Death at China Rose (Sunshine State Murders), page 11
“He’s guilty, Gorsky.”
I faced Berry. “How did you finagle a judge to sign the warrant?”
Before Berry answered, a female voice called out, “Deputy Berry!”
We turned as one. The CSU tech had evidently gone mad. She was jumping up and down, gesticulating beneath Charlie’s trailer. Berry’s big face broke into a grin and he jogged away. The search was put on hold as more and more uniforms gathered around the trailer, smelling blood. I insinuated myself in the throng.
Several tense minutes later the tech extracted an object from under the trailer. It was already wrapped in a clear evidence bag. My first impression was of a small baseball bat, the kind they sell at the ballpark as souvenirs. Before I could see more, Berry grabbed the object from the startled tech’s hands. As the deputy made a big show of examining the object, I caught a flash of metal.
“A pickax?” I wondered aloud.
“The murder weapon,” someone behind me corrected.
By now excitement was high—cops high-fived one another and everyone wanted to congratulate Berry. After milking the crowd of admirers dry, Berry ordered everyone back to work. Although the search resumed, it had lost its juice. I wouldn’t have long to wait until the circus packed up and left—the cops believed that the case was solved and Charlie’s goose sufficiently cooked.
I waited until Berry was alone to approach him. “Can I have a look?”
“It’s just a pickax, Gorsky—nothing special, except for the blood on the handle.” Berry handed his prize to the tech.
“When we ran the light wand over that stain, it lit up like my daddy on New Year’s. I got to give Spooner props—he was right about this one. He thought the killer was close to home, and he was right. Face it, your guy looks pretty good for it.”
“Don’t get ahead of yourself. Remember that’s a presumptive test for blood. It needs to be confirmed in the lab. It could be animal blood or someone else’s.”
“I’m betting it’s Harry’s blood.”
So was I, but Berry didn’t need to know that. “Doesn’t it all strike you as a little too pat?”
“Too pat!” Berry scoffed. “You always make things too hard.”
Since the search had petered out by now, I asked Berry to follow me to the shed. “I don’t need to go inside, but I want to show you something.”
“Sure, but there’s nothing there.”
“You call this nothing?” I pointed at the shed’s cluttered interior, which was packed with lopsided wheelbarrows, rusty shovels and gap-toothed rakes. “Look at this stuff!”
Berry scanned the pack rat’s hoard and snorted. “A bunch of crap.”
“Exactly! Every tool that I see is rusted as an old bucket. That pickax you just found looked almost new. It just doesn’t fit in with the rest of Charlie’s junk.”
“That doesn’t mean anything. It was a crime of opportunity. Besides, the pickax might have belonged to Harry.”
“I didn’t notice any new tools at Harry’s, did you?”
Berry huffed and closed the shed door.
“I don’t think Charlie’s your guy. You don’t want to act prematurely.”
Like a bullfrog in Lake Okpulo, Berry puffed out his chest. “I go where the evidence takes me.”
Would that were true. “What about the shoe print? Does that connect back to Charlie?”
Berry looked mildly pissed but held his temper. “No, but that doesn’t mean anything. He could have worn a larger shoe when he killed Harry and then gotten rid of them—they might be out there for all we know.” He gestured in the general direction of Lake Okpulo.
There was precedent for Berry’s theory—the Unabomber had worn different-sized shoes to throw investigators off the trail. But we were talking about Charlie Ware here, not some half-mad genius. “If that’s so, why didn’t Charlie throw the pickax in the lake with the shoes?”
Berry shrugged it off. He was getting better at managing his temper, which didn’t bode well for me. “Maybe I’m wrong about the shoes, but I’m right about Charlie.”
“Is the autopsy still set for four?”
“Uh, I been thinking about that.”
“Yeah?” It was never a good omen when Berry put his thinking cap on, but I had ammo to counter any objection.
“I can get the autopsy report to you later, but it’s probably better if you don’t show.”
“Bambi wants me there. If you try to stonewall me, she’s determined to have a second autopsy, which I will attend.”
“Come on,” Berry whined.
“Why don’t you simplify both our lives? Dolores won’t mind.”
“She won’t, but Spooner will...and then there’s...” Berry swallowed, rendered speechless at the thought of so much opposition. “Do what you want—you always do anyway—but I’m telling you Charlie Ware is the guy!”
I felt a cold stone in the pit of my gut. “What else do you have on Charlie?”
Berry pretended to consider whether he’d tell me or not, but we both knew he was going to sing. His voice dropped, though we were now alone. “I guess you know by now that Charlie and Harry hadn’t exactly been getting along the past weeks. Then the day before the murder Charlie tried to get an ex parte order of commitment on Harry.” He stepped back to better appraise my face. “I guess Charlie didn’t tell you that part of the story.”
Early on Brad had said Charlie had been acting strangely in the days before Harry’s murder—was this failed ex parte order part of it? “You’re sure about this?”
“Sure as a heart attack,” Berry said with a laugh. “You asked me about probable cause before. When the judge heard about Charlie’s little stunt, he couldn’t wait to sign the warrant.”
I nodded. Along with Charlie’s vanishing act after the murder, it was enough. But what had Charlie been trying to achieve with the ex parte order? If he’d been successful, Harry would have been placed in a psych facility for observation. Most likely the old guy would have been released after seventy-two hours of observation—most people were. Hell, a good-natured crackpot like Charlie would have been shown the door in nothing flat. So Charlie would have only been buying time, and not very much of it.
But time for what?
Chapter Ten:
A Walk in the Woods
The parking lot of China Rose Bar and Bait was nearly full. As news about Harry’s death traveled over the small community, the people had come out. Some folks came to pay their respects, but others came for the show. I’d seen it too many times before—people were repelled by violence, but there was also an attraction. I didn’t like it, but I couldn’t protest too loudly, considering my own career path.
I parked adjacent to the woods, alongside a thick stand of cabbage palms. At least the Vic wouldn’t be an oven when I returned. I felt like a broiled steak after all that time in the midday sun and looked forward to the dark coolness of China Rose. When I caught up with Moss at the bar, he shoved a sheet of paper in my hand.
“Here’s a list of everybody at the bar that night.”
“Thanks.”
“I don’t know what help they’ll be. From what I heard, the cops didn’t get much out of them.”
“You never know,” I said, but Moss was right. When I pressed Berry about the canvass, he’d pretty much said it was a bust.
Moss untied his apron. “Come on. Clay can handle the bar for a half hour,” he said, referring to the barfly I’d called Papa.
I followed Moss into the kitchen and out the side door. I was surprised when he turned toward the lake, but kept my mouth shut and followed.
“If you’re going to find Harry’s killer you got to know your way around China Rose.”
We stopped at the water’s edge. Moss pointed to a large log near the shoreline. As if on cue, the water shivered, sending the log adrift.
“What the fuck!” I yelled, jumping back. What I’d mistaken for a log was an alligator, a really big one. The ancient creature grinned and winked before disappearing into the depths. See you later, alligator.
Moss was shaking his head. “You need to get over that foolishness.”
“What foolishness?” I asked, waiting for my heart to dislodge from my throat.
“The danger at China Rose ain’t no different from danger anyplace else—both kinds can get you just as dead. You just got to get used to things. You got to know China Rose.”
“Am I that transparent?”
Moss shrugged and pulled two cans of lemonade from his pockets. “From what I heard, you’re a good detective, but you got city written all over you.”
I cracked the lemonade and took a long swig. It was delicious and icy cold.
“Here at China Rose we got bull gators, cottonmouths, rattlesnakes and woodsy nettle that’ll burn your skin off—and that’s just for starters.” Moss sipped his drink.
“Are you saying that six-foot gator isn’t dangerous?”
“Big Ben’s closer to seven feet. Now, I wouldn’t advise a midnight swim in Lake Okpulo, but gators aren’t a danger to people. It’s when folks start feeding them that the trouble starts. Back in July Harry had to throw some kids out of the fishing tournament when he caught them throwing marshmallows into the lake.”
“Gators eat marshmallows?” I asked, certain that Moss was teasing me.
“They love ‘em—I don’t know why. But when people feed them, the gators start looking at people as food.”
“Are you trying to scare me?” If he was, he was doing a pretty fair job of it.
“No, I’m trying to get you used to the particularities of China Rose so you can concentrate on the killer—that’s the most dangerous predator.” Moss started walking, following a narrow path hugging the shoreline.
“I didn’t see Charlie inside the bar,” I said.
“He wasn’t. He had a quick beer and went for a walk.”
“In this heat?” I pulled my cell.
“Don’t bother trying to call. Either Charlie won’t answer or he’s in a dead zone—China Rose is full of them.” He paused. At this point the path broke in two: the path on the right skirted the lake while the other penetrated the woods. I didn’t know whether to be relieved when we stayed lakeside. All I knew was that I felt like a fucking rat in a Skinner box and I was getting nowhere fast.
I hooked a thumb backward. “Where did the other path go?” By now I’d lost all direction and only knew that the lake was no longer in view, for which I was thankful.
“Straight to Big Pine Terrace.”
“Near Harry’s house?”
He nodded. “Not far from there.”
I happened to look down just in time to see a black snake glide across my path. I stumbled over a root, nearly falling.
Moss wheeled and chuckled. “Don’t be scared—that’s a harmless black racer.”
“It...it just startled me.” Mostly true. I wasn’t exactly afraid of snakes—I just didn’t appreciate it when they snuck up on me. “Are we almost there?”
“If you’d stop staring at the ground looking for that snake you’re not afraid of, you’ll see we’re there.”
Moss had brought us to a small swimming hole. It was only a ten-minute walk from the bar, but it was like going back in time. I thought of Huck Finn and Jim, lazing on their little island. He sat on one of the smooth boulders and I did the same.
“This is a pretty spot, but you didn’t bring me here for the view.” I swatted a mosquito from my arm.
A little smile lit up his face, a mischievous saint in the green cathedral. “In a way, that’s just why I brought you here. I’m pretty sure Harry was murdered for China Rose.” He dug up a handful of dirt and leaf debris and let it run through his fingers.
Although who was the most important question in an investigation, why was the most vital and the most interesting. If Moss had hit on the motive, I was that much closer to finding the killer. I looked around the woods, wondered at its worth. Although the buildings and infrastructure were run-down, Etta had said the land held value. Murder for money was old as man. Or woman. “Who inherits China Rose?”
“How do I know?” Moss asked, a sudden sharpness in his voice.
“Isn’t that what we’re talking about?”
“Nope—I’m just saying that people value things for all kind of reasons. It’s not always about money.”
But I’d seen a hell of a lot more of murder than Moss—dig deep enough and money almost always enters the picture. But I kept this to myself and asked what he meant.
“I’m talking about Ancy. This trouble didn’t start until he got Harry all excited about pirate gold on the Ridge. He’s after something at China Rose, and it’s not Lafitte’s gold.”
The chimera of Lafitte’s gold again. But I didn’t want to go there—not yet. “Why do you dislike Ancy Prince so much?”
“He takes advantage of people.”
“So it’s not personal,” I said.
“Everything’s personal, Addie,” Moss shot back.
“Maybe, but it’s also a question of degree, and it sounds like whatever’s going on between you and Ancy is pretty damn hot.”
Moss shrugged and lay down, his eyes fixed on the sky peeking through the trees. “So you want to hear about Saturday night or not?”
I nodded and Moss described a typical Saturday. It’d been a small crowd—fifteen customers all night according to Moss’s list. Most, but not all, were regulars, barflies who had found a home at China Rose. Moss tended bar while Bambi worked back-of-the-house—cook and dishwasher.
“On weekends when we have the buffet, Bambi’s in charge of that.”
“What’s that entail?”
“She sets up the steam table, makes sure it stays stocked, and breaks it down—all simple stuff.”
“So even though she’s back-of-the-house, you saw her over the course of the evening.”
Moss was amused. “Are you suggesting that little gal snuck down to Harry’s and beat him to death?”
“I’m just asking,” I said with a shrug.
“There was no way—Bambi was in and out of the dining room all night long, restocking the buffet table or helping Clay bus tables.”
“I thought you and Bambi were the only employees.”
“Sometime Clay does odd jobs around the place—cleaning toilets and such—and Harry threw him a few dollars.”
“Did Bambi usually bring Harry his dinner?”
“Nah, it was maybe a couple of times a month, but Harry did like his ribs.”
“I find it odd that Bambi walked to Harry’s—surely someone could have given her a lift.” According to the Vic’s odometer, the distance between Harry’s house and the bar was a smidge over half a mile.
Moss didn’t find it odd at all. “Bambi’s not scared of the dark, and there was a full moon. Besides, that girl loves to walk. I bet she’s trekked every backwoods path at China Rose.”
“What time did Bambi leave for Harry’s?”
Moss snorted. “You can figure that one out for yourself, can’t you?”
I smiled. “I know when Bambi arrived at Harry’s house—I don’t know what time she left the bar.”
“I remember her coming out and telling me she was leaving to bring Harry’s supper to him, but I didn’t notice the time.”
“Let’s move on to your buddy Ancy.”
“I can do without the sarcasm, Addie,” Moss said, but he was smiling. “Ancy and his boys showed up around seven-thirty or so. They ate and had some beers. I recall Ancy had three—one more than his usual.”
“Did you notice what time Ancy left?”
“It was around nine-thirty, just after Bambi shut down the buffet—that’s when I noticed he was gone.”
“Describe Harry and Ancy’s relationship.”
Moss considered. “It was convenient. I don’t think Harry liked Ancy all that much, but he sure liked what Ancy promised to bring him.”
“Lafitte’s gold.”
“That was Harry’s blind spot. He always believed there was pirate gold somewhere in China Rose, but it was all harmless talk until Ancy started telling his tall tales.”
“Maybe they’re not tall tales,” I suggested. From what I’d learned of Ancy, he was very good at his chosen profession.
Moss didn’t take the bait. “Whatever Ancy Prince’s digging for, it isn’t pirate gold. Look, the cops don’t seem to be interested in Ancy—I was hoping you had more sense.”
“The cops like his alibi.” I told Moss what Berry had relayed. Ancy left the bar at nine-thirty. According to his wife, Ancy arrived home at ten-fifteen, which didn’t leave much time for murder. “Of course, his wife might have lied about the timeline and I—”
“That’s not right,” Moss said, speaking as if to himself. “Ancy didn’t drive home that night—he couldn’t have.”
“Tell me,” I said, wishing we were back at the bar. Moss looked like he could use a shot of something.
Moss sat up, ran a hand over his close-cropped hair. “Ancy drove his ATV to the bar. He had to go back to the camp to get his car. But it doesn’t make sense.” He looked at me. “Ancy wouldn’t have broken camp in the dark.”
I thought about Ancy’s deserted campsite. It sure as hell looked as if he’d packed up in a hurry...or in the dark. “He could have packed up earlier—then, when he got back at camp, he just put the ATV in the trailer and took off.”
“So why not just drive his vehicle to the bar?” Moss asked.
“Good point,” I said. Moss checked his watch and stood up. The palaver was over, but I had one last question. “Why did Ancy even bother with camping at the Ridge? He lives close by and the dig wasn’t starting until Monday.”
Moss grinned at me. “Sounds like you and Ancy got a lot to talk about.”
