Nick’s apartment was as rumpled and disheveled as his life. The living room he led them into was furnished out of a Rooms To Go catalog with a leather sofa, two matching chairs, an ottoman, and glass-topped coffee and end tables. All the glass tops had water rings and food stains, and through an archway Harry could see several days’ dishes piled in the sink. He didn’t want to see Nick’s bedroom.
Nick picked up a dirty shirt and shorts from one of the chairs, told them they could sit if they wanted, and offered them a drink, which Harry and Vicky both declined.
“So what’s this about?” he asked as he took a seat at one end of the sofa, stretching out a leg so no one could sit next to him.
“Do you own a. 38, Nick?”
Nick raised his eyebrows. “Sure, what cop doesn’t, especially if he’s been on the job as long as I have? I’ve got my first service revolver, the one I carried when I was on patrol, and a snub-nosed Chief’s Special, that was my first piece as a detective. That was in the good old days, before we switched over to Glocks. But you’re too young to remember those days, right, Harry?”
“I remember, Nick. I grew up in a cop’s house.”
“Yeah, that’s right.” He paused a moment. “You know Jocko knows me. You tell him about this bullshit they’re tryin’ to pin on me?”
“I told him,” Harry said.
“And…?”
“He said he thought it was a crock.”
Nick nodded as if that should settle the matter.
“Can we see the two. 38s?” Harry asked, bringing him back.
“What for?”
“Somebody took a shot at Jim Morgan tonight. Whoever it was used a. 38. I just want to rule you out.”
“Morgan okay?”
“He’s fine.”
Benevuto nodded but said nothing more.
“So? Can we see them?” Vicky pushed.
Nick glared at her. “Yeah, you can see ’em. There in my locker at work. When I had it, I kept my Glock here. As far as the other weapons go, I didn’t want to take a chance of somebody breaking in and walking off with them. Too many people around here know I’m a cop.”
Harry nodded. “I’d like you to go to the office with us so we can have a look.”
“Tonight? It can’t wait until tomorrow?”
“I’m afraid not, Nick. By the way, what time did you leave work?”
“Around four, right after those humps from IAD left.”
“You come straight home?”
“Yeah. Why?”
“Your engine’s hot, like the car’s been driven recently.” Harry glanced at his watch. “It’s been six hours since you left work.”
“I ran out of bourbon and went out to the liquor store. You’ll find the empty bag with a receipt inside on the kitchen counter.” A sneer came over his face. “But hell, maybe I stopped on the way to squeeze one off at Morgan.”
“I’ll take the bag and the receipt with us,” Harry said, ignoring the comment. “You okay to drive?”
“Yeah, I’m fine.”
“Then just follow us down.”
Nick stood in front of his locker, his shoulders shaking with what could have been rage… or fear.
“They were fucking here, damnit. They were here this morning.”
Harry stepped around so he could look into Nick’s face, see what was there.
“Are you sure, Nick? Do you specifically remember seeing them this morning?”
He stood there thinking about what Harry had asked. “If you mean, could I swear to it in court and not worry that I might find out later they’d been missing for three days… no, I couldn’t.” He shook his head. “Shit, Harry, they were covered with that cloth you see on the top shelf. I mean I might not have noticed they were gone until I actually looked for them.”
Nick reached for the cloth but Harry laid a hand on his arm, stopping him. “I want to have the inside of the locker dusted, Nick. If anyone took them, they would have been sweating the idea of a cop walking in here, so they probably did it in a hurry.”
“And they might have gotten careless,” Nick said hopefully.
“Is there any chance you left the locker open?”
Nick shook his head. “Never happen. Hell, you know as well as I do, cops steal.”
“I was thinking more along the lines of the maintenance people. They’re in here late at night cleaning up.”
“Yeah,” Nick said, hopeful again, “and it would be easy to have one of them standing watch outside while the other went through lockers seeing what he could find.”
Vicky stared off, clearly annoyed. “That’s a really big stretch, isn’t it? Alright, maybe a maintenance guy would pick up a loose gun, figuring he could sell it, but almost all of the people who come in here are cops. Why would another cop wanna steal Nick’s weapons?”
“What if it isn’t theft?” Harry asked.
Both she and Nick stared at him, openly confused.
“We’re assuming the weapons, or at least one of them, might be involved in the shooting at Morgan’s house. But the bullet was so mangled, even when we find Nick’s guns, there’s no way to prove or disprove that one of those weapons fired the shot. And maybe Nick’s missing guns had nothing to do with any of it.”
“What do you mean?” Vicky asked.
“Maybe somebody took them for an entirely different purpose. Maybe IAD searched Nick’s locker and took them to see if they could tie them in to something else.”
“Then there’ll be a warrant,” Vicky said.
“Not necessarily. This is sheriff’s department property-the building, the room, the locker. Who’s to say they can’t go inside a locker just with the okay of a boss? They do it every time a cop dies, or gets fired. It’s department property.”
Nick’s features darkened. “Those fuckers. I never even thought of them. They coulda been looking for evidence that would tie me to Darlene; noticed the two. 38s and just grabbed them to see if they could score a hit on something else.”
“So we’ll ask them,” Vicky said.
Both Harry and Nick looked at her as if she were out of her mind.
“Okay, dumb idea,” she conceded. “What do you suggest?”
“We’ll wait, see if their prints show up.”
Harry got home at midnight. Checking his mail, he found a letter from the Florida Parole Board. It was formal notification that his mother had been granted a hearing on the following Tuesday. He had expected the letter; had known it was coming, but it didn’t stop his stomach from churning. He read the letter again, noting the time: nine a.m. Then he read it a third time. Finally, he threw the letter on a table, went to the kitchen, and poured his nightly orange juice. He went out on the lanai, headed for a long beach walk, and found Jeanie Walsh curled up asleep on one of the chaise lounges. A sense of relief flooded him, and he sat down next to her and gently stroked her face. She smiled in her sleep, then her eyes fluttered and opened.
“I was just dreaming about you stroking my face.”
“The power of positive dreaming,” he said.
“Mmm, that’s a nice thought.” She smiled up at him. “If it works that way maybe I’ll go back to sleep and dream about you doing something else.”
“Are you trying to seduce me?”
She closed her eyes again and smiled. “Sure am.”
“I’m not that easy,” he said.
She laughed. “Oh, yes you are.”
He scooped her up in his arms and carried her into the house.
“Sir, where are you taking me?”
“I’m taking you to my bed, where I intend to ravish you until you can speak nothing but gibberish and your eyes roll around in your head.” He leaned close to her ear and whispered: “Yes, I’m that good.”
Jeanie threw her head back and laughed. “You better be, mister. Especially after a buildup like that.”
The bed sheets lay in a twisted mass about their feet and their bodies were covered in a thin layer of perspiration.
Jeanie turned on her side and rested her head against Harry’s chest. “I don’t know what got into you, mister, but I hope it gets into you again.”
Harry slipped his arms around her and pulled her even closer. He brought his mouth to her hair and lightly kissed her. “You are one great way to end a lousy day.”