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“Who, honey? Make who go away?”

“The man in the grass!”

“What man?”

“The naked man! He said he wanted to play with me. Make him go away!”

I clutched my daughter against my chest. My heart was pounding out of control, and I could not stop blaming myself for what had happened. Rose appeared, looking shaken, and I handed my daughter to her.

“Don't let her out of your sight,” I said.

Then I ran down the beach as fast as my legs would carry me and searched for the man who'd tried to molest my daughter.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

A pounding on my door awakened me the next morning. Pulling the sheet over my bare torso, I grabbed Buster by the collar.

“We're all friends here,” I said.

Sonny entered my rented room wearing black jeans, a Black Sabbath T-shirt with holes in the armpits, and a black crucifix-a dark messenger if there ever was one.

“Hey, Sleeping Beauty, you need to see this,” he said.

I threw on yesterday's clothes and followed him downstairs. A steaming cup of coffee awaited me in the bar. I sipped my drink and watched Bobby Russo on the TV. Russo was holding a news conference at police headquarters and fielding questions from a handful of reporters. He was dressed up and had traded his trademark fish tie for a more respectable solid blue one.

“How did the police confirm that the body found in Julie Lopez's backyard was her sister Carmella's?” a reporter asked.

“Dental records,” Russo said.

“How long was the body there?”

“There's no way for us to know. The rain washed away a great deal of evidence.”

“Have the police confirmed she was murdered?”

“Yes.”

“Do you know the cause of death?”

“Strangulation.”

“Do you have a suspect?” another reporter asked.

“We do,” Russo said. “Ernesto Sanchez.”

“Can you tell us what evidence you have against him?”

“Mr. Sanchez was an acquaintance of Carmella Lopez and lives in the same house with her sister,” Russo said. “We also found an item of Mr. Sanchez's clutched in the victim's hands.”

“Can you tell us what the item was?”

“A gold crucifix.”

“Has the suspect been charged?”

“The suspect has not been arraigned,” Russo said.

“When will that happen?”

“I can't comment at this time.”

The news conference ended. Russo was stalling Ernesto's arraignment to give his detectives more time to study the Skell file. It was a smart tactic, but he was only delaying the inevitable. I finished my coffee and told myself that I had done everything I could. I'd fought the good fight, and tomorrow would be another day. The words were hollow, but they were all I had left.

A perky female newscaster came on the screen. Imposed on a screen behind her was a photo of Simon Skell with a banner that read Hollywood Calling?

“The Simon Skell case is attracting attention in Hollywood,” she said cheerfully. “According to Variety, Paramount Studios is purchasing the rights to Skell's life story from Skell's wife, Lorna Sue Mutter. Possible stars being considered to play Skell are Brad Pitt, Tom Cruise, and Russell Crowe. No word on who might play Jack Carpenter, the Broward County detective who Lorna Sue claims tortured and framed her husband.”

I cursed like someone with Tourette's syndrome. On the TV, a blow-dried male newscaster appeared beside his perky colleague.

“How about Vince Vaughn?” the male newscaster suggested.

“You mean to play Jack Carpenter?” the female newscaster said.

“Absolutely. I saw him play a sociopathic killer in a movie called Domestic Disturbance with John Travolta,” the male newscaster said. “He was terrific.”

“I saw that movie, too. Good choice!”

I picked up the napkin dispenser on the bar. Sonny yelled “No!” but it was too late. The dispenser left my hand and shattered the TV screen. Glass rained down on the bar. Sonny said something about history, then got a broom and started cleaning up.

“What did you say?” I asked.

“You're history if you don't replace the TV.”

“You're going to throw me out?”

“I will if you don't replace the TV.”

“Can you lend me the money?”

He swept around my chair. “No.”

“Come on, just for a couple of days,” I said. “I'll pay you back. You know I'm good for it.”

Going behind the bar, Sonny removed a black box from behind the register, pulled out a card, and showed it to me. It contained my two tabs. The little tab had caught up to the big tab, and I owed the bar nearly five hundred bucks.

“Replace the TV and pay your tabs and your rent, or you're history.”

“You're serious.”

“Damn straight.”

He retrieved the napkin dispenser and replaced it on the bar, then resumed his sweeping. I felt as if I'd lost my last friend in the world.

I turned on my stool and looked out the window at the bright blue ocean. Should I just go take a swim and not come back?

The thought had crossed my mind before, but never seriously. This time, it was serious.

The bar phone rang. Sonny answered it, then handed me the receiver.

“It's your girlfriend.”

I figured it was Melinda accepting my offer from last night, but I was wrong. It was Julie Lopez.

“I know who put my sister's body in my backyard,” Julie said.

I drove past Julie Lopez's house a couple of times, not wanting to run into any cops or reporters who might be hanging around. The place was quiet, but I still looked over my shoulder when I knocked on her front door.

Julie ushered me into the living room and bolted the door behind me. Her eyes were ringed from lack of sleep, her puffy face void of makeup. Her dirty short-sleeved shirt and faded cutoffs only hardened the picture.

There was no real furniture in the living room, just three folding metal chairs and a card table with a greasy bag from McDonald's in its center. The last time Julie saw her sister it was over breakfast at McDonald's, and I was surprised that she still ate their food. We sat on two of the chairs and faced each other.

“Who put your sister's body in your backyard?” I asked.

Julie looked around the room before answering me. The look in her face was best described as paranoid. I looked around the room as well. There were no wall hangings, unless you considered mold art.

“Are you afraid of something?” I asked.

She nodded. She was a big woman, with large breasts and curvaceous hips, and was considered a hot number with the older Hispanic men who enjoyed her services. In a whisper she said, “It was the cable TV guys. They put Carmella in the backyard.”

“The cable guys?” I repeated.

“Yeah.”

“Is that why you called me over here?”

“Yeah, Jack.”

I felt the strength leave my body. Opening the McDonald's bag, I removed a large order of french fries and helped myself. Julie threw me a wicked stare.

“That's my breakfast,” she said angrily.

“You get any for me?”

Julie didn't understand the question. I was pissed off and not ashamed to show it. I had important things to do. Like replace the TV in the Sunset and figure out what I was going to do with the rest of my life. She grabbed the fries out of my hands with a catlike quickness and shoved several into her mouth.

“I can prove it,” she said.

“All right, prove it.”

“Last week the cable on the TV stopped working. Ernesto called the cable company, and two repairmen came out that afternoon. They said the wire in the backyard was old. They dug a trench and laid a new wire. But guess what?”

I had no idea where this was heading, and shook my head.

“The cable don't come back on. Ernesto looked at the work they did. Then he climbed up on the pole. When he came back in the house, he called them dumb fucks. I ask him why, and he said the problem was on the pole. That was why we weren't getting HBO. The problem was on the pole.”