“When we met, I felt there was something between us. I’d like to see her again.”
“That’s understandable, she has that big boob thing going for her.”
“Sandy, please get off the oversexed notion. I’m not like that. You don’t know me any better than I know you.”
“You think Tammy would come here to jail to see you? Forget about it. She’s very upset. You know I don’t have all the time in the world for this project of yours. I’ve a long list and seeing Tammy twice isn’t on it. Do yourself a favor and forget about her. She doesn’t like us, and you two simply aren’t on the same side.”
She looked at him sitting there—pathetic in that stupid jumpsuit, with two precious paperbacks and a bag of chocolate covered pretzels tightly gripped in his handcuffed hands. He seemed so fragile. So far, he was dealing with this horrible situation, but she wouldn’t be surprised if he soon flipped over into depression. She should let up on him. Stop blaming him for trying to help someone.
“Okay, I’ll go see her, just to give her your message. Maybe I’ll find an excuse to cross paths with Detective Chip Goddard again.”
Chapter 15
Being state attorney put a sizeable hammer in Lawrence Moran’s hand. His office had no lack of possible targets to hit. Goddard had observed that the merciless Moran used the law to come down hard against minor offenders and unwary letter-of-the-law violators. He noticed Moran seemed to enjoy smashing little bugs with his big hammer. He relished those opportunities where he could penalize the likely innocent on a technicality. Such power made the fight unfair.
Although Goddard had to live with it, he usually didn’t have to deal closely with him. Usually A shoots B, Goddard arrests A, a trial is scheduled, and Goddard goes home. The Towson case would be different. It would be complicated and he didn’t like having Moran so involved in the investigative part of it.
Moran wanted a meeting, so Goddard drove back to the station and headed for the chief’s office. As he opened the door, he could hear Moran’s high-pitched voice criticizing the chief for the lack of progress. Moran accented his complaint with his fist in the air. “Get in here Goddard, my desk is piled high with pink call-back slips from state and national media. I need something to tell them. I could be forced into a news conference at any time.”
“You’d love those TV lights and cameras,” Goddard said.
“The chief just told me that nothing resulted from the search of Barner’s house. Let’s go back to Reid. Please assure me we still have him nailed. You know, Tallahassee keeps asking me if I need any backup for the case, and I tell them I have it under control. Do I have it under control, Goddard?”
“It’s circumstantial but pretty good. I just talked with Loraine Dellin. She admits to having sex with Reid. He told her she wouldn’t really love him as long as Towson was alive. There’s your love triangle, your threat and your motive. The affair goes on for at least a week. On the morning of the murder, they meet again at a motel. He admits there was a gun there. There’s your means. We know they argued. Later that day Towson is found murdered.”
“And where was Loraine during all this?”
“She admits to being at the motel Saturday morning. The murder had to be between 2:15, the time noted on Barner’s service receipt and six. She was seen at the museum at three and at five. The museum’s shift change is at four; she arrived on one guard’s shift and left on another. So she could have left in between. She could have left the museum after three, shot Towson, and came back before five.”
“Is there any way you can make it cornier?” Moran said. “Your triangle theory is all wrong because it’s unexciting. I can’t stand before the national media and tell such a boring little tale of romance gone wrong. It won’t get air time.”
The chief said, “But we’ve got the killer, we just need to nail down some more evidence.”
“We have enough right now to confuse the idiot jurors I get in this town. Even so, I’m not happy because I want to land the big fish behind this plot. Don’t you get it? The victim was a state senator going to be the next Governor of Florida. Someday possibly president. It’s a political assassination. Think big—murder, money, conspiracies, and influence. There’s much more to this affair. And it’s here in Park Beach, right here in my district! And what do you do? You hand me a tidy little love triangle? You’re missing the big picture.”
Goddard knew the state attorney dreamed about this case developing into some notorious national intrigue that would propel him into the U.S. Senate.
“This isn’t an impulsive killing or a crime of passion,” Moran continued. “Towson was an important person. When they bump off big people, there’s always money and power in the mix. Anyone can get himself killed over a boneheaded love triangle and some mixed up sex. Forget cherchez la femme. With the big cats, look for the money and power. Find the big connection. There’s something there! Has to be. What do we know about the third woman in the statement, Norma Martin? I hear she’s Latina. I suspected there was a foreign angle to this.”
The chief answered, “In this case, the total of your foreign angle might only be a quiet Cuban-American restaurant nine miles away. Have you eaten out at the Jardin? Rice, beans, all that good stuff. Norma Martin fronts for the owners and runs it. National crime has nothing on her.”
“Not good enough,” Moran snapped. “We know Cuban-American money interests were opposing the election of Towson. Where there’s smoke there’s fire. What does she actually have to say, Goddard? Let me see her statement.”
Goddard realized he had his priorities wrong. Moran had him. He should have talked to her much sooner. “She’s on my list. I haven’t met with her yet.”
“You haven’t met with her yet! Damn it to hell, you’ve been fiddling around with old-lady neighbors and the local exterminator. Meanwhile, the hit man from Philadelphia drops the name of Norma Martin, who fronts for unnamed Cuban interests. How many time would she have to bite you on the ass, before you’d turn around and investigate?”
“She’s next on my list to interview.”
“Slick work, Goddard. Only five days after the murder and already you’re thinking about talking with the principals in the case.”
Goddard knew he had screwed up by not developing secondary suspects. Norma Martin might even have skipped town by now or destroyed evidence. “I was headed out there when you called me back in.” That stretched the truth.
“Reid isn’t some jealous lover. He was paid to do this,” Moran said. “Get out of here and find the big boys who hired him.”
Goddard left and headed for the Jardin Café beyond the edge of town. He had taken far too long to contact Norma Martin and wasn’t happy with himself about that. He didn’t know her connection to all this. He did know she fronted for some corporation. And now, she’s had plenty of time to run.
Fortunately, he found her still around. The restaurant wasn’t open so he waited at the back door while a worker went to find Mrs. Martin. She appeared dressed in the customary hostess-style dark dress with a white collar, all covered just now with an oversized apron. In her late fifties, he guessed. Slim, attractive, with a slightly exotic look. She greeted him and motioned toward a booth at the rear of the main dining area. She lit a cigarette as soon as they sat. "Sign says no smoking," he said to get the conversation started.
"Rank has its privileges."