“Well, hell, I might as well shoot for chief then.”
Frank chuckled and settled back on the couch. The report was more snow tomorrow. I’d never aired my ambitions before, probably because they weren’t much to talk about-the Brattleboro Police Department was hardly overloaded with roads to the top. But with Frank’s impending departure, that would change. I was next in line, the docs all said I had a body ten years younger than my age-despite the penchant for Velveeta and pickle sandwiches-and I was in no trouble with the powers that be. I wouldn’t have admitted it to anyone, but the thought of new responsibilities was very attractive.
Frank’s voice cut in on my musings, in more ways than one. “How about coming down to Florida with Martha and me? We might could set up a business or something.”
That caught me by surprise. In the past, during the bad times we’d shared, we’d both thought of leaving the force and doing something else. But that had been pure escapism, a safe way to let off steam. This was different. Despite the fact that his eyes were still glued to the tube, he was making a serious proposal-or at least sending up a trial balloon-and that put me in a jam. Not only was I still happy doing what I was doing, I also knew in my gut I couldn’t work with Ct he tube, hFrank in any other circumstance. Time, age, and self-abuse were catching up to him, widening the nine-year gap between us and making it a chasm. In many ways, he had evolved from a near brother to a near father, at least in the way he had aged. Of all the things I wanted least to do in my life, watching Frank Murphy disintegrate in retirement was the most repellent.
That pissed me off. He had helped me out when I was on the ropes, both after Korea and California and after Ellen’s death. The least I could do was keep him company for a few years in Florida. But I wasn’t going to do it, even to put a new wind in his sails. The irony of our relationship was that he had taught me to stand on my own two feet-to look to myself before seeking the guidance of others. It was that education that was making me turn my back now.
“Why Florida?”
“Martha. It turns out that our entire married life, she’s hated the winters here.”
“But she was born in Vermont.”
He shrugged. “What can I say? She has the heart of a beach bunny. Going to live in Florida after I retire is the eleventh of her Ten Commandments. I can’t say no; she’s put up with me through a lot. I told her it was her call, no arguments.”
“Do you know where you’ll go?”
“Yeah.” He glanced over at me and smiled. “Surprised, huh? You thought you knew everything.” The smile faded and he took a long swallow from his glass. “Maybe I was hoping that if I didn’t mention it, it might go away. It’s not too far from St. Petersburg-a trailer park, but fancy. You’d never guess to look at it. It’s near the water, has a bunch of tennis courts, a pool, stuff like that. It’s okay.”
His voice was as flat as a board. If I’d had any doubts before, they were gone now. “I couldn’t do it, Frank. Florida’s not my style.”
He leaned forward and punched the television off with a hard stab of his thumb. “Well, hell, I’m not surprised. Just thought I’d offer. You might have been nuts enough to say yes.”
“What are you going to do down there? Do you know anybody?”
“Naw. I suppose I’ll fish. There’s a lot of that down there. And suntans. I might work on one of those. There’s stuff to do-I just have to go down and find out about it.” He got up and freshened his drink and brought another bottle of tonic water over to me. “So what do you got on your mind? You didn’t come over here to shoot the shit.”
I was more inclined to shoot the shit than he thought, but I respected his wish to change the subject. “I want to dig into the Harris case.”
I sensed a palpable stiffening, fully expected. “Why?”
“Because somebody else already has. It’s pretty evident Reitz, Phillips, and Wodiska were set up; I want to find out why.”
His face darkened and he opened his mouth to say something but then closed it again. “Got any theories?” His voice was forcefully neutral, if that’s possible. I sensed he was doling out just enough rope for me to hang myself. hat="0em" width="1em" align="left"›“Not really. Maybe it’s revenge against the jury by some friend of Davis’s, or maybe one of the jury is after all the others. Or one is the target and the rest are a smoke screen. For damn sure the one man who stood out during the trial, and who dragged his feet when it came to convicting, is the only one dead so far.”
“And what’s that tell you?”
“Not a thing.”
Murphy had been standing through all this, and he now settled in to his favorite position on the couch. “You weren’t here when we busted Davis, were you?”
I shook my head. “I was on vacation, but I was here for all the rest.”
“Seems to me a man who has to be held in solitary confinement for his own protection would have a rough time rounding up friends to settle his scores for him.”
“Why’s he in solitary?”
“Because in this state, he’s on the far side of the moon. There’s not a guy in that jail who doesn’t want to take a poke at him just for the novelty of it. I mean, let’s face it, where else are they going to be able to mess with a black guy? Last I heard, they’d left turds on his pillow, torn his mattress, destroyed his property, and given him as much trouble as they could get away with. Compared to that, solitary’s probably like vacation.”
I was impressed with Frank’s knowledge. A man in prison was no concern of ours, and to find out about him, you had to go out of your way. Frank obviously had done just that, and I was curious to know why. “What’s he still doing in Vermont? Shouldn’t he be in some federal can by now?”
“Red tape. Maybe it’s crowding or something. I do know the locals would love to get rid of him.”
“Where’s he being held?”
“Woodstock.”
“How do you know all this?” He looked over at me. “Captain’s prerogative.” He paused, I was hoping to say more, but instead he turned to the television and punched it on again. A Muppet was being shot through a cannon.
“You gotten any word on the insurance angle yet-for Phillips’s grieving widow?”
“Yeah. He had life-a hundred thousand dollars. That’s not much considering his assets.”
“Which were?”
“Almost a million. I don’t think there’s anything there, like I said before.”
“What about Reitz’s neighbors? Anyone see anything?”
“They don’t even admit to hearing the shotgun blast.”
“And Reitz’s daughter. What about her?”
“I don’t know. What about her?”
“The report said they didn’t get along. Did you interview her?”
“Not yet.”
“How about everyone living on and around Estabrook? Did any one see Woll get mugged?”
“Not that they admit.”
“How about the guy with the mask?”
“Nope.”
“Did you ask Woll if he’d pissed anyone off recently?”
“No. I will, though.”
The television was turned off again, and Murphy looked at me. “So you think the guy who rousted Woll is the same guy who arranged for Reitz to kill Phillips, and that he did all that because he wanted to draw attention to the Kimberly Harris case. Is that right?”
“It’s a possibility-the jury connection goes beyond coincidence; at least I think so.” I could feel my palms begin to sweat. Murphy’s questions were making me angry, as was his implication that I wasn’t doing the job properly.
“It’s also a possibility that Reitz’s daughter hates her guts, that Mrs. Phillips has had enough of the dog-lover, or that Woll rubbed some guy the wrong way, maybe even Henry Wodiska. Do we have anything besides his word that he spent the night where he said he did?”
“Of course. We checked where he works. We have done this kind of thing before, Frank.”
“Well, we better start showing it. Did you see tonight’s news? At six o’clock?”
I shook my head.
“They carried the Reitz shooting. Not much, but the ball’s beginning to roll. If we don’t do something fast, we’re going to get buried. The way I see it, we’ve got enough on our hands finding the guy who made Reitz pull that trigger without digging up old news.”