Death at China Rose (Sunshine State Murders), page 30
* * *
I parked closer to the bar but still far enough from Eula Lee Road that Bambi wouldn’t spot it when she returned. With most of the outside lights off, the car’s black metal melded with the shivering trees and the dark Southern night. I jogged toward Bambi’s apartment.
I knew she wouldn’t be long. If I was right about her going to ground, she’d want to get an early start. As if on cue I saw approaching headlights—the black SUV was barreling down Eula Lee Road like a Grand Prix motorcar. I ran the last few yards and threw myself into the woods, flattening my body on the soft ground. Seconds later, the car slammed to a stop. I pulled my piece, certain that Bambi would come charging from the SUV, shotgun in hand. But Bambi tapped up the stairs without a backward glance.
Too fucking close for comfort.
By the time my breath quieted, the upstairs apartment was lit up like a drunk on Saturday night, including the outside light. This made my job more difficult—my target was the SUV, but if Bambi exited while I was en route, she’d clock me in a heartbeat. I was considering all of this when the door to her apartment opened.
She had changed into jeans and a long-sleeved shirt, a small duffel bag slung over her shoulder. After dumping the bag on the passenger’s seat, she closed the door and sprinted in the opposite direction. I heard quick footfalls on the wooden front porch, and then nothing. I didn’t know where she’d gone, but this was my last chance to clip her wings before she flew the goddamned coop for good.
Pocketknife in hand, I crept to the SUV. Moving quickly, I slashed several deep gashes into the tires on the passenger’s side. I thought about making it a complete set, but two gashed tires should be enough to slow her down. I hurried back to the Vic, anxious to put China Rose in the rearview mirror.
Now that I had bought a little time, I’d head for GCSO headquarters. Brad didn’t have enough for an arrest, but he could hold Bambi for questioning. And maybe she’d even crack. Harry’s murder was a masterpiece of planning and execution, but she was getting sloppy—improvisation wasn’t her strong point.
As I slid into the driver’s seat, I looked around for any sign of Bambi, wondering where she was. Of course I couldn’t see far—except for the island of light near Bambi’s apartment, the place was as dark as the grave.
In that moment, I knew where Bambi was. She had gone into the dark heart of China Rose Fish Camp, finishing a last piece of business before leaving.
The girl had dreamed of possessing China Rose and its buried treasure, but in the end she had nothing to show for her trouble—except for the emerald chalice. Which as a consolation prize wasn’t bad.
Looking for the chalice in Bambi’s apartment had been a waste of time. She was too smart and too paranoid to hide it there. The priceless cup was hidden somewhere in China Rose. Now she was out there, in that vast darkness, recovering her treasure, the pearl of great price that she’d earned with Harry’s brutal murder.
A change of plan was in order. When Bambi returned with the chalice gripped in her greedy little hands, I’d be waiting for her. Then I’d call GCSO and let them sort it out. Of course, possession of the chalice wasn’t evidence of murder, but it was theft and it corroborated part of my theory. With the will as evidence, it just might be the wedge that would get Bambi to talk.
As I headed for the back porch, an owl screeched, reminding me that the night belonged to predators—something Bambi had never forgotten. Not much light reached the rear of the building so I passed my Maglite over the muddy terrain. I gasped audibly when the light flicked over the lake—several pairs of red eyes stared back at me. Making matters worse, Lake Okpulo was bursting at the seams from all the rain. I swallowed my fear and clambered onto the porch.
Once securely ensconced on the deck, I stood for a moment, listening. A slight breeze rustled the trees, but otherwise all was quiet. It was a good vantage point. I could make out the outline of the parked SUV through the trees, and I was close enough to the lakeside path to hear Bambi’s approach from the woods.
I smiled grimly. If by chance she slipped past me, I’d hear her scream when she saw the mutilated SUV. I only wished she’d hurry. I was tired of the game—it was time for both of us to put away our masks.
Be careful what you wish for, my little Adelajda, my grandmother whispered from far away.
“I will, Grammy,” I whispered back. Suddenly China Rose was bathed in brilliant, blinding light.
I assessed the situation, my mind moving at light speed. While the outside of China Rose blazed like Saturday night in hell, the inside was dark. The power switch was in the kitchen. In a few seconds whoever had turned on the lights would reach the bar. Another moment and she’d be looking at me through the large picture window.
Jesus, I was a fucking goldfish in a bowl.
I looked into dark water, imagined the red eyes I knew were there. Charlie said the water was around six feet deep, but there’d been a lot of hard rain since then. I hoisted myself onto the rail. Gunshot thundered as I dove into the still, black water.
I opened my eyes, but saw nothing. I thought I heard another shot, but couldn’t be sure. I planned to stay beneath the water as long as my breath held, swimming in the direction of the boat ramp, where the vegetation was especially thick. Then I’d crawl onto land and escape into the woods, where she’d never find me. My lungs close to bursting, I poked my head from the water, making as little sound as possible.
Between gulps of air, I saw that luck had been with me—the boat ramp was just ahead, illumined in the light of the waxing moon. My feet touched the lake bottom so I walked and waded to the ramp, as quiet as a tadpole. Just a few more feet and I’d be on dry land—
I heard a splash.
I turned and saw the alligator cutting through the water, its great snout and part of its armored back just visible. Big Ben! And then it disappeared. I thrashed toward the shore—it wasn’t far—but when my foot reached the ramp, it lost purchase. I slipped back into the deadly water. I was running out of chances—any second and I’d feel the crush of a massive jaw. This time I crawled up the slippery cement on my hands and knees, sliding like a drunken seal. When I at least heaved myself onto the earth, I heard a familiar laugh.
Bambi was waiting at the top of the boat ramp, the double-barreled shotgun firmly in her hands. “Too bad—it would have been sweet if the gator had done my work for me.”
“Put...the gun...down,” I said between breaths. “There’s been too much death at China Rose.”
She stopped laughing and aimed the shotgun. “You’re trespassing. I could shoot you right now, just for that.” She was in bad shape, marinated in sour sweat and dirt.
“Can I stand up?” I asked, thankful that she was talking. While she talked, she wouldn’t shoot.
She nodded. “But slowly, and keep your hands in the air.”
“Come on—this isn’t a Western,” I said, but I kept my hands raised. “Why don’t you lower the shotgun and we can both go home. I’m no threat to you. I can’t prove anything.”
“No, I don’t believe you can, but you’ll keep looking until you find something. Why did you interfere?”
“It’s my job,” I said as something rustled in the trees—not the wind, for the air was heavy and still.
“So you think you know everything.”
“Not everything,” I admitted. “Charlie’s murder is a little hazy.”
“Charlie’s death was an unfortunate accident, as yours was supposed to be.”
“I know you sent Charlie and me fake messages so we each thought the other had requested the meeting. Then you stirred up the bees so they attacked the nearest targets—Charlie and me.”
“And how’d I do that?”
“It wouldn’t be that hard—a thrown rock or a paintball gun.”
She turned as pale as a datura bloom. “It was a mistake that you survived, but mistakes can be corrected.” She lifted the double-barreled shotgun, perfecting its deadly aim.
She’s really going to shoot me—right here, right now.
“You won’t get away with my murder—Brad Spooner will make you pay.” As I spoke the words, I knew their truth.
“He’ll have to find me first.”
Double-barreled shotgun. She’d already gotten off two shots. Unless she’d reloaded while I was stumbling toward the shoreline, her gun was empty. She wasn’t bluffing. Either she was really bad at math or she had reloaded—but which? I imagined the trees chattering in anticipation, a rising crescendo.
I prepared to make a mad dash. If the shotgun was unloaded, I’d make it. If not, it was the end of the story. By now the jabbering in the trees had grown louder, more frenzied. That was when I realized we weren’t alone.
Maybe Bambi had come to the same conclusion, for her worried face turned upward, just for a second, but it was enough. When her shattered attention returned to me, the Glock was in my hand.
“This is what’s called a Mexican standoff—put down the shotgun.”
She cast a nervous look around. The monkeys were low in the trees now, chattering and baring their teeth in grins of pure malice.
“Your gun won’t fire,” Bambi said. “It’s wet.”
“Let’s find out.” I aimed my gun at her head since she had no heart.
I was about to squeeze off a shot when Bambi slowly turned the shotgun so its barrel pointed skyward. I instructed her to lay the gun on the floor and back away from her weapon.
Before calling GCSO I went for the shotgun, keeping my Glock on the murderous teen. I was done with underestimating Bambi Ware.
“I still win,” Bambi said. “There’s no evidence against me.”
I cracked open the shotgun. Both barrels were loaded.
* * *
The sky was a murky gray—dawn was near. I looked at Bambi—she sat on the porch steps, drinking a soda and joking with the deputy. In the time it’d taken for GCSO to join the party, she’d thought up a hell of a story.
She claimed that she’d heard an intruder on the property and went investigating with Harry’s old shotgun. When she found me in the bushes, she’d only meant to teach me a lesson, but then I threatened her with my Glock. When the cops asked for my side, I said I’d talk to the sheriff or Deputy Berry—no one else. Unfortunately both men were still at the hospital in Newnansville with Ancy. I was reconsidering this waiting game when my two heroes arrived at last. Berry split off to talk to one of the uniforms while Brad headed my way. He didn’t look happy.
“I had to stop her from leaving, I—”
“So you admit that you slashed her tires,” Brad said, running a hand over his tired face.
“Well...”
“And did you threaten her with your piece?”
“Sure, I had to—”
“So far you’ve admitted to armed trespassing and criminal mischief.”
I realized that if I didn’t do some quick talking, I was going to be looking at the world from the backseat of a GCSO cruiser. “Both of those charges are bogus—China Rose isn’t Bambi’s property, and neither is the SUV.”
Brad’s eyes narrowed. “As Harry’s granddaughter and beneficiary, Bambi has a legal right to be use the property until the inheritance is settled. She is Harry’s granddaughter and beneficiary.”
“But she’s not.”
“Not what?”
“She’s not Harry’s granddaughter or his beneficiary—that’s Jodie Simpson.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight:
Convergence
Not long after my revelation, Brad got Eve White on his cell. She confirmed that the person we’d known as Bambi Ware was, in fact, Josie Simpson.
“But we ran Bambi’s fingerprints through AFIS and didn’t get a hit,” Berry said.
“All that proved was that neither girl was in the system,” I said. “It didn’t prove identity.” I turned to Brad. “Doesn’t Children’s Services fingerprint the kids in foster care?” That would provide rock-solid evidence of Josie’s identity.
Brad nodded slowly. “Children’s Services started fingerprinting all of the kids after they lost that little girl.”
By lost Brad meant murdered.
“Once you check their database,” I said, “you’ll see that the prints belonging to the girl we knew as Bambi Ware actually belonged to Josie Simpson.”
“What’s the game plan?” Berry asked Brad.
Brad smiled at me. “If Addie doesn’t mind wearing bracelets for a little bit, we’ll play it this way...”
* * *
A few minutes later Berry had me cuffed and sitting in the backseat of his cruiser. Unfortunately the car was parked so I couldn’t watch the discussion with Bambi—or rather Josie. A good twenty minutes later Berry returned wearing a big grin.
“Okay, she’s headed to GCSO headquarters with Spooner, greased and ready to fall.”
“Does she suspect anything?”
“Nah, she’s salivating at the thought of you in jail. Spooner’s gonna play nice with her at first and then go in with the heavy gloves.”
“I hope it works,” I said. Brad was a fine interrogator, but Josie had a keen nose for survival. My bet was she’d smell the play and lawyer up.
“So tell me how Josie did it,” Berry said.
I held up my cuffed hands. Berry laughed but took his time undoing the cuffs. We relocated to the front and he turned on the AC—the new-risen sun was powering up for another day of brutal heat. I took him through the scenario I’d given Brad last night.
“What time you think she cut out the side door?”
“A little after eight, right after the buffet was served and stocked to the hilt. Everyone was eating so she wouldn’t be needed.” I smiled, recalling Papa’s praise of Bambi—for once she’d put out plenty of food.
“What if somebody went looking for her?”
Nobody did, I thought irritably. “She could always explain a short absence—she was emptying trash or was in the walk-in.”
Berry chewed this over. “Okay, she beat Harry with the pickax handle, cleaned up, then returned to China Rose.”
“It didn’t go quite that smoothly.” I reminded him about the moonshine in the vodka bottle. “She would not have left such an important clue behind unless it couldn’t be helped. She was interrupted.”
“Ancy?” he asked.
“No, the monkeys.”
Berry laughed outright.
“When they started making a racket, she had to leave.”
His fingers tapped a rhythm on the console. “So why’d she come back later that night?”
“I don’t know. She might have thought to avert suspicion by discovering the body. Or maybe she wanted to tie up the loose ends—such as the white lightning—before raising the alarm.”
“Or maybe she came back to make sure Harry was dead,” Berry suggested and I agreed.
“It’s no wonder she looked so scared when I saw her in the road.” At the time I thought it was because I showed up in the Vic, but it was what she’d seen at Harry’s that scared her. “She’d left Harry for dead on the patio, yet when she returned, Harry was gone. Even worse, the house was on lockdown. She didn’t know what the hell was going on.”
“Jesus.” It was all Berry could say in the face of such evil.
I yawned and said, “If you don’t have any more questions, I’ve got to get my ass home.”
“You getting soft, Gorsky? I been up all night too, and I’m still going strong.”
I gestured at my disheveled appearance. “Yeah, but you didn’t take a moonlight swim in Lake Okpulo. Tell the sheriff I’ll stop by headquarters in an hour or so.” I opened the door.
“Oh, I almost forgot—CSU matched Ancy’s shoes to the shoe print.”
I seethed. This was information GCSO should have had last week—and they would have, if not for Kelly Kozuba’s interference. “Quick work,” I said sarcastically.
“Thanks—I appreciate that,” Berry said.
“Any word on Ancy’s condition?” I asked.
“He’s still critical.” Berry didn’t sound too broken up over this news—not that I blamed him. “I just don’t get why he went inside Harry’s house that night—was it to destroy evidence?”
“It was more like a series of blunders,” I said, shaking my head. “When Harry didn’t answer the front door, Ancy checked the patio, where he knew Harry liked to drink. He saw the bloody sofa and went inside—straight through the open sliding-glass door.”
“That’s when Ancy found Harry on the sofa,” Berry said through clenched teeth. “So why didn’t he call for an ambulance?”
“Ancy recognized his pickax as the murder weapon. He couldn’t risk being connected to the murder, so he grabbed the ax and got out of there. In his panic he closed the patio door behind him, where it locked automatically—that’s how Harry wound up locked inside his house.”
Berry shook his head in amazement. “Then as a final screw-you to Charlie, Ancy threw the ax under Charlie’s trailer.” He looked at me, his eyes pained and red. “For my money Ancy Prince is as much of a killer as that crazy kid Josie. He left Harry on that sofa, fighting for his life—I don’t know about you, but I’ve had my fill of China Rose.”
So had I, but I had one small task to perform before turning my back on China Rose. Once Berry’s cruiser was out of sight, I trotted to the lakeside path.
* * *
At GCSO headquarters, Berry brought me to the detectives’ room. As I’d feared, Josie hadn’t talked. To my further dismay, I found Kelly Kozuba and her brace of agents were sitting at the long table, all of them gripping Starbucks. I turned to Berry for an explanation, but he was already out the door. I poured a cup of bad coffee and took a seat at the opposite end of the table from Kelly and her goons. Kelly and Her Goons—that’d be a great name for a band.
