Middlebrooks let out a long breath. “So what is it you want?”
“First let me tell you what I think happened.” Harry tilted back in his chair, playing the role of storyteller to the hilt. “The way I see it-the way the evidence points right now-the Reverend John Waldo was outraged that Darlene Beckett molested a child from his flock. He was further outraged that the boy wouldn’t testify against her and that without that testimony Darlene ended up with little more than a slap on the wrist. He even gives a sermon telling the congregation to do everything they can to make sure she ends up in jail. They can do that, he says, by reporting any contact she has with kids, or any other violations of her terms of house arrest. In other words: keep an eye on this woman, and when she crosses the line-which she will, being the sinner she is-report her to the police. He even repeats that in a church bulletin. I know that. I have a copy of the bulletin.”
Harry leaned forward again, propped his elbows on the table. “Well, I think Bobby Joe decided he was going to do his daddy’s bidding, so he started following Darlene around. What he didn’t count on was Darlene taking a shine to him, and before he knew it he’s rolling around in her bed. And he gets himself seen not only at the Peek-a-Boo but also by her neighbors when he leaves her apartment.”
Harry grasped two fingers with one hand. “But here are two reasons why I think Bobby Joe may not be her killer.” He released his fingers and raised one. “First, even somebody as self-centered as Bobby Joe had to know that Darlene was nothing more than a fast roll in the hay, and that she was willing to take that roll with anybody who had the right equipment. So right there we rule out jealousy as a motive.” He raised the other finger. “And second, even Bobby Joe isn’t dumb enough to let himself be seen all over creation with a woman he planned to harm or kill. He’s got enough of a criminal history to know that a mistake like that is certain to get his ass caught.”
Middlebrooks jabbed a finger on the table. “So if you believe these things, why are you harassing my client?”
Harry smiled across the table. “I didn’t say I believed them, counselor. I said I might be willing to accept them. What I do believe is that Bobby Joe wasn’t the only person from the church who was checking Darlene out. And I think Bobby Joe knows who those other people are. So if your client wants me off his ass, he’s going to have to give up those names. But even then, that doesn’t mean I’m through with him. Down the road, if I turn up more evidence that points to him, I’ll be right back knocking on his door.”
“So the bottom line is, you want Bobby Joe to help you widen your net?”
“That’s one way to put it, counselor.”
“And if he doesn’t?”
Harry gave him a small shrug. “Given the evidence I have, that leaves him as my primary suspect. And right now, I think the state’s attorney might feel it’s enough to hold him.”
Middlebrooks stared off for a moment. “We’ll need to consult with Reverend Waldo,” he said at length. “He was leaving this afternoon on church business. He’ll be back the day after tomorrow.”
“I believe they have this invention called the telephone,” Harry said.
“I will, of course, talk to him by phone,” Middlebrooks said. “But I’ll also want the three of us to sit down; perhaps even bring in someone who specializes in criminal law. I assume Bobby Joe will be free to go with me.”
Harry nodded very slowly. “I’ll know where to find him if I need him.” He glanced at Bobby Joe. The young minister’s eyes were filled with as much fear as Harry had ever seen. His own eyes hardened. “And if you run, I will find you, Bobby Joe. You can make book on that.”
Jim Morgan glanced at Vicky and nodded. “Pretty darn slick,” he said. “Harry squeezed him like a ripe orange.”
“Yeah, he did,” Vicky said. “The kid looked like he was ready to wet his pants. I’d bet my next paycheck he’ll give Harry all the names he can think of.” She let out a small grunt. “Hell, he may even make up a few.” She glanced at her watch. “We’re supposed to meet Darlene’s parents at the morgue. We better get moving.”
After identifying the body of their daughter, Darlene Beckett’s parents returned to the squad room with Vicky for a more thorough interview. Harry watched them from across the room. They were a couple not unlike many he had seen over the years: the nondescript people who filled Florida’s trailer parks and crowded villas, lonely people who seemed to be living out their final days huddled under a dark cloud, each one destined for some tragedy they could not escape.
As they concluded their interview and started to leave Harry watched the mother, whose name was Betsy, precede her husband across the squad room. Withered was the only word he could find to describe her. She seemed drained, washed out, as if all the energy had been sucked from her body. Her hair, once blond, was streaked with gray, a thin, limp shank that fell to her shoulders. Her eyes were equally faded, as if any color that had existed simply dissipated over time, and they were set in a face that was a mass of broken lines and sagging jowls. He knew, from his investigation, that she was only fifty, although she carried herself like a woman ten or fifteen years older. The pale gray, calf-length dress she wore only added to that image.
Her husband Bert was a retired Navy chief who ran a small insurance agency that specialized in auto and boat policies, although he still had the look of a man who had spent his life working with his hands. He was dressed in baggy gabardine trousers and an open-neck white shirt, a short, stocky block of a man with large, rough hands. He had a broad, clean-shaven face with a flattened nose and a hairline that had receded well back on his head. What little hair was left was salt-and-pepper gray and cut short. His eyes, like his wife’s, were lifeless and dull, and Harry wondered if it was due to the death of their daughter or the result of a hard, dispiriting life.
Harry had never interviewed Darlene’s parents. Initially, that had been left to John Weathers and Nick Benevuto. Weathers had told him that, while hurt by her death, they had seemed almost relieved she was out of their lives. Harry thought that was the saddest commentary of all.
Now, with Nick suspended, the parents had been turned over to Vicky and Jim.
When Vicky had seen the couple out and returned to her desk, Harry approached her.
“Where’s Jim?” he asked.
“He stayed behind to make sure all the paperwork on the release of the body was by the book… chain of evidence and all that,” Vicky said.
“I saw the parents leaving.”
“Yeah, it was pretty grim at the morgue. They had a funeral director with them to collect the body. They’re planning to have the funeral tomorrow; short and sweet and quick. They want to avoid extensive press coverage, which of course they won’t.”
“I’m surprised they agreed to come back here with you,” Harry said.
Vicky nodded. “I was too. I told them there were some things I had to go over with them; stressed it might help us find Darlene’s killer. They’re still in a state of shock and they came along like a pair of sheep.”
“Did you learn anything?”
“Quite a bit, actually… even more if my intuitions are correct.” She gave him a hard stare. “You’re not the only one who has them, Harry.”
Harry ignored the sarcasm. “Wanna share?”
“You’re such a pushy detective.” She paused a moment. “I’ll make a deal. You tell me what’s going on with your mother, and how it’s affecting you on this case, and I’ll tell you everything I learned, factual and intuitive.”
“How do you know anything’s going on with my mother?”
“Word gets around the squad room, you know how it is. Cops in Hillsborough hear something; they talk to their cop buddies in Pinellas. Suddenly everybody knows, even me. Do we have a deal?”
“You’re asking for a quid pro quo. That could be construed as threatening to withhold evidence from a superior officer.”