Bobby Joe watched Harry’s car leave the church parking lot and head east on Keystone Road toward the Brooker Creek Preserve. The asshole had gotten nothing from all his questions. Everybody he had asked about the Peek-a-Boo had just looked at him like he was out of his mind. Even Clearby shut him down cold. And the big detective, he just stared back at them all the while they talked like he was gonna get something out of the tone of their voices, or the way they stood, or how they made eye contact. He was just like every cop he had ever met, thinking he was gonna be able to divine something, just like he was talking to one of those Greek oracles he had read about in school.
Now he had to go back to his father and listen to his shit for however long it took to smooth his feathers. But he better do it, and he better do a good job of it, or he was gonna lose this piece-of-cake job and find himself out looking for something in the real world, the very thing Daddy always threatened to make him do. Yeah, fat chance. Not with his record. Somebody got a look at that, they’d say so-long, goodbye, have a nice life, kid.
When Bobby Joe entered the office his father was seated behind his desk stone-faced. His tone matched his look, dark and simmering with anger.
“What happened with the detective?”
“Nothin’ happened, Daddy. He talked to everybody and nobody knew nothin’ about that accident.”
Reverend Waldo leaned back in his chair, his large belly rising up above the desktop like some sea creature coming up for a gasp of air. His eyes narrowed as he continued to stare at his son. “Nobody said nothin’ because the person who was driving that car was standing right next to that detective. Isn’t that so, Bobby Joe?”
Bobby Joe shuffled his feet. He knew it was useless to lie to the old man. He wouldn’t believe anything he said no matter how good the story was. And he didn’t have a decent story anyway.
“I was just following her, trying to get somethin’ on her. Something we could use to see that she finally went to jail,” he said.
His father remained silent, the only sign he had even heard him an increased narrowing of his eyes.
“I didn’t even know I had scratched that woman’s car. But I knew I couldn’t risk having anything that would show a church car was ever there. That’s why I paid that woman off so quick.”
“You were sleeping with that filthy harlot, weren’t you?”
Bobby Joe began to rapidly shake his head as though it might drive the accusation away. “No, Daddy. No, no, no.”
“Don’t lie to me. Don’t you dare.”
The old man’s voice thundered throughout the room and Bobby Joe could swear it made the photographs on the wall shake. His hands began to tremble. “Daddy… Daddy, I tried hard to resist her.”
The older minister leaned forward, elbows on the desktop, hands pressed together in front of his face as if he were preparing to pray. His voice was little more than a whisper now.
“You tell me how you sinned with her. You confess it to me, boy. You tell me all of it. Every… last… detail. Then you tell me if anybody else knows about it, or even suspects it happened. And you hear this, boy: I don’t want you to leave anything out. And when you tell me all that, then I’ll tell you what you’re gonna do next to make sure this here church doesn’t pay a price for your sin.”
It was two o’clock when Harry returned to the squad room. Since he arrived at the church that morning he had run into one stone wall after another and he was not in a good mood. The fact that he was followed home the previous night and hadn’t even spotted his tail had dropped his mood another notch.
He slid into his chair at the conference room table and opened his notebook to review his interviews at the church. They hadn’t proved useless, but they were running a close second. Every question he had asked had been answered, but the information given had been minimal or nonexistent. Justin Clearby had been the only plus, and that had been purely a gut feeling. But when he had run a criminal record check on him, he had drawn a blank there as well. All of it left Bobby Joe Waldo as his only suspect.
As he considered his next move someone slid into the chair opposite him. When he looked up he found Vicky looking at him intently. Jim Morgan stood in the doorway behind her. Harry acknowledged him with a nod and Morgan raised one finger to his forehead in a salute.
“How are things going with the church?” Vicky asked.
“I think I’m learning why churches are made of stone,” Harry said.
“That bad, huh?”
“That bad. And the entire staff of ministers and assistant ministers- all except for my boy, Bobby Joe Waldo-is the biggest collection of Biblethumping religious zealots I’ve ever come across. But, what the hell, this is Florida. How are you and Jim doing?”
Vicky jerked her head toward the squad room and when Harry looked past her he could see Nick Benevuto seated at his desk in a far corner. “It’s a little weird when the suspect you’re investigating is sitting across the room from you.” She paused, hesitating to say more.
“You haven’t come up with anything that might clear him? Or at least raise some doubts?”
Vicky gave him a steady look. “No, Harry. Not a thing. Are you still convinced the killer is someone involved with that church?”
Harry nodded and watched Vicky shift her weight in her chair. When he looked past her he saw that Jim Morgan had lowered his eyes. Harry smiled for the first time that day.
“Hey, guys, this is what homicide is all about. You follow every lead, every gut feeling. And when it’s all over, with a bit of luck, you end up with the right guy.”
Vicky stood and stared at him. “So it’s not just the dead detective’s well-known instinct for getting inside a killer’s head. Or all that mysticism about victims talking to him.” She returned his smile, but hers was cold and hard, her voice dripping sarcasm. “I think the captain actually believes in all that. I think he’s even counting on that bit of homicide voodoo to get Benevuto off the hook.”
Harry stared at her, allowing the bitterness in her voice to hang between them. He continued to hold her gaze as he leaned back in his chair. “Let’s get back to work, partner.”
Harry’s use of the word partner hit her like a slap, and Vicky realized they probably wouldn’t be using that word between them for a very long time.
Harry gathered his things, including the old mug shot of Bobby Joe Waldo. He had decided to show it to Darlene Beckett’s neighbors and friends to see if anyone could place the young minister with her in the weeks preceding her death. As he left the conference room Nick Benevuto approached him.
“Harry, I gotta talk to you.”
Harry nodded and stepped back inside the conference room. “What can I do for you, Nick?”
Benevuto’s eyes kept darting toward the main door of the squad room. “It’s your partner and her new sidekick. Especially Stanopolis. She’s really out for my ass, Harry, and she’s really bought into everything this kid Morgan claims he found.” He shook his head. “Okay, maybe I was off base tryin’ to dick that Beckett broad. And maybe I was stupid using one of our unmarked cars when I stopped by her place. But sweet Jesus, Harry, I never snuffed her, and I sure as hell never tried to alter department records to hide the fact that I was in an unmarked car when I went to her place. Shit, I wouldn’t know how to alter a computer record.”
Harry looked steadily into Benevuto’s eyes. “Did you ever see Darlene Beckett’s body?” he asked.
“No, Harry, I never did.”
“She looked scared, Nick. But the fear came later, when she realized she was going to die. First she looked surprised, and that sense of surprise never completely left her face. I think it was a surprise that came from something she saw. Like maybe she knew her killer, or she was surprised that someone like that would be a killer, because maybe he was a minister, or a cop, or a kid, and it surprised her that someone like that could have just cut her throat. So it’s like I told you before, Nick, the squad has no choice; they’ve got to check you out.”