Found: A Matt Royal Mystery (9 page)

“They’re fucking with me.”

“I doubt they know you exist.”

“When they fuck with my woman, they fuck with me.”

He laughed. “That’s brilliant.”

I had to laugh. “That did sound a bit stuffy,” I said, “but in stuffiness there is sometimes truth.”

“And you’re a philosopher as well as a tough guy.”

“Okay,” I said. “You’re not as dumb as you act, and I’m not really a tough guy. Philosopher either, for that matter. All I’m trying to do is find out who’s interested in my girlfriend and why.”

“And I can’t tell you that.”

“Can’t or won’t?”

“Doesn’t matter. Either way, I’m not telling you jackshit.”

“Can you deliver a message for me?”

“Sure.”

“Tell your employers I want to talk to them.” I gave him my cell number.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Maybe not, but will you do it?”

Appleby sighed. “I’ll do it, but I don’t think you’ll like the reaction you get.”

“And you stay away from Detective Duncan.”

“Or what?”

“You don’t want to know.”

“Are you playing tough guy again?”

I grinned. “No. But the Longboat law will find some reason to arrest you if you show back up on the island. I can promise that, and by the time all the paperwork finds its way up the proper channels, you will have spent a week or two in the Manatee County stockade.”

“That sounds a little extralegal.”

“Yeah, but you know how it is. The cops always take care of their own.”

“My people will just send somebody else.”

“Then tell your people to send someone who won’t mind spending a couple of weeks in jail.”

Porter King was sitting in the waiting room of the Longboat Key Police Station. It was not quite ten in the morning and he had been there less than five minutes when J.D. came through the door that led to the bowels of the building. “Good morning, Mr. King. I’m Detective J. D. Duncan.”

King rose. He stood a little under six feet tall with a compact body that didn’t seem to hold any fat. His face had that creased look that gives middle-aged men a rugged appearance. His brown hair was sprinkled with gray. His clothes were casual and expensive, his voice inflected with the cadence of his native New York City. “Nice to meet you, Detective. I’m sorry I was so hard to get hold of.”

“Well, you’re here now and I appreciate it. Come on back. Can I get you a cup of coffee or something else to drink?”

“No, thanks. I’m fine.”

J.D. led him to a small room that had four chairs placed around an oval table that held a laptop computer. “Have a seat, Mr. King,” said J.D. “I want to show you a surveillance tape from your condo complex and ask you some questions.”

“This must be about the man who was killed in the parking lot on Tuesday.”

“It is. Let me show you the tape and then we’ll talk.” She put the CD in its slot and called up the video that showed King walking out of the building and stopping to talk to the man in the Jaguar. It only took a minute or so for the scene to run its course. “Do you know this man?” J.D. asked.

“No. I’d never seen him before. Was he involved somehow?”

J.D. ran the tape forward as they watched Ken Goodlow come out of
the building, stop at his truck, and walk back to the Jaguar. King flinched as the man shot Goodlow.

“That’s the killer?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“He’s the guy who went off the bridge?”

“Yes. Can you tell me about your conversation with him?”

“It wasn’t much. I saw him sitting in the car when I walked out, and I stopped to ask if I could help him in any way.”

“What was his reaction?”

“He told me that he was a real estate agent and was waiting to meet a client interested in one of the units. I told him I didn’t know one was for sale, and he said that the owner wanted everything to remain confidential. I didn’t push it. Just wished him a good day and got in my car and left.”

“Tell me about his voice. Any accent, speech impediment, that sort of thing?”

“Not so I noticed. He may have had a slight regional accent, like from Maine or somewhere in New England, but it wasn’t foreign. He sounded very American. Why? Do you think he came from somewhere else?”

“We don’t know who he is, Mr. King. That’s what we’re following up on. Did you notice a gun in the Jaguar?”

“No. He was just sitting there, minding his own business.”

“Do you mind if I ask where you’ve been for the past couple of days?”

“Not at all. I spent Tuesday night in Sarasota with my girlfriend and we drove down to Naples yesterday morning. We spent the day and drove back last night. I dropped her off and came back to my place late last night.”

“Would you mind giving me your girlfriend’s name?”

“Be glad to.”

J.D. wrote it down along with an address and phone number. She’d follow up, but she was pretty sure that was a dead end. King assured her that he’d be around for the next couple of weeks at least and if he wasn’t at home, she could reach him on his cell phone.

“I tried that for the past couple of days,” she said.

He gave her a sheepish grin. “Sorry about that. I ran off and left the damn thing on my dresser. By the time I realized I didn’t have it, we were halfway to Naples.”

J.D. ushered him out of the station, shook his hand, and watched him walk to his SUV. She went back to her office and called Captain Doug McAllister. “Good morning, Doug. This is J. D. Duncan.”

“J.D. A pleasant surprise. How have you been?”

“I’m well, thank you. I wonder if you’d have time to sit down with me today to talk some more about Katie Fredrickson.”

“I’m pretty well backed up around here. Have you got any news? Has anybody heard from her?”

“Her parents tell me they haven’t. I’ve got a little time on my hands and I thought I might go back over the file and see if I can come up with anything. That is, if you don’t mind.”

“J.D., I’m always glad to have the help. I’m not one of those guys who guards his turf like a mama bear.”

“I know, Doug, and I appreciate that.”

“Look, I had a luncheon conference with the chief set for today, but he had to meet with the mayor or somebody. Have you got time for lunch? I’ll bring the file.”

“I can certainly do that.”

“How about Marina Jack at noon?” he asked.

“Great. Thanks, Doug. I’ll see you then.”

J.D. sat at her desk for a few minutes thinking about Katie’s case. She’d been through the Sarasota P.D.’s file a couple of times and had talked with Doug McAllister on many occasions. He’d always been cooperative. J.D. knew he was a good cop and thought he was a pretty good guy to boot. However, there was something nagging at the back of her mind about the property Jim Fredrickson had inherited over near Avon Park. She’d never heard of that before Matt told her about it. It probably wasn’t important, but it was a loose end that McAllister should have rolled up, and she’d seen nothing in the file to suggest he had.

She picked up her phone and called the Basses’ house. George answered. “George, it’s J.D.”

“Hi, sweetheart. Great to hear from you. I met your boyfriend yesterday.”

“He told you he was my boyfriend?”

“Well, he said you were more than friends.”

J.D. laughed. “I guess we are. I’m practically living with him.”

“He seems like a nice guy. I knew him by reputation when he practiced law in Orlando. It was all good.”

“Glad to hear it,” J.D. said. “I’d hate to think he could fool a real live police detective.”

George chuckled. “You’ll have to bring him over sometime. We miss seeing you.”

“Thanks, George. I’ll do that. I was calling about something else though. Matt said you had looked for the name of the caretaker of the grove that Jim owned in Avon Park. Did you find it?”

“No, but I didn’t look any further. Matt didn’t seem to think it was that important.”

“It’s probably not, but I’d like to talk to him.”

“I’ll look some more and see what I can find.”

“And, George, I know this is going to sound funny, but if you talk to Doug McAllister, I’d prefer that you not mention this or that Matt came to see you.”

“What’s up, J.D.?”

“Probably nothing, but I’d like a little time to check some things out for myself.”

“Do you think there’s any chance Katie’s alive?”

“I don’t think that’s likely, George, but I want to make sure that somebody has covered all the bases. I want to find the killer. I don’t think we’ll find Katie.”

After she hung up, she felt like a little girl who’d just lied to her father. She wanted to tell the Basses about the texted picture, but she didn’t want to give them any false hope. They’d been through that special hell reserved for parents who outlive their children, and she didn’t want to send them back into it. She knew she was right, but sometimes being right doesn’t make it easier.

Captain Doug McAllister was in his mid-forties and had been a Sarasota cop for more than twenty years. He was well known and respected in the law the enforcement communities that dotted the Suncoast. He stood a little over six feet tall and had the body of an aging linebacker, with muscles in the process of turning to fat. His face was wrinkle free, but wide and flat with dark eyes set a bit too far apart, heavy eyebrows, and a cleft chin. His head was covered with hair that was too gray for his age. He was walking across the restaurant toward J.D., a grin breaking out as he spotted her. He had a large file folder in his hand.

“Good to see you, J.D.,” he said as he pulled a chair up to her table. “Have you ordered yet?”

“No. I got here two minutes ago. It’s good to see you, too.”

McAllister put the file folder on the table. “I’ve made a complete copy for you. I’d like it back when you finish with it.”

“Not a problem. I appreciate your going to all this trouble.”

“Glad to do it. Sometimes a fresh pair of eyes will pick up something I’ve missed.”

“Are you still actively looking into the case?” J.D. asked.

“Not really. I pull the file out occasionally just to refresh my memory, but there hasn’t been anything new since we finished the initial investigation.”

“Do you have any theories about what happened to Katie’s body?”

“Speculation is all we have.”

“It’s strange that the killer would have taken her body and left Jim’s at the scene.”

“We think maybe he was afraid he’d left some evidence, like DNA, on
or in Katie’s body,” said McAllister. “Maybe she was still alive when he pulled her out of that house. Maybe he wanted to make sure she didn’t live to identify him. We never have come up with a good answer to that, J.D. You know she was raped, right?”

“I know the medical examiner said that might fit the evidence, but he couldn’t be more definitive.”

“Right. And we’re only speculating about the reason for taking the body, but that is the only thing we can come up with that makes any sense.”

“So what happened to the body? Any guesses?” asked J.D.

“Who knows? Probably dropped into the Gulf. This is an easy place to lose a body. Lots of water.”

“Have you considered that she might not have been killed? That she might still be alive somewhere?”

“Unlikely. There was a lot of blood at the scene.”

“Are you sure it was all Katie’s?”

“Yeah, and it was enough that Doc Hawkins thought she probably wouldn’t have survived that big a loss.”

They ate their lunch and discussed theories about the reason for the murders. They reached no conclusions, just two experienced homicide cops passing the time of day. They were wrapping up when McAllister said, “I know you and Katie were close. Looking back at it, did she ever say anything to you that didn’t mean anything at the time, but may have some significance to the murders?”

“No. We’d drifted apart over the years. I didn’t talk to her regularly toward the end of her life. She was pretty caught up in her life here in Sarasota.”

“Jim and I were good friends, you know. Played golf every Saturday.”

“Didn’t you find that a bit of a conflict of interest? You know, cop and criminal defense lawyer?”

“Not really. Jim didn’t do the nitty-gritty cases that I usually work. He handled mostly white collar crimes. Fraud, embezzlement, that sort of thing. Criminals who could pay his big fees. Not the dirtbags I deal with every day. And if we did get on the wrong side of a case, we just didn’t talk about it. Friendly adversaries, I guess you could say.”

“You didn’t see any of this coming?” J.D. asked.

“Not a hint. Jim was hardworking and happily married. He was doing well financially and had built a good reputation around here. Had a bright future. His murder was a big shock to everybody. I’m beginning to think it was just a crime of opportunity. Some junkie wandered into his house and snuffed out two lives.”

“I don’t remember that anything of value was taken,” said J.D.

“Nothing was. We think Jim and Katie may have surprised the intruder, and he panicked and killed them and got the hell out of there.”

“But he stopped long enough to rape Katie? That doesn’t hold up too well.”

“I know.”

“Could the killer have been interrupted? Somebody knocking on the door, the phone ringing?”

“We never found any evidence of that.”

“You never came up with anybody who might have had reason to kill Jim? Former client? Somebody like that?”

“Nobody that didn’t have an alibi.”

“A contract killing, then? Paid for by one of the people with an alibi?”

“We worked that angle but came up empty. And if it was a contract killing, it was done by an amateur. The scene was too messy and the rape doesn’t fit a pro’s MO.”

J.D. looked at her watch. “I’ve got to go, Doug. Paperwork is calling my name. I appreciate your letting me in on this one. I’ll get the file back to you by the first of the week, and if I come up with any bright ideas, I’ll give you a call.”

J.D. was crossing the John Ringling Bridge on her way back to Longboat Key when her phone rang. Bert Hawkins. “Hey, beautiful. I’ve got your DNA results. Nothing on the ethnicity yet, but if he’s in the system, this will tell us who he is.”