I wasn’t going to go anywhere without Roscoe now that the ever-diligent soldier boys were on my trail again. My badge was still pinned to the holster. I reloaded the gun, put it in the holster, and put the assembly into my top desk drawer.
I called Ray’s Diner. Bunny answered.
“What’s for lunch?” I asked.
“How about a taco?”
After the laughter faded, I said, “Can’t make it over there today. My orderly is out on an errand and won’t be back.”
“Shall I bring you something?”
“Yeah. Bring something for Willa too.”
In about a half hour, Bunny was there with three club sandwiches in Styrofoam boxes. Willa was pleased that she wouldn’t have to go out and that we’d thought of her. I let her think it was Bunny’s idea.
The three of us ate together. Willa kept looking at Bunny with a suspicious eye. Willa did not hide her disapproval. Bunny would break my heart again. It had occurred to me too.
Rodney was back after lunch with a big flat carton. He took it into my office and took the whiteboard out of the box.
“Hang it over there,” I said pointing to the blank wall opposite the window.
He went to his truck and came back with his toolbox. In a matter of minutes the board was hanging on the wall. Accessories included a pack of markers, an eraser, and a spray bottle of cleaner. We were ready to go.
I told Rodney to stand at the board and make a chart of suspects’ names with columns alongside for means, motive, opportunity, alibi, and the date I interviewed each suspect. I called out names, and he wrote them on the board. Mr. and Mrs. Sproles, Vitole’s wife, Missy, Serena, Sanford, and Ramon.
On another part of the board I had him list witnesses along with the date interviewed and comments about what they saw or knew. So far the witness list was empty.
Rodney had nice block-letter handwriting. I was surprised.
“You know, Uncle Stanley, we could have done all this with a spreadsheet on the computer.”
“Yeah, but then I couldn’t lean back in my chair and ponder them. Call me old-fashioned. This is how we used to do it when I worked homicide.”
Across the top of the board we made a timeline that traced events related to the case by date and time. We’d add to the timeline as we learned new things.
“How about this?” Rodney said. “Every time we update the board, I’ll take a picture of it and upload it to the computer? That way, we’ll have a record.”
“Okay. And print one for Willa to put in the file.”
Willa came in to look at our artwork.
“The Y people,” she said.
“What?” I said.
“Almost everybody’s name ends with a Y. Stanley, Rodney, Missy, Bunny, Jeremy, Mandy, Vitole.
“Mandy, Bunny, and Jeremy aren’t part of this case,” I said.
“But they fit the pattern.”
“Vitole doesn’t end in a Y.
“It sounds like it does. So does Overbee.”
“You left out Mickey,” I said.
“Who’s Mickey?” she asked.
I tapped my watch. She laughed and went back to her office.
Rodney and I spent the afternoon kicking around theories and opinions about various aspects of the case. Rodney’s contributions were superficial at best, but I needed someone to bounce off whatever crazy notion I had. Penrod and I used to do that a lot, and I missed that part of being a murder cop.
Chapter 18
When we ran out of ideas, Rodney and I called it a day. He helped me down the stairs. The effort wore me out, but I was getting better at doing it without help. He had to grab me to keep me from falling only every two or three stairs now. We went out the back door into the alley. It was dark, the only light coming from a naked bulb on the building across the alley.
“I’ll wait here while you get the car.” I told him.
The car was parked a couple blocks away. Rodney went running down the alley.
I didn’t see them coming. My vision still wasn’t what it ought to be and my reflexes not as quick. As near as I can figure, they were hiding in the next doorway up, a recessed alcove that opened into a suite of unoccupied offices. My back was to that doorway. Next thing I knew, the same two Army thugs were in front of me.
I tried to get Roscoe out of the holster, but the stupid badge got in the way and kept me from unsnapping the trigger guard strap. One of the goons grabbed my good arm and the other one yanked the holster off my belt and threw the gun, holster, and badge across the alley.
As before, one of them pinned me from behind in a full nelson, and the other one stood in front of me. My only hope was that Rodney would see what was going on and speed toward them to make them release me so I could hit them with a crutch or whatever. I know, not much of a plan, but what else could I do?
“This time we’ll finish it,” one of them said. “You don’t fuck with Army intel and get away with it.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” I said.
“Hitting the Captain with a shotgun. Then blowing up his boat. With him in it. That’s what I’m talking about.”
I needed to stall for time so Rodney could get there.
“I didn’t have anything to do with that,” I said as I struggled. “I don’t know shit about explosives.”
“Just like you didn’t have anything to do with those cops rousting us,” said the guy who was holding me. “Come on, let’s finish this and go home,” he said to his partner.
I braced myself for the first blow, tightening my stomach muscles, an effort that hurt like hell from the previous beat-down. Come on, Rodney.
The glare of headlights turned into the alley from the end I was facing. My assailants turned their attention away from me toward the oncoming vehicle. But the one guy held on tightly, so I couldn’t break free.
The vehicle moved slowly in our direction, its tires crunching on the alleyway’s cinder paving. It wasn’t Rodney. My car didn’t have halogen headlights. It stopped moving toward us. All we could see were those headlights on full bright.
The vehicle door opened. In the glow of the dome light a shadowy figure exited the vehicle. The door closed, and the light went out. Nothing but headlights again. The Army guys froze. I stared at the guy who had been positioned to hit me. He was looking over his shoulder at the headlights. A quiet “phoot!” sounded accompanied by a flash of light from alongside the vehicle. I recognized the sound of a weapon with a silencer. The guy in front of me got a surprised look, eyes and mouth wide open. He fell to the pavement, his eyes staring into nothing, and he was motionless.
The other guy released me and started to run away toward the other end of the alley. “Phoot!” He went down with a small, blood-stained hole in the back of his uniform jacket.
I fumbled with my crutches to try to shield myself in the doorway in case I was to be next. But the vehicle door opened and closed, and the vehicle peeled rubber. Its engine roared as it backed rapidly out of the alley, the car and its occupant obscured by the bright headlights.
I leaned against the wall to wait for Rodney and looked at the two dead Army guys. This was going to be a lot of paperwork.
Rodney drove up soon and stopped short of the scene. He got out of the car and stared at the corpses.
“Uncle Stanley! You okay? What the hell happened here?”
“I’m okay,” I said. I punched the direct phone number for the homicide unit into my cell phone. “Pick up my gun for me. It’s over there.”
“Did you shoot those two guys?” he asked.
“No. I had a guardian angel.”
“That might explain what I saw.”
“What?”
“As I turned onto the side street a black SUV went screaming past behind me.”
“Did you get a license number?”
“No.”
“Good.”