They looked at each other as if one could tell the other what to say.
“We usually stay with the car,” Ramon said.
“Except when we don’t,” Sanford said.
Ramon seemed to want to cover his ass. Sanford didn’t seem to care.
“That’s what I want to know. When and where was the car out of your sight?”
Buford signaled to Ramon to go get him another drink. “What’s the point of all this?” Buford asked me.
“You said it yourself,” I said. “Somebody planted that gun. It had to be when none of your people was with the car. Unless, of course, one of your people planted the gun. We are assuming that neither of them did.” Ramon returned with Buford’s drink. I turned to him and Sanford. “So think, guys, where and when?”
Ramon looked at Buford who said, “Don’t worry. You won’t get in trouble. Tell the man what he needs to know.”
Ramon said, “I went to Starbucks when the ladies were shopping.”
“When?”
“One o’clock.”
“For how long?”
“Most of the afternoon. I read a book and drank coffee. The ladies called me on my cell phone when they were ready to leave. I guess this is my fault. I am sorry.”
“Did you do that any other time?”
“That morning too, Señor. I walked around the mall.”
I turned to Sanford. “How about you?” I asked.
“No. I usually take a nap.”
“Could anyone have gotten into the trunk while you were sleeping?”
He shot me a look that said I had asked a stupid question. Buford laughed. First time I ever saw him laugh.
I went back to the office and called Bill Penrod.
“Bill, I need a favor.”
“Name it.”
When Bill said that, he was saying only that you should name it. No promises.
“Can you see if there are surveillance cameras anywhere around Belksdales?”
“I’ll call you back.”
He called back in about five minutes.
“The whole parking lot is covered. The store maintains them.”
“Great. What’s chances of getting a warrant for the tapes the day Vitole was killed?”
“Based on what?”
“New evidence.” I explained about Sproles being in witness protection and my suspicions.
“That’s quite the fishing expedition. I doubt we could get a judge to issue a warrant based on that. Particularly since my boss considers this a closed case and doesn’t like you. And because of privacy laws that shroud public surveillance videos.”
“I figured as much. Thanks.”
I hung up the phone, lit my last cigarette ever and looked at Rodney.
“Did you make that appointment with Overbee?”
“Yes.”
“Did it have a good outcome?”
“Yes.”
“You understand that I don’t know anything about that?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Go on line, and see if you can find a blank warrant form for evidence in a criminal case.”
Tap, click, tap. “Got it, Uncle Stanley.”
“Print a copy on Willa’s laser.”
He did that and brought the form to me. I scribbled what I wanted on the scratch form and gave it to Rodney.
“Fill in a new copy with a typewriter font, print it, and sign the judge’s name.”
“You’re kidding,” he said. “Judge Roy Bean?”
“Sure. Why not?”
I got Roscoe out of the safe and clipped it to my belt. With my official-looking counterfeit warrant in hand, I headed out to go shopping.
Belksdales is on the east side of town in an upscale shopping center north of the Interstate. It’s one of the bigger stores there and has its own parking lot.
I went inside and went through the store to management’s offices. I asked a receptionist for directions to security. She sent me down a flight of stairs into a small glass-enclosed space with a wrap-around console housing video monitors surrounding a chair. An elderly man in the usual ill-fitting uniform sat dozing in the chair. His name tag said Jim.
I tapped him on the shoulder. He came awake and looked me up and down. Here I was, a man with fading bruises on his face, casts on his arm and leg, and a crutch, and I was interrupting his busy day. He looked annoyed until I flashed the gold P.I. shield at him. He came to attention and said, “Yes, sir. How can I help you?”
The gold shield again. Best thirty bucks I ever spent.
“Got a warrant here for copies of your parking lot videos.” I held up the warrant and told him the date and times.
“I should probably run this by the general manager,” Jim said, “but he went home. Can you wait until tomorrow?”
“No. This is for a murder investigation. You might have read about it, Jim. A fellow got shot down in the street in one of the southern subdivisions. I’m under a lot of pressure to close this case.”
“Oh, yeah. Right near his own house. I remember it was on the news. Didn’t you guys get the killer?”
“We did, but our case is weak. He might walk on a technicality. He’s rich and can afford the best lawyers. All we have is a limited budget and not enough manpower. Hell, man, you’re in law enforcement. You know the job.”
He seemed pleased that I included him among the finest.
“Seems the criminals have all the rights and the poor victims ain’t got none,” Jim said. “Have a seat over there, please. It’ll take a bit of time.”
I sat and waited while Jim typed on his console’s keyboard. After a couple of minutes he got up and brought a DVD and handed it to me.
“Always happy to help my brothers on the force,” he said. “Don’t take the stairs. There’s a freight elevator down that hall. I use it. Ain’t getting any younger, myself.”
I thanked him, went to the elevator, and up and out to my car. I drove back to the office whistling all the way. I hoped the video would prove my theory.
I gave Rodney the DVD and said, “Watch the whole thing. There will be several clips, one for each camera. Look for the Rolls. Pull off any sequences in which there is activity around the Rolls, and make a video of only those scenes. Put the new video on another DVD, and make three copies. Put one in the safe. I’ll take the other two.”
“You got it, Uncle Stanley.”
Why do people always say that before you get anything?
“No I don’t,” I said. “But I will after you’ve done what I ask.”
“How do I get into the safe?”
“Willa has the combination. I’ll look at the DVD tomorrow. I’m whipped, and I’m out of here.”
Dinner at Ray’s was quiet. Bunny tried to ignore me while I ate, but whenever I glanced over at her, she was staring at me and quickly looked away.
I went home alone after I ate. I needed a night off. I had a couple books I wanted to read, and I tried that but couldn’t get into either one. The case had me preoccupied. I was dead sure that one of those three people had killed Vitole, and I hoped the DVD would prove it. If it didn’t show anyone opening the trunk, then the culprit had to be Ramon or Missy. Neither Buford nor Sanford were stupid enough to keep a murder weapon where the cops would find it. And Serena had an air-tight alibi.
I went outside and tried walking up and down the sidewalk without my crutch. That was almost a success. I only fell down once.
A man came running up and helped me to my feet.
“You should get a cane,” he said.
I thanked him and went back to the apartment to get my crutch. I drove to Walmart and bought a ten-dollar cane. That worked well, and I went home and put the crutch in the hall closet next to its brother.