But the police department had stuck to its crazy story, and no charges were filed against the boyfriend. It was the kind of coverup that gave small Florida towns a bad name, and when the Florida Department of Law Enforcement had tried to clear the air and conduct an investigation, the police had closed ranks, and made it impossible for the FDLE investigators to do their jobs. Justice had never been served.
Lancaster had seen his share of bad behavior on the force. Cops would alter evidence at crime scenes to get someone arrested, or alter testimony at trial to put a bad person behind bars. Other officers would witness these transgressions and say nothing, knowing that if they spoke up, it would ruin the cop’s career, as well as their own.
This stuff happened, and it was regrettable. But he’d never heard of an entire department covering up a murder. Maybe there was an explanation for why the rookie had shot his girlfriend. Perhaps they’d been having problems, and she’d gone into a rage and grabbed his gun and tried to shoot him, and in the scuffle taken a bullet herself. A story like that was believable. The one that had been fed to the public wasn’t believable, and as a result, the department wasn’t trusted by other law enforcement agencies.
“Special Agent Daniels?” A man in his fifties with a detective’s badge pinned to his jacket lapel stood before them. Tall and tan, he had a thick moustache and sideburns, and had his thumbs hooked into the top of his belt like a gunslinger in a TV Western. “I’m Detective Gaylord Sykes. How may I help you?”
Sykes was the epitome of a southern gentleman, with a soft drawl and easy manner. Daniels rose from the couch, as did Lancaster.
“I was hoping I might ask you a few questions concerning my father’s passing,” Daniels said.
“I was thinking you might come by. Please, come back to my office,” Sykes said. “I’m sorry, but I didn’t catch your name.”
“Jon Lancaster,” Lancaster said. “I’m a friend.”
“Nice to meet you, Jon. Would you like a drink? We have coffee and water.”
They both declined. Sykes used a plastic key to gain entry to the station, and he led them down a hallway to a corner office decorated with plaques and framed photos from various stages of his career. He’d been a cop most of his life, all of it serving Saint Augustine. He offered them chairs and leaned against the desk with his arms crossed.
“I’m sorry for your loss, Special Agent Daniels,” the detective said. “I didn’t know your father personally, but he had a wonderful reputation in the community. I’m sure this has been a very difficult time for you, and your family.”
“I appreciate you saying that,” Daniels said. “I was hoping you could let me see my father’s cell phone. The police report I read said that it was found with his body.”
“Actually, it was found in your father’s car,” Sykes said.
“May I see it?”
“I’m afraid I can’t release your father’s cell phone until my investigation is finished. Department rules.”
Daniels gave him a look. The FBI had authority over the police, and Beth could ask for whatever she wanted. Her authority was being challenged, and Lancaster could tell that she didn’t like it.
“Is the cell phone here?” she asked sternly.
“It is. Is something wrong?” Sykes asked.
“We found evidence at my father’s house that there might have been a struggle.”
“What kind of evidence?”
“A tissue soaked with blood. Jon put it in a plastic bag for safekeeping.”
Daniels opened her purse and removed the Ziploc, which she handed to Sykes, who held it up to the light. He shifted his attention to Lancaster.
“Where exactly did you find this?” the detective asked.
“Beth’s niece found it in a garbage pail by the back door,” he said. “She called me outside, and I removed it from the garbage bag and put it in the Ziploc.”
“That was smart. You a cop?”
“Retired.”
Sykes blinked. “I thought your name was familiar. You were down in Broward, if I’m not mistaken. There’s a video on YouTube of you rescuing a little girl on the side of I-95. That was one fine piece of shooting, sir.”
Lancaster’s career as a policeman had been defined by a commitment to protect the innocent, which he’d done every single day he’d worn a badge. Unfortunately, it was not how his career would be remembered. A two-minute video of him shooting a pair of kidnappers was his legacy, and would remain in cyberspace long after he was gone.
“Thank you,” he said quietly.
“Did you find any other evidence in the house?” Sykes asked.
The Ziploc with the condom was in the breast pocket of his shirt. Before he could hand it over to the detective, Beth spoke.
“Just the bloody tissue,” she said.
“I see. Well, this definitely needs to be looked into. I’ll turn the tissue over to our CSI team, and see what they turn up,” Sykes said. “I’ll also need to get a brief statement from you, so I can add it to the report.”
“Of course,” Lancaster said.
“I’d like to see my father’s cell phone,” Daniels said. “Please get it for me.”
Sykes looked uncomfortable with the request, but he did not protest. He moved around the desk, and removed a drawstring envelope from a drawer. Untying the envelope, he dumped out a cell phone, and came around the desk and handed it to her. The device looked new, with hardly a scratch or blemish on its protective case.
Beth powered up the cell phone, and the screen came to life. The screen saver was a photograph taken from the balcony of Martin’s home during sunrise, the blinding sun balanced on a cloudless horizon. Lancaster imagined Martin sitting in his favorite chair reading the newspaper and deciding to take the shot. A spur-of-the-moment thing, captured for eternity.
“There are no apps on this phone. All the information’s been erased.” Beth looked at Sykes accusingly. “Who did this?”
“We believe your father did,” the detective said.
Beth tossed the phone on the desk, clearly angry. “What led you to that conclusion, Detective?”
“Your father’s body was found in a park by a hiker, who called the police. A pair of officers were sent out. They were shaken up by what they found, and called the station for help. I jumped in my car, and drove over. As you probably know, your father’s corpse was badly mutilated.”
“Your report said by a pack of coyotes,” Daniels said.
“That’s correct. It was impossible to identify his body, and he wasn’t carrying a wallet or ID. But there was a set of car keys in his pocket. I walked to the parking lot with one of the officers, and tried the keys in several parked cars. I got a match, and opened the vehicle. The cell phone was on the seat, along with your father’s wallet. It was on, and I saw that everything had been erased.”
“Which led you to assume that my father had done it.”
“I don’t see how anyone else could have.”
Beth’s anger hadn’t gone away. She rose from her chair and stared at Sykes, as if measuring him. The detective wilted under her gaze, and shrank a few inches.
“Was there anything you saw at the scene that looked strange? Anything at all?”
Sykes thought about it for a moment. He shook his head.
“It looked like a suicide,” Sykes said.
“Have you investigated many suicides?”
“I’m afraid I have. There’s a veterans’ home in town, and some of the patients get pretty despondent, and decide to take their own lives. They usually go off into the woods and end things on their own terms. That’s what it appeared your father did.”
“Do you have a copy of the pathologist’s report?”
Sykes removed a copy of Martin’s autopsy from a file in his desk and handed it to her.