Erskine Bowe had always believed there was something extraordinary about Ruby, and had said to his friends, "She's going to do something important. You just wait."
Ruby, even so long after her father's death, still missed him terribly.
Ruby had attended Booker T. Washington elementary school and Edison High, where she was a diligent student and volunteered for extracurricular activities, most aimed at social justice and change. She had fought especially hard against drug abuse, knowing it had been the real killer of her father.
Armed with an academic scholarship, Ruby attended Florida A&M University, majoring in psychology and sociology. She graduated with honors and, fulfilling a lifelong dream, immediately joined the Miami Police Department. Her father had been on the force for seventeen years; maybe in some positive way she could redress his death while "changing the world." And if not the world, perhaps in some significant way her own neighborhood.
No one was unduly surprised when Ruby graduated from the police academy at the top of her class. What did raise eyebrows was a decision by Lieutenant Newbold to accept Ruby immediately as a Homicide detective. The move was unprecedented.
Homicide, in any police force, was an apex. Homicide detectives were considered to have the best brains and the greatest resourcefulness, and their prestige made them the envy of most colleagues. Because of this, Ruby's appointment left a few older of ricers, who had hoped to join Homicide themselves, disappointed and resentful. But Newbold had a gut feeling about Ruby. "There are times," he confided to Malcolm Ainslie, "when you can just smell a good cop."
Ruby had now been a Homicide detective for four years, with an official rating of "outstanding."
As a member of Sergeant Ainslie's team, Ruby would automatically attend today's 8:00 A.M. conference, but while others were filing in, she was on the telephone, surrounded by a file of of ficial papers. Newbold, walking past, called, "Wind it up, Ruby. We'll need you in there."
"Yes, sir," she acknowledged, and moments later she followed him, adjusting the large gold ear clip she had removed for the phone call.
Adjoining the general Homicide office were interview rooms for witnesses and suspects, a room with more comfortable couches and chairs where families of victims were sometimes received, a large file room with crime records going back ten years, and, beyond all of these, the conference room.
Malcolm Ainslie sat at the conference room's large, rectangular table along with two other sergeant supervisors, Pablo Greene and Hank Brewmaster, as well as Detectives Bernard Quinn, Esteban Kralik, Jose Garcia, and Ruby Bowel
Garcia, born in Cuba, had been a Miami police officer for twelve years, including eight as a Homicide detective. Stocky and balding, Garcia looked ten years older then his actual thirty-three, prompting colleagues to refer to him as Pop.
The Homicide regulars were joined by the youthful Sheriff-Detective Benito Montes, who had driven to Miami from Fort Lauderdale in response to a phoned invitation from Bernard Quinn. In the matter of the Hennenfeld murders, Montes reported, there had been no progress since his previous visit to Miami Homicide.
The others included Dr. Sanchez, the medical examiner, ID technicians Julio Verona and Sylvia Walden, and an assistant state attorney, Curzon Knowles.
Knowles, who headed the state attorney's homicide division, had a formidable reputation as a criminal trial prosecutor. A soft-spoken, mild-mannered man who dressed modestly in off-the-rack suits and knitted ties, he had once been compared to an unassuming shoe clerk. During court trials, while cross-examining uncooperative witnesses, he was sometimes hesitant, conveying an impression of uncertainty when in fact nothing was further from the truth. Many such witnesses, believing they could lie with impunity while answering this unimpressive lawyer's questions, suddenly found they had been coaxed into a spider's web and had incriminated themselves before realizing it.
His disarming manner and razor-sharp mind were reasons why Knowles, during fifteen years with the state attorney's of lice, had achieved a remarkable eighty-two percent conviction rate at murder trials. Homicide detectives were always grateful to have Curzon Knowles handling their cases, just as Newbold and the others were pleased to see him now.
Major Yanes was also present, as was a high-ranking assistant chief, Otero Serrano, emphasizing the public importance of the new developments.
Lieutenant Newbold, at the head of the conference room table, opened the meeting crisply. "We are all aware that two of our pending cases and a third in Fort Lauderdale are now recognizable as serial double killings. It's possible we should have reached this conclusion before the third one, and we may take some heat for that as time goes on. But we'll deal with that later. Right now we have urgent business.
"What I want, here and now, is a complete review of all three double murders, leaving absolutely nothing out. We must find some connection that can lead us to "
Ruby Bowe raised a hand. Newbold stopped abruptly, frowning. "Whatever it is, won't it keep until I've finished, Ruby?"
Detective Bowe answered, "No, sir. I don't think so." Her voice was nervous but controlled. She held a paper in her hand.
"This had better be good." Newbold's annoyance was clear.
"You said three double murders, sir."
"So? You questioning my arithmetic?"
"Not exactly, sir." Ruby raised the paper in her hand; she glanced toward the others. "No one is going to like this, but you'd better make it four."
"Four! What do you mean?"
It was Ainslie, seated opposite, who asked quietly, "What have you found, Ruby?"
She shot him a grateful glance, then returned to Newbold. "Couple of days ago, sir, you were worried about the size of the Tomorrow Pile. You asked me to work on it."
There were smiles at the reference to the Tomorrow Pile, Quinn's droll name for the perpetual inflow and accumulation of official paper.
Newbold acknowledged, "Yes, I did ask that. Obviously you've discovered something."
"I read it just this morning, sir. A BOLO from Clearwater."
"Let's hear."
Ruby Bowe's voice cut clearly through the silence in the room.
"BOLO to all police departments statewide. Double homicide of elderly man and woman occurred this city March twelfth. Exceptional brutality. Victims tied and gagged. Stabbed repeatedly and beaten savagely head and torso areas. Mutilation involved. Cash believed stolen amount unknown. Fingerprints other evidence nonexistent. Unusual items left at scene by offender or offenders. If any similar crime or crimes on record request contact Detective N. Abreu, Clearwater Police Department Homicide with all possible information."
Across the ensuing quiet, Major Yanes asked, "That date again, Detective?"
Bowe consulted her paper. "The murders were March twelfth, sir. The BOLO is stamped 'Received March fifteenth.' "
There was a collective moan. "Jesus Christ!" Hank Brewmaster said. "Five months ago!"
They all knew it could happen shouldn't happen, but did. Some things slipped lower in the Tomorrow Pile and continued to escape attention. But this was an all-time disastrous example.
Besides official police communication, the Florida media often observed similarities in serious crimes separated by distance, and would note a resemblance and report it; such connections had proven helpful to police investigators in the past. But with so much crime happening everywhere, some similarities escaped attention all around.
Newbold covered his face with his hands, his anguish plain. Everyone knew the lieutenant would be held responsible for the communications breakdown that had resulted in Homicide's failure to deal promptly with the Clearwater BOLO. Yanes said tersely, "For the time being, I suggest we move on, Lieutenant." It was obvious there would be more discussion, probably in private, later.