“That’s exactly what Darlene said, Bobby Joe. And I’ll tell you the same thing I told her. I’m not going to hurt you. No, I’m not. But the Lord is going to judge you. And in a few minutes you’re going to be standing before Him, just as Darlene did, and His judgment will hurt you far more than anything I could do.”
“No, no, no. Please, no. I’m not bad. I’m not.”
He drew the knife firmly across Bobby Joe’s throat and saw the dark, rich, arterial blood gush out in a long stream. Bobby Joe tried to scream but it came out as a loud gurgle; then his hands flew to his throat and the blood began to pulse through his fingers. The man released him and pushed him forward, stepping back as he saw the young minister stagger away. He stepped even further back as Bobby Joe regained control of his body and turned toward him, not wanting his clothes to be washed in the young minister’s spraying blood. Bobby Joe took two steps and then collapsed to his knees. He looked up at the man, his face filled with the horror of his own impending death. Then his eyes began to cloud and he pitched forward, and fell facedown on the carpeted floor.
The man felt the erection pressing against his trousers and was repulsed. It had been the same when he killed Darlene and it made him ashamed of his weakness. He pushed all thoughts of his arousal away and concentrated on Bobby Joe, waiting for the blood to stop pumping from his body. When it finally slowed to a trickle he moved in, turned the body over, and brought the tip of the knife to his forehead. When he had finished he looked down at the young minister and gave a slow, approving nod, then he returned to the front door and retrieved a bag he had left outside. A smile kissed his lips. Now there was only one thing left to do.
Harry had checked his house and determined the church bulletin was indeed missing. Back at the office he went through the official file to make certain he hadn’t inadvertently left it there. Jim and Vicky came into the conference room just as he was finishing his search. Vicky went straight to the chair across from Harry and Jim took the seat next to him.
“It’s four o’clock, any chance you can give me a few minutes,” Jim said.
The written request Jim had made for a four o’clock meeting came back. “Yeah, sure, what’s up?” He glanced across at Vicky.
She glanced out into the bullpen at Nick Benevuto’s empty desk. “Where’s Nick?” she asked.
“Suspended with pay, by order of the sheriff,” Harry said. “It seems my suspect, the kid minister, remembered that Darlene felt threatened by Nick. His lawyer called the sheriff and the big boss decided he should not even be in the office.” He shrugged. “Rourke had no choice. Nick’s gone until we wrap up the case and either charge him or clear him.” He peered at Vicky, letting her know that in the end he still expected Nick to be cleared.
“Harry, we’d like to bring Nick in and formally interrogate him,” Jim said.
Harry winced.
“It’s no more than what you did with your suspect,” Vicky chimed in. Her tone was sharp and held the unspoken comment that he was wasting his, and the department’s time, with Bobby Joe Waldo.
The tone grated, the unspoken comment grated even more. He let it pass. They were right, of course. They had the right to interrogate Nick as many times as they felt were necessary. “You plan to cuff him when you bring him in?”
“That’s procedure,” Jim said.
Harry looked down at the top of the conference table. It was the same treatment to which Bobby Joe Waldo had been subjected, and he knew that doing any less with Nick Benevuto would only open the task force to criticism, possibly even jeopardize any future case against Bobby Joe. Still, Nick was a brother cop, and one he considered innocent. Bringing him in wearing cuffs would rankle every member of the department. He glanced at Vicky and Jim… except two.
“Do what you think you have to do,” he said. “It’s your investigation.”
“But you don’t approve…” Vicky said, the sarcasm still heavy in her voice.
He stared at her longer than necessary. “What the hell difference does that make?”
They all knew that as lead investigator Harry could direct their actions.
But they also knew that his decisions could be appealed to Rourke, who was in overall command. There was little question in anyone’s mind who would win in this instance, especially after the sheriff’s decision to formally suspend Nick.
“When do you plan to bring him in?” Harry asked.
“As soon as we can locate him,” Jim said.
“I’d like to observe the interrogation, so keep me posted on it.”
“No problem,” Jim said.
“And try to bring him in when there are no media types around,” Harry said. “We don’t need to fan speculation that we’ve got killers working in homicide.”
Jim nodded. “Of course. Vicky and I will go out and find him. We’ll let you know as soon as we do.”
“I don’t think you’ll be going anywhere right now.”
They all looked up and saw Diva Walsh standing in the doorway.
She looked directly at Harry. “Bobby Joe Waldo was just found stone-cold dead in his apartment. His daddy’s housekeeper went looking for him and found more than she bargained for. First unit at the scene said the M.O. was identical to Darlene Beckett-throat cut, face covered with another Mardi Gras mask. This time it was a leering devil. You all better get yourselves out there.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
One phone call from Harry had set the scene for the investigation. A uniformed officer was posted at the top of the garage stairs leading to Bobby Joe’s apartment. Crime scene tape had been run in a wide circumference around the entire structure. And the housekeeper who had found the body was isolated in the rear of a patrol unit in the company of a female deputy. Harry also issued a direct order that no one be permitted inside the taped perimeter. This was met by repeated demands from the Reverend John Waldo that he be allowed to go inside and pray over his son. He was told he’d have to speak to the detective in charge.
When he arrived at the crime scene, Harry went straight to the cruiser that held the housekeeper, after sending Vicky and Jim to make sure the remainder of the scene was still secure.
The housekeeper was somewhere in her early fifties with graying hair, brown eyes, and a light brown complexion. Harry guessed she was Mexican, probably illegal-although he had no intention of pressing the point-and thoroughly shaken by what she had seen.
After telling him her name was Dolores Sanchez she stared at him with trembling lips and watery eyes. “He is dead?” she asked.
“Yes, Mrs. Sanchez, he is.” Harry saw a sense of warmth enter the woman’s eyes when he spoke to her with a tone of respect. The words also seemed to relax her. “Tell me why you went to Bobby Joe’s apartment and everything you saw when you went inside.”
She shook her head as if his words had brought back a horrific image, although Harry was certain the image of what she had seen had never left her, and would not for a very long time.
“I went because his father wanted to talk to him and he did not answer his telephone. His padre, he was getting very angry. He say, ‘Go get him,’ so I go.”
“And what happened then?”
“Well, I knock on the door, but nobody answer. Then I try the door, but it no open. But I have keys for cleaning,” she patted a pocket on her apron, “so I open the door but I no go inside. I can see him right from the doorway. Blood is everywhere, all over everything, and that horrible diablo mask is on his face.”
“Did you touch the mask?”
She shook her head. “No, I no go inside.”
“Then how did you know it was him?”
“He’s wearing the same clothes I wash and iron for him,” she said.
Harry nodded. It was a practical answer from a practical woman. “Did you see or hear anyone or anything unusual before you found the body?”