gang if he left with the one who was shot. The collection of groceries in his cart was such a weird mixture, he was obviously killing time in there for some reason or another.

"Anyway, we circulated the Identikit picture of the old man you described, and now I've asked the TV stations to run it in the 'Crime Stoppers' series. At first, we thought the way you did, that the old man was a customer, just somebody doing a good-Samaritan act and driving the wounded man to the hospital. But none of the hospitals have reported any gunshot men who haven't been accounted for in some other way. If the gunshot killer was hurt as badly as you say, he needed medical attention. We've been checking clinics and hospitals by phone from Key West to West Palm Beach, but so far, nothing. There were no prints on the two weapons found either, so the guy must've been wearing gloves."

"How much did they get in the robbery?"

"About eighteen thousand. There should've been more, but because of those armored car robberies last month, Wells-Fargo's been varying their pickup schedules. They picked up at noon on Saturday instead of waiting for Monday. The chain had insurance for the money, but they may have to close the supermarket. People are scared shitless. It's not open at night anymore now, and a few of the businesses that had signed leases to move into the new mall have just canceled them. Willie Brownley asked the chain to increase the reward from ten to twenty-five thousand, and they probably will. If we don't catch the killer, nobody'll visit that mall when it finally opens--not at night, anyway."

"I should've been more alert, Hoke. I was crouched right behind the Honda and I didn't get the license number. It didn't even occur to me. I noticed the roof rack, however, and those aren't standard."

Hoke patted her arm. "If I'd been shot in the face and was going into labor, I wouldn't have thought of the license either. The Identikit drawing's a good one, you say, but do you realize how many old men there are who've retired to Florida and look like that? Every pensioner in Dade County owns at least one wash-and-wear seersucker suit."

"What about the cane, Hoke? There was a brass dog's head on the cane, I think. Not every old man carries a cane. So why not run a picture of that along with the Identikit photo?"

"What kind of dog was it?"

"I don't know. But it was a shiny brass dog's head, not a duck or a snake, I'm almost positive."

"Were the ears up or down?"

"Down, like flaps, and the nose was a little pointed, I think, but it wasn't any special breed. I didn't pay that much attention, but I did notice the cane when he put it under his arm at the checkout counter."

"Okay. We'll get 'em to run a picture of the cane, too. A cocker spaniel, maybe."

"I wish there was something else, Hoke." Tears formed in Ellita's eyes again. "When I think about that dead baby..."

"Don't think about it. I'll leave Sue Ellen here so she can see your baby, and I'll pick her up tonight on my way home. Do you need anything?"

"Well, if you can, smuggle me in a can of Stroh's." Ellita wiped her eyes with the corner of the sheet. "My mother says that an occasional beer makes your milk richer. Because of the hops, and all. And the doctor said I couldn't have any."

"Sure, I'll sneak you in a couple of beers, kid. Do you need anything for pain? I can bring you some codeine tablets if you want some."

"No, I'm okay there. It's a steady kind of pain, in my shoulder, and it shoots down my arm once in a while, but I can stand it. They've been giving me Darvon every four hours, and that helps."

"I know how these bastards are, Ellita. Doctors call pain 'discomfort,' and they don't give a shit whether you're suffering or not. If it gets too bad, you tell me, and I'll get you some codeine."

Hoke patted Ellita on her good shoulder, nodded goodbye to the Sanchezes, and left to drive back to the police station. The Sanchezes, to Hoke's amusement, suspected that he was the father of Ellita's baby, and hated him for not acknowledging it, and for not marrying their daughter after getting her pregnant. Ellita had told them that Hoke wasn't the father, but they had never believed her. Hoke, of course, didn't care what the Sanchezes thought about him, or what they had thought his reasons were for telling them, in his halting Spanish while Ellita was in surgery, that he'd find the son of a whore who shot at her and her baby if it took him twenty-five hours a day.

The next break in the case came when a black man giving his name only as Marvin telephoned Commander Bill Henderson and said he had some information on the robbery. But he wanted to make a deal, he said, before he would pass it on. Marvin also said he wanted the reward money, and a statement, in writing, that he was entitled to it, before he gave Henderson any information.

"We get a lot of strange calls, Marvin," Henderson told him. "What've you got?"

"Do I get my deal first?"

"That depends on your information, and the deal you want."

"I'm out on bond," Marvin said, "for soliciting a minor for prostitution, and I want the charges dropped."

"That's a serious charge. How old was the girl?"

"It wasn't no girl, it was a boy. He's fourteen, but he was already hustling when I recruit him. It's a bum rap, but they don't like me over here on the Beach and they set me up."

"You realize that Miami and Miami Beach are two different jurisdictions?"

"I knows that, but I also knows that deals can be made, 'specially on something like this massacre."

"I'll see what I can do, Marvin. But you'll have to come to the station to talk to me."

"I can't do that. I done been told by a Miami vice cop never to come over to Miami again, or he'd shoot me on sight."

"Who told you that? What's his name?"

"A Miami vice cop. I don't know his name, but he knows mine and he knows me. I'll meet you this afternoon at four-thirty at Watson Island. In the Japanese garden, at the gate. I'll show you some proofs of what I'm saying, and then we can dicker."

"Okay, Marvin. See you at four-thirty."

Bill Henderson passed this intelligence on to Hoke, and then returned to making up duty schedules for the following week. He also had a supplementary payroll for the division to get out.

That afternoon, Hoke and Gonzalez drove to Watson Island, only an eight-minute drive from the police station, and parked in the lot outside the Japanese garden. The garden, donated to Miami by a Tokyo millionaire in 1961, hadn't been maintained, but it was still open to the public every day until five.

There was no one at the gate. Gonzalez looked at the jungly growth in the garden and shook his head. "This place was really something a few years ago, Sergeant. I remember bringing my girl friend over here on Sundays, just to walk around and look. There used to be a beautiful stone lantern over there, right by the bridge."

"Somebody probably stole it. The city can't afford to have twenty-four-hour security on a place like this."

"Maybe not, but it's a shame to let it run down this way. You think this Marvin guy'll show up?"

"You never can tell, Gonzalez. Usually, anonymous callers don't show the first time, but if they really have something, they'll call again. That's the usual pattern. If this guy's got anything at all, he'll meet us eventually. Reward money brings them out, and it was in the paper this morning, about the reward being increased to twenty-five thousand."

At four-thirty, Marvin Grizzard left his hiding place behind the Japanese teahouse with the sagging roof, ambled over the arching bridge, and introduced himself. He was a tall black man, wearing pleated gray gabardine slacks, a long-sleeved flowered sport shirt, and shiny white Gucci shoes. The left sleeve had been rolled back one turn to show a gold Rolex watch on his wrist. He handed Hoke a square piece of black plastic, approximately six by six inches.

"Here's part of it," Marvin said.

"Part of what?" Hoke said.

"Evidence, man. I cut that out of the Hefty bag."

"What Hefty bag?"

"The bag that held the money taken in the robbery."

"Shit," Gonzalez said. "A piece of plastic cut out of a Hefty don't mean anything."

"It does," Marvin said, raising his chin, "when you got the rest of the Hefty, which is complete 'cept for this piece I cut out. In fact, it's two Hefty bags, one inside the other. And I've got all the money, too."

Marvin unbuttoned his shirt and took out a stack of banded twenty-dollar bills. The paper band was green, and the initials "V.P." in black ink were scrawled on the band. Hoke riffled the bills and studied the initials for a moment.

"'Cuff him," Hoke said to Gonzalez. Hoke then moved to a stone bench, sat down, and carefully counted the money. It was a thousand dollars even. It was almost too much to hope for, but the initials should be those of Victor Persons, the murdered night manager of the Green Lakes Supermarket.

CHAPTER 18

Marvin protested about being handcuffed, but to no avail. Hoke told him to sit on the bench and explain how he obtained the banded one thousand dollars.

"What about my deal and the reward?"

"Don't worry about the reward. That money's paid only if an arrest leads to a conviction. But if you're a perp in this case, you can't collect it."

"I'm not! I didn't have nothin' to do with it, and I got an alibi for the robbery. I was at the Dania fronton till it closed, and I got friends who was with me."

"You aren't charged with anything yet," Gonzalez reminded him. "And you don't have to tell us anything. We can take you in on what we have, and anything you say can be held against you."

"You can have a lawyer present, too, if you want one," Hoke added. "And if you can't afford one, we'll get one for you. D'you understand that?"

"I don't need no lawyer. I ain't even no 'cessory after the fact. I'm a good citizen doing his public duty for the reward money, and a registered voter."

"You're a convicted felon," Gonzalez said. "How can you be a registered voter?"

"Who told you 'bout that? Besides, I registered once, and I thought it was still good. My card's right there in my wallet."

"Just tell us where the money came from, Marvin," Hoke said. "We'll check out everything you tell us, and if you're in the clear, getting the reward money won't be a problem."

"What about the soliciting charges?"

"That'll be up to the State Attorney. But she's a reasonable woman, and if you help us, I'm sure she'll do something for you. We can't speak for the State Attorney, but we can make a recommendation. And that's it. We won't promise you doodly squat."

A middle-aged Latin man drove up to the gate, got out of his car, closed the gate, unlocked the padlock on the dangling chain, and then relocked the padlock on the chain.

"Hey!" Hoke called out. "Don't lock the fucking gate! Can't you see us over here?"

"-Cerrado!-" The man tapped his wristwatch, got back into his Escort, backed up, and drove down the gravel road to the causeway.

"Jesus," Hoke said, "the assholes we've got working for this city--"

"That includes us, Sergeant," Gonzalez said, "for arguing overtime with this funky bastard. I've got some legirons in the trunk. Why don't we put 'em on Marvin here, and put him under the bridge overnight ana come back tomorrow morning some time. If it's five o'clock, it's our quitting time, too, and I could stand a beer."

"We don't have to do that," Hoke said. "Marvin wants to tell us all about it. Don't you, Marvin?"

Marvin did, and he did.

His story took them back to the night of the robbery. Dale Forrest, who had parked around the corner of the supermarket, with the nose of the Lincoln extended out far enough so she could watch the glass doors, had been instructed to wait for three minutes before driving up to the doors to pick up Troy and James. Troy had estimated that the job would only take three minutes, four at the most. When Dale heard the first two shots and the clanging bells, however, she had panicked and almost driven away without them. It was an instinctual feeling, but she didn't leave because she knew, an instant later, that if she did drive away Troy would find her, no matter where she went, and kill her. Besides, Dale had never acted that independently. A man had always told her what to do, for as long as she could remember, beginning with her father, and her Uncle Bob, who had lived with the family and seduced her when she was eleven, and all of her brothers, and the men she had lived with, off and on, since she had left home. So she had gripped the wheel hard with both hands and kept her eyes on the luminous dashboard clock. She twitched and bit her lip when the shotgun fired again, but she waited till the three minutes were up before she left the concealed parking spot. She looked through the window just in time to see Troy deliberately kill James. She knew then that Troy was probably going to kill her as well, that Troy did not intend to take her with him to Haiti, and that there wasn't any plastic surgeon in Haiti to fix her face, either. The pearlhandled.25 semi-automatic pistol was in her lap. When Troy threw the Hefty bag into the back seat and told her to move over so he could drive (that wasn't the original plan; -she- was supposed to drive), she knew damned well that he would kill her, and she panicked, and with a swift motion she picked up the little weapon, fired, took her foot off the brake, and pushed the gas pedal to the floor. The heavy car, already in drive, sprang forward with the tires squealing as Troy dropped to the sidewalk. Dale heard him scream, so she knew as she turned onto State Road 836 that he wasn't dead. She hadn't seen Mr. Sinkiewicz either, so she suspected that Troy had killed him, too.