Death at China Rose (Sunshine State Murders), page 10
“I have some questions about Saturday.”
“I didn’t work...” His voice trailed off, probably recalling that he’d admitted he worked that night when we’d spoken on the phone.
I produced Charlie’s photo. “Do you recognize this man?”
Adu paid marginally more attention to the photo than he had to my ID. “No, I don’t remember customers.”
“He was driving this vehicle.” I laid down a picture of Charlie’s battered pickup next to the head shot.
“Never saw it.”
I did a slow pan of the store, my eyes settling on a camera in the far right corner. “What’s that? On the phone you said you didn’t have a video system.”
Adu licked his lips. “That’s not what I meant.”
I leaned across the counter. “I’m investigating a murder, Adu. I need you to tell me exactly what you meant.”
“I only keep the tape for twenty-four hours. Saturday night is erased.”
“Why didn’t you say that in the first place?”
Adu shrugged. “I’m very busy.”
I took an exaggerated look around the empty store, then settled a hard stare on its owner. My instinct told me this man was lying. But people always lied, and most times their lies meant nothing. It was probably the same with Adu. And I sensed he’d be a mighty hard nut to crack and didn’t know if it was worth the time. But I was gearing up for another round when the door buzzed, and a man and woman ambled inside.
They were rough-hewn and raw from the homeless life. The man made a straight shot for the beer cooler and pulled out a quart of eight ball, aka Olde English Ale 800, a favorite of alkies and hard cases. His companion speared a couple of wrinkled hot dogs off the self-serve grill. The financial transaction was conducted in steely silence, the man and woman obviously regulars of the Gas ‘N Go.
“Please leave, miss,” Adu said after the couple left.
I gave him a pass—a more productive idea having sprung to mind. I poured a jumbo cup of coffee. After he’d taken my cash, I took a last shot at the steely Adu. “Call me if you think of anything else, and for your sake, I hope you haven’t lied to me—our Grubber County sheriff doesn’t like people who fuck up a murder investigation.”
“Go now, miss.” Adu pointed a straight arm at the door.
Outside I found the old couple huddled against the side of the building, eating dogs and passing the bottle. Seeing me, they exchanged puzzled glances.
I nodded a greeting and said they might be able to help me. “Were either of you here last Saturday night?”
Another shared glance and the woman answered, “Me and the old man were here last Saturday night, but you’re looking to the wrong people for help. We got our hands full keeping our own butts out of trouble.”
“It’ll only take a second.” I pulled out Charlie Ware’s head shot. “Ever see him?”
The woman turned the picture in her hands. “I never seen him. How about you, Billy?”
“Nah,” her companion said.
“How about this truck?”
“Jesus!” She snatched the photo from my hand. She turned to her friend. “That’s the goddamned truck, sure as a heart attack!”
“You saw it?”
The woman glared. “You got strange friends, lady. The man driving this pickup nearly turned me and the old man into roadkill last Saturday night!” She grabbed the bottle from the man’s hand and gave him a harsh look. “Jesus, you killed the goddamned bottle!”
I flashed a ten spot, which disappeared in the woman’s grimy hands—damn, she was quick. While Billy went inside for provisions, I talked to his volatile companion.
“When did you see the pickup?”
“It was Saturday night, around nine. We were leaving the Gas ‘N Go when that pickup pulled into the entrance and just about run us over.”
“You’re sure it was the same truck?”
She took offense. “It was a white Ford Ranger, late nineties model and dented all to hell.”
“I’m impressed.”
“I like cars,” she began, then spotted Billy, who was limping over with a fresh bottle. She snatched it and took a slug. “For years I worked at dealerships in Newnansville.” She nodded at the Vic. “That black beauty of yours is a Crown Vic, 1992, the year after they dropped the LTD. Except you take care of your car, not like the man driving the Ranger.”
Later I’d tell Pop what she said. He was the Vic’s original owner, and its cherry condition was entirely his work. Now for the million-dollar question. “You said you saw the truck at nine—how can you be so sure of the time?”
“Me and the old man made an early night of it on Saturday. We’d gotten a line that there was an opening at the shelter, but we had to be there by nine-thirty to get the spot. I was watching the time, figuring the latest we could leave here was nine.” She shrugged and added, “Even so, we didn’t get beds for the night.”
I nodded—the story made sense. “Did you see the driver?”
“Nope.”
“But you said the driver was a man—you must have seen something.”
“I saw his back when he was headed inside the store.”
“What about height and weight?”
But the woman’s forte was cars, not people. “I don’t know—average, I guess. But he moved kind of slow—didn’t he, Billy?”
I looked up from scribbling in my notepad as Billy hunched his shoulders. Then he started walking a tight circle, his question mark posture and lumbering gait a pitch-perfect mimic of Charlie Ware’s walk.
“That’s him, Billy boy!” The woman cackled.
In that moment, I believed their every word—Charlie Ware had been pumping gas at nine o’clock last Saturday.
I took down their names and got the phone number for the shelter where they sometimes stayed, even though I doubted I could use what I’d learned. There were just too few facts from witnesses that could be easily discredited. The homeless woman’s testimony was circumstantial and thin as rice paper. And her companion was nearly a mute—could he even give testimony? None of it would hold up in court, but I believed them, and that was all that mattered.
Charlie was innocent.
Chapter Nine:
Crooked Man, Crooked House
I paused in the doorway of the China Rose Bar and Bait, not quite believing my eyes. They were gathered like a group of suspects in an Agatha Christie yarn—Charlie, Bambi and Moss sat at the near end of the bar while Papa Hemingway was at the far end, and scattered among the tables were several new faces. Before I could speak, Papa’s arm shot up. “I got dibs on going first.”
Several voices were raised in protest, and for a terrifying second I thought a stampede was in progress.
I put a hand on Charlie’s shoulder and squeezed hard. “What the fuck are they talking about?”
“I...uh...told ’em they couldn’t drink any beer until after they talked to you.” The watery blue eyes bulged. “Did I do bad?”
“For God’s sake, they can drink if they want to.”
A brief flurry as the parched customers rallied to the bar. While Moss poured, I directed Charlie to the alcove leading to the bathroom. “What did you tell them about me?”
“Just that you were a private detective and that you were going to find the real murderer. I didn’t say nothing about you looking for...”
I put a finger to my lips and swung around the corner. It was Bambi.
Charlie glowered at his daughter. “Still hiding in corners, girl? Listening with them jackrabbit ears?”
“I just thought you’d want some coffee.”
“You always was a sneaky little mite,” Charlie grumbled.
“Stop it, the both of you,” I said.
“My daddy doesn’t understand anything,” Bambi said, her eyes bright as black ice.
“And you do?” I regretted my sarcastic tone. Something about Bambi’s somber demeanor suggested that she did understand. Was she one of those rare people who knew from the get-go that murder changed everything? “Right now I need to talk to your dad—alone.”
Bambi left us. By now the bar was filling up—death had a way of bringing in the business. I asked Charlie where we could talk privately.
Charlie gestured vaguely toward the large window in the rear, which opened onto a back porch. “Nobody goes out there this time of day—too hot.”
“Sounds perfect.” We were headed outside when I spotted a new arrival at the bar. I told Charlie to go on ahead, that I’d changed my mind about coffee.
“I take mine black,” Charlie said, shuffling away.
I ordered two coffees from Moss and joined the newcomer at the bar. “Morning, Deputy,” I said. Ford looked fresh as a daisy in jeans and a baby blue polo shirt.
“Ma’am,” Ford said, looking none too pleased to see me.
“What brings you to China Rose?” I asked, as if I didn’t know.
“Well, I...I thought I’d see how everyone was doing.”
“Everyone or someone? Be careful, Deputy.”
“It’s not like that,” Ford said. “Bambi doesn’t have a car of her own and I promised to drive her to town and help her with the arrangements. She’s upstairs changing from her work clothes.”
I pointed up. “Bambi lives upstairs?”
Ford nodded curtly. “It’s only one room, but Bambi keeps it nice. Not everybody can afford a big fancy apartment in Lady-in-the-Hills.”
I passed a hand over my mouth to hide my smile. “I didn’t mean any offense, Ford.”
The rookie shook his head. “She’s had a lot of hard knocks in her life, but she’s still fighting. Why, I’ve watched her work her butt off these past five months. That’s why I want to help her out.”
“There’s nothing wrong with helping, but keep in mind that Bambi Ware is in the middle of a murder investigation.”
Ford turned to me, shock on his young face. “She’s not involved in Harry’s murder. How can you say that?”
“Because somebody has to.” I tried to explain that even though Bambi wasn’t a suspect in the murder, she was involved. Until the investigation was concluded, Ford would be wise to keep his distance. “You’re both young—there’s plenty of time.”
But he wasn’t listening, and why should he? How did I know how much time they had?
* * *
Charlie sat at on a bench, arms folded on a splintered rail that looked about to snap. The porch extended several feet into the lake—a tangle of fishing rods stood in a corner so I supposed people fished from the porch. The haunted man stared into the mirrored lake like a world-weary Narcissus, a patina of sweat already on his face. Lake Okpulo was an amorphous oval blob, a misshapen silver platter surrounded by a riot of green vegetation.
“How deep is it?” I asked.
“Deep enough.” Charlie accepted the coffee without comment. “Nearer the shore it’s no more than five or six feet. The deepest part is maybe fifteen feet or so.”
To the left I could spot the Vic through the trees, glossy black in the bright sunlight. Despite the lack of wind, the woods were alive with noise and movement. Leaves shook and branches trembled as birds and other creatures darted pell-mell through the thick foliage. So unlike the serene forests of the northeast. Unlike those dark cathedrals, this Southern forest was a cacophony of rustling leaves, chirping birds and droning insects.
I wanted to start by reviewing Charlie’s alibi, but first had to clear the air. “What is it between you and your daughter?”
Charlie kept staring into the water. He scooped a stone from the ground and heaved it into the lake, disturbing the still surface. “That’s not your business.”
I realized that with a little effort I could really dislike this man. “You might be facing murder charges—everything’s my business.”
Charlie drank coffee and shrugged. A heavy splash sounded from close by, something big and heavy in the water.
“You wanted my help last night,” I said, looking around for the source of the disturbance. Just then a kayak appeared on the water, carrying a man and young boy away from the shore.
“The boat ramp’s over there.” Charlie pointed to the right.
Squinting hard, I thought I saw the slope of a small ramp through the thick underbrush, but couldn’t be sure. I turned to Charlie and said I wanted to go over the day of the murder again.
“But we—”
“We’re doing this my way.”
For the next thirty minutes I had Charlie go over his activities on Saturday. I pressed him, but his story didn’t change. “When I left Harry, he was alive. I was on the road by five, and that’s all I know.”
“Did you pass any cars on your way out of China Rose?” I asked. Everyone at the fish camp knew Charlie’s beat-up truck.
Charlie wiped his forehead with an arm. “I didn’t pass any cars. I...I took the back roads to the highway.”
For a man in a hurry to get out of town, it was an odd choice. “Do you usually take that route?”
He squirmed. “I just felt like going that way.”
“Well, it pretty much guaranteed that no one would see you leave,” I said.
“I didn’t think of that,” he said, his brow crinkling like crepe paper.
I told him about the homeless couple. “The witnesses aren’t exactly credible and when it comes down to it, they can only testify that they saw a truck similar to yours at the Gas ‘N Go. Unfortunately they didn’t get a good look at you.”
“No luck—story of my life,” he said.
I startled as a loud flurry of knocks sounded, just to my left and high up. I searched the tree line but saw nothing.
“Woodpecker,” Charlie said with a little grin.
“I guess there’s lots of wildlife in these woods,” I said, halfway hoping for a contradiction.
“More than you know. Harry used to say that everything a person wanted was in China Rose, just waiting to be found. Like it was something out of a fairy tale.” Charlie turned to look at me. “Ain’t that some crazy shit?”
You should know. I took a sip of tepid coffee and carefully directed Charlie back to the matter at hand. “There are problems with the witnesses, but this is a positive development. Now I’d like to talk about Rose for a little bit, if you don’t mind.”
“I do sort of mind. I thought I’d go back home and grab a nap.”
“That was just a figure of speech, Charlie—we’re talking about Rose,” I said, not giving him a chance to object. “Has your wife tried to contact you at any time over the past eleven years?”
“You asked me that last night, and I told you no.”
So he had, but Etta had also told me that Charlie had received a letter from Rose a week after she’d left. It could be that Charlie had forgotten the correspondence, but it was possible that something more nefarious was as work. “What about Harry or Bambi? Has Rose gotten in touch with either of them?”
“No, I told you...wait a minute, there was a letter.” Charlie closed his eyes. “It was such a long time ago that I forgot. A long time.”
“Do you still have the letter?”
The haunted man’s eyes popped open. “I threw it away the day I got it. Rose wrote to warn me not to go after her.”
“Strange that Rose didn’t include a message for her daughter,” I said carefully.
“It was my letter, not Bambi’s,” Charlie said, sounding almost resentful. I was about to follow up when Charlie snapped his fingers. “And it wasn’t like Rose had forgot all about Bambi—she sent the girl a card on her birthday and then at Christmas.”
“No presents?”
“Just the cards.”
I was thinking that Rose must have been a hard-hearted mother to forget her child at Christmas, when the door swung open. It was Moss, breathless and wild-eyed.
“A couple of cop cars just turned onto Big Pine Road. My guess is they’re headed to your place, Charlie.”
* * *
When Charlie and I arrived at his trailer, the cops were swarming. I told him to wait in the car while I scoped the situation.
“A heads-up would have been nice,” I told Berry, who was standing by his unmarked car.
“I got the warrant less than an hour ago.”
I held out my hand and Berry shoved the paper at me. The warrant gave the cops access to Charlie’s trailer, shed and immediate property.
“Sheriff around?”
“No, I’m in charge.”
“Can they do this?” a shaky voice whispered from behind.
I wheeled and grabbed Charlie’s arm. “I told you to wait in the Vic.”
“Charlie Ware!” Berry’s face was full of mock concern. “You sure you’re feeling all right? You look a little rough around the edges.”
“I don’t want them disturbing my property,” Charlie said to me. Then he shook a finger at Berry. “You don’t have the right to go through my stuff.”
Berry grinned at me. “You want to explain things to your client?”
I led Charlie away from the deputy. “We can’t stop them from searching—they’ve got a warrant.”
“Where they gonna search?” Charlie’s blue eyes squinted at the throng of uniforms spilling over his yard. I explained the parameters of the warrant, which reassured him.
“Do I have to stay here?” Charlie asked.
“No, just stay nearby.”
Charlie said he’d be at the bar. As Prince Myshkin ambled away, I thought about the crooked man in his crooked house, walking a crooked path. What the hell had I stepped into?
