Maximum Bob (16 page)

Gary looked at Kathy again.

“What’s his name?”

“I don’t know, some guy.”

“Where was it, Palm Beach, Lantana, Ocean Ridge?”

“I don’t know, one of those. He made me get down on the floor. In the car, going over there.”

“He was driving the Cadillac?”

Earlene frowned. “It might’ve been a different car. This other guy drove me home. He didn’t make me get on the floor, but I was so bummed out it didn’t matter. I’m getting out of the car this little greaseball goes, ‘Don’t ever come back again.’ I go, ‘Hey, I came with a guy has a key to the house, if you don’t fucking mind, okay?’ This’s a guy that
works
there talking to me like that.”

“Would you know the house if you saw it again?”

“I didn’t
see
the house, where it’s at. You understand? Hey, can we go? Jesus.”

Getting antsy. Beamed up on the way here and now coming down. Kathy went over to her. “You have something, don’t you, take the edge off?”

Earlene said, “You gotta be kidding,” her eyes going to Gary watching them.

“No, it’s okay,” Kathy said, moving Earlene to the sofa and easing her into it. She sat down next to her saying, “You have something in that purse, don’t you, help you relax? It’s okay, really. He doesn’t care.”

Earlene opened her purse, glancing at Gary again. She brought out a pack of cigarettes and a book of matches. Kathy took the matches. Earlene worked a thin, tightly rolled joint from the cigarette pack and Kathy gave her a light. Earlene sat back in the sofa to take long, slow drags, Kathy sniffing that familiar aroma, wondering if Gary ever smoked grass. She and Dr. Baker would do it on weekends when he was still in school, using forceps for a roach clip, Keith the only person she knew who could smoke and never crack a smile.

She said to Earlene, “The guy who owns the house, what was he like?”

“He was nice.”

“You go to bed with him?”

“He wasn’t in the mood. He said next time.”

“You’re going back there?”

“Maybe. I don’t know.”

“The guy in the cowboy hat, he and the guy who owns the house must be pretty good friends.”

“They didn’t act it especially.”

“Didn’t you say the one who took you had a key to the house?”

“He opened the front door with it,” Earlene said. “Oh, and he got all dressed up for me. Had on the ugliest suit I’ve ever seen in my life.”

“Pretty bad, uh?”

“It was this real bright blue. You had to see it.”

“You go to bed with him last night?”

“Yeah, and you know what? The son of a bitch never paid me. The first time in my life I didn’t ask for it up front, that’s what happens. I go, ‘Hey, come on, man, I don’t give freebies.’ He says it was for fun, like I get laid on my day off. I’m still sore. He tells me, when he picked me up? Bring my G-string, they’re gonna pay me to dance. Only all they have is a bunch of South American cha-cha shit. The nice one gave me a hundred bucks. But you know what? I left my G-string there. My best one, black with silver sequins on it.”

“I’ll see if I can get it,” Kathy said. She gave Earlene’s arm a pat, got up from the sofa and motioned to Gary. They went into the kitchen. She said, “Is Elvin living there now?”

“It sounds like it.”

“She isn’t upset that he’s going to kill someone. It’s because he didn’t
pay
her.”

Gary was nodding. “I got that.”

“You want to know something else?” Kathy stepped to the table and picked up an empty “Pizza from Pisa” carton. “There’s one just like this at the judge’s house, and he never eats pizza.”

•          •          •

S
he was thinking that getting one on the way here was a mistake. Or they should have gone to bed as soon as they walked in the apartment and microwaved it later instead of opening cans of beer, sitting down with the pizza and arguing about a flat square cardboard box that had held another pizza at one time and was in the judge’s garage, Elvin Crowe’s fingerprints all over it.

Gary said, “If you’re lucky.”

He was eating his pizza with a fork.

She said, “Okay, maybe not all over it. Maybe you get only one or two good latents. How many do you need?” She said, “If you have trouble seeing yourself walking in the Sheriff’s Office with a pizza box, let me do it.”

Bad. Much too confident, even brash. When he didn’t smile she wanted to take it back and was afraid now his tone would be condescending, putting her in her place. It wasn’t, it was polite. So she had to be polite and listen. He was methodical, maybe a little cool, telling her this is what you have and this is what you don’t.

“Assuming we’re able to lift prints that match Elvin’s, we’ll know he had the box in his hand at one time or another. But that doesn’t necessarily place him at the judge’s house last Thursday night. Let’s say we have evidence to show the box was there in the kitchen. We know the judge doesn’t eat pizza and the evidence techs didn’t bring it. That still doesn’t mean Elvin did. Even if you could somehow place him at the house,” Mr. Methodical went on, “there’s no way you can prove criminal intent. What did he do? Did he break in, take anything? Not that we know of.”

“He was there,” Kathy said. “I saw him.”

“You maintain you saw
something
, or someone.”

“Yeah, that’s what I do, I maintain.”

“Isn’t that what you told me?”

“Gary, we know he wants to kill the judge.”

“Or someone. And we have that on hearsay from a not too reliable witness who claims he owes her money for engaging in unlawful sexual congress.”

“You make it sound political.”

“I’ll run Dr. Tommy through Motor Vehicles. If he owns a Cadillac, it’ll be put on the list to watch for. And we’ll locate Elvin and keep an eye on him. What else do you want?”

“Get hold of the pizza box,” Kathy said. “It connects him to the judge and you might need it.”

She watched him shrug, take a sip of beer and pick up his fork. She didn’t want to argue, feel that knot in her stomach. “There’s another piece,” Kathy said. “Would you like it?”

He was chewing and shook his head.

“Would you like to go to bed?”

He swallowed and said, “Get political?”

She felt better already. “Engage in a little congress.”

•          •          •

I
t was nice. Maybe even nicer than the first time. They were getting to know each other. His beeper went off in the silence. He said, “Work work work,” slipped his shorts on and went out to the phone in the living room.

Light from the window lay across the sheet pulled over her. She listened for the sound of his voice, but heard nothing. He was quiet. She liked that. She wondered if he thought she was too emotional. He worked criminal investigations and was methodical. He’d better be. There was nothing wrong with eating pizza with a fork or arranging magazines in chronological order. He had a new album by one of the Dire Straits guys,
The Notting Hillbillies
, she should’ve mentioned to Michelle, who liked his hair but didn’t know him at all. He had a nice body too. She saw it in the living room light, coming to the bed now in his white shorts.

“Dicky Campau signed a statement. He did the shooting.”

She said, “Now what?”

“That’s it, the case is closed.”

22

K
athy’s friend Marialena Reyes, the assistant state attorney, said, “His bond was set at fifty thousand, so Dicky will be in at least another six to eight weeks, till the arraignment.”

“His lawyer accepted that?”

“He didn’t want to. But I told him before the hearing, try to live with whatever the judge comes up with and we’ll talk about it after. That’s what took me so long.”

It was Tuesday morning. They were in the snack bar on the first floor of the Palm Beach County courthouse, standing at a counter against the wall with their coffee, Marialena telling Kathy about Dicky Campau’s probable cause hearing.

“The lawyer looks at all this stuff Dicky told the sheriff’s people and sees it as unusual and mitigating circumstances, enough to get Dicky released on his own recognizance. And he has a point, there’s considerably more to this than meets the eye. But I’ve already been prepped, in fact told what to do.” Marialena took a sip of coffee. “I’m referring not to the shooting, but the business with the alligator.”

Kathy said, “Gary filled me in on some of it. That’s not in Dicky’s statement, is it?”

“No, of course not. Just the shooting.”

“But he claims Gibbs ordered him to bring the alligator to his house. Isn’t that it?”

“His story is he was given a choice. Bring the alligator or do time on a poaching charge hanging over him. Dicky says if the alligator had been dead—he thought it was—none of this would have happened. He says he doesn’t know why Gibbs wanted a dead alligator, but was in no position to refuse. Our office talked to Gibbs this morning, he flatly denies having anything to do with it. So we have to assume Dicky’s lying.” Marialena shrugged inside the wide shoulders of her brown linen suit. “Why would Gibbs want an alligator delivered to his house? It doesn’t make sense.”

It wasn’t asked as a question, so Kathy didn’t tell her. She said, “But the alligator business will come up at the arraignment, won’t it?”

“That’s what I spoke to Dicky’s lawyer about,” Marialena said. “I told him we don’t see any merit in getting Judge Gibbs involved, since Dicky’s story won’t hold up anyway. If he’ll plead to shooting into a dwelling, a second-degree fifteen-year felony, we’ll offer six months county time and probation. But if Dicky insists on talking about alligators, then we’ll offer him the whole fifteen years.”

“What’d the lawyer say?”

“Nothing, but he’ll take it. He doesn’t have a choice. I came out of the hearing, I thought Dicky’s wife was going to take a swing at me. You ever see her, Inez Campau?”

Kathy shook her head. “I don’t think so.”

“We’re accepting as mitigating circumstances Dicky was drunk,” Marialena said. “TAC did find an empty pint bottle with his prints and there wasn’t anyone in the house he could have been shooting at, so… By the end of the year Dicky could be one of your cases. No, that’s right, he lives in Belle Glade. Thank God for small favors, uh? You won’t have to meet his wife.”

“He did say he was shooting at the house?”

“At the kitchen window. His explanation, because he was mad at the judge. And, of course, drunk.”

“He didn’t see anyone.”

“If you were both outside, how could he?”

“I mean, I wonder if he thought he was shooting at someone, in the window.”

“He ever admits that, we’re talking about attempted murder,” Marialena said. “Let’s keep it simple.”

Kathy said, “Oh shit,” and Marialena looked around.

Bob Gibbs was already in the snack bar, the judge in shirtsleeves, grinning, raising his hand to people, Kathy thought like he was giving them his blessing. He came over to where they stood at the counter against the wall, saying, “Well, they’ve called off the dogs, I’m a free man again. Marialena, honey, would you excuse us? I have something to say to this little girl.”

Marialena stooped to get her briefcase. “I was leaving anyway, Judge.”

“I have to go too,” Kathy said. “I have appointments at the office.” She picked up her purse from the counter and Gibbs put his hand on her arm.

“Offenders are used to waiting,” Gibbs said. “They spend their life waiting for trial, waiting to get out of jail… Listen, I’m free of those TAC boys, there’s nobody shooting at me, so I’m safe to be with. I’m thinking, why don’t you and I go out and have some din-din this evening?”

“No more protection around you?” Kathy said.

“Don’t need it.”

“You know that man wasn’t shooting at you.”

“He claims he wasn’t and I’ll accept that. I’m just glad to get those strangers out of my house.”

“But what if there is someone who wants to kill you?”

“Listen, I got another one of those phone calls this morning. Some cuckoo, he’ll get picked up and thrown in jail for it. But now they’ll read in the paper the shooter was apprehended and it’ll be over. The nuts’ll have to think of something else to do.”

“Maybe,” Kathy said, “but I don’t think so.” She tucked her purse under her arm. “They shouldn’t have pulled the protection off you. Not yet.”

“You’re concerned about my welfare?”

“I don’t want to see you get shot.”

“Honey, that’s the nicest thing anybody’s ever said to me. Let’s have dinner this evening. Come on.”

“I’m sorry, I really can’t.”

“You have a date?”

“I just won’t do it.”

“If you’re afraid of us being seen, come out to the house. I’m all by myself now, my wife gone, run out on me.”

“I thought she was visiting friends.”

“Yeah, but now it doesn’t look like she’s coming back.”

“She afraid,” Kathy said, “another alligator might show up?”

Gibbs stared back at her with a mild expression that was almost a smile, a gleam, mischief in his eyes. This old-man judge acting like a little kid with a secret.

“You don’t think I’d have a live ten-foot gator brought to my home, do you?”

“I heard it was supposed to be dead.”

“You believe that story?”

Kathy said, “Yeah, I guess I do,” nodding.

Now he did grin at her. “See, that’s why I like you. You aren’t afraid to speak right up to my face. I saw it that time in my court I called you Ms. Bacar?”

“You always called me that.”

“You know the time I mean. You said, ‘It’s Baker, Your Honor. It’s
always
been Baker.’ I got a kick out of the way you stood up to me. You know what I thought? Why I wanted to talk to you after? I thought, well, I’ll be damned, this girl and I think the same way.”

“Excuse me,” Kathy said, “but you gave Dale Crowe five years and I tried to argue that was excessive.”

“You’re being picky now. What I’m talking about, you and I aren’t afraid to say what we believe. Hell, we could have more fun disagreeing with one another than most people have getting along. Listen, I can show you some sights, take you to society functions over in Palm Beach’ll knock your eyes out. Argue all the way over there and back.”

“We can talk about anything?”

“Pick a subject.”

“If you made Dicky Campau bring that alligator…”

“Who says? Listen, you want to know the honest truth? I told him bring me a little bitty one sometime. For fun, not to hurt anybody. I’d forgot all about it. Then one morning there it was. Yeah, it scared Leanne and she left. Of her own free will.”

There was that gleam in his eyes again.

“Why don’t you let him off?”

“Who, Dicky? It’s out of my hands. Listen, if he appeared in my court for sentencing I’d give him at least five years. You can’t fire a gun at somebody’s house and get away with it. But since it was
my
house I’d have to recuse myself anyway, step aside. So they’ll cut a deal, offer him six months and he’d be dumber than he looks if he doesn’t take it.”

Kathy said, “And no one’ll ever know…”

“It’s no one else’s business. I can tell you ‘cause we think alike and I know I can trust you with a personal matter,” Gibbs said, leaning on the counter close to her, confiding. She could smell his aftershave, look into his sad brown eyes and see a movie actor playing the judge, reciting his lines in the courthouse snack bar. He said, “You know I could be influential in your behalf. Couple of years from now see you named head of the Probation Department. How’s that sound to you? Big step up, lot more money.”

“Run a probation office,” Kathy said, “what I’ve always wanted to do.”

Gibbs, still with the sad look, said, “It’s a shame, you’ve got devilment in you going to waste. Well, I’m not gonna get down on my knees and beg, I’m feeling too frisky for that. You don’t want to have fun, there’s plenty others’ll jump at the chance.”

•          •          •

E
lvin sat in Dr. Tommy’s gray Lincoln across the street from the Probation Office, a queer-looking pink building, two stories, but hardly any windows in it. Maybe so the poor assholes getting questioned in there would pay attention and not be looking outside, thinking of better places to be; though what you saw around here was all industrial, places to work and the sound of the freeway close by. Elvin had been in Ms. Touchy’s office on the second floor when he first reported. Sat cooped up in that dark-paneled shoebox while she filled out a post-sentence form on him. Prison time. Extent of Victim’s Loss or Injury. Socioeconomic Status. What? Vocational Skills. Alcohol Usage. Hobbies. Shit. He was thinking of going up there again to give her his new address, except now he forgot what it was. Six something, three other numbers, North Ocean Boulevard. He’d have to make it up. Tell Ms. Touchy he was working full-time over there on security and when she came to check on him bring her swimsuit. Or don’t wear one if she didn’t want to. Go in bareass like Dr. Tommy. Not a stitch on but his anklet, like some creature they had tagged in the wild to keep track of. The doc was turning into a crack dog since the other night with Earlene. When he was high the doc acted nervous and liked to go into his dance. Earlene said there was no such thing as the mumbo, it was the cha-cha. Take her word for it. The doc hardly ever spoke. Hector either. What Hector did was sneak around watching him wherever he went, making it hard to find where the doc kept his cash. Upstairs somewhere. Hector would go up there and come down with a hundred-dollar bill for crack cocaine or to go to the liquor store. About the only time Hector spoke was to ask him, You shoot the judge yet? Elvin believed he might end up shooting Hector. They had picked up none other than little Dicky Campau for shooting at the judge’s house. It was in the paper today and Elvin had phoned Inez to ask her the hell was Dicky up to? Ready to tell her Dicky had almost shot
him
, for Christ sake. But nobody was home. What it didn’t say in the paper was whether the judge was still being protected or not. Walk in the court building you had to go through metal detectors. So the judge’s house was still the place to do it. Get hold of another pizza box once the bodyguards cleared out. Elvin had not noticed any tails on him driving the Lincoln—even though that hair-pulling sissy cop was at Dr. Tommy’s yesterday and must’ve known he was there. It might be since they had Dicky in custody they weren’t looking for anybody else.

What’d be funny, press charges against Dicky for trying to shoot him and see Inez’s face. Here was still another instance, something you’d like to do but couldn’t.

Or ask Ms. Touchy would she like to have noon dinner with him and get turned down. He had always believed Hispanic girls would bust their ass to go out with a white man. If Ms. Touchy went with that hair puller she wasn’t any different. The thing to do was take the cop out of the picture.

Elvin got out of the car and crossed Omar Road to the building, trying to decide what color it was. Sorta pink, but not exactly. There were two colored boys in the lobby who looked like convicts and two young white guys, addicts of one kind or another. Elvin gave the woman at the reception window his name and Ms. Touchy’s and sat down to wait. Now the two white boys were looking him over, boots to cowboy hat, one of them making remarks to the other, grinning like a monkey. Elvin said, “You boys behave now, hear? I’ll have to take you outside.” The colored boys watched with sleepy looks. Up at Starke they’d tell you same old same old, in that peculiar way they spoke.

A guy in a dark suit of clothes came in the lobby.

Elvin glanced over and then looked again, the guy standing at the reception window now. Jesus Christ, if it wasn’t the sissy blue-suit cop, Ms. Touchy’s boyfriend. He didn’t have to wait there but a minute. Somebody opened the door next to the reception window and was talking to him as he walked in. Elvin watched, thinking, Hey shit, I was here first.

•          •          •

K
athy was waiting for him outside her office. The first thing she said: “Did you see Elvin? He’s in the lobby.”

Gary walked up to her in the narrow hallway. “There were some guys—I didn’t notice.” He followed her into the office. “He’s here to see you?”

“He was. Should I have him come up?”

“If he’s still there.”

Kathy said, “I doubt it,” turning to her desk. “I should’ve had the receptionist tell you.” She was anxious now. He was too, but in a different way watching her pick up the phone and punch numbers, wanting to touch her, run his hands over familiar places, the feel of her ribs, her stomach sucked in, slim legs around him, seeing her tan lines in the dark and knowing where they were beneath the white skirt she was wearing. “This is Kathy. Is Elvin Crowe still there?” He liked the way her hair was short in back and showed her slender neck. She turned now, looking this way, waiting. He liked the way she moved. He liked her eyes, the way she looked at him and seemed to know things. She said, “Thank you,” and hung up, shaking her head. “He left.”

Gary smiled; he couldn’t help it. “You look good enough to eat.”

She gave him that bland, knowing look. “With a fork?”

He said, “With my fingers,” and watched her raise her eyebrows and move in a kind of lazy shrug. Another one to remember, store away, along with hooking her thumb in those narrow white panties and cocking a hip. He wanted to take her home, right now, but had to see a man about a Cadillac. He told her that Dr. Vasco, it turns out, owns a Cadillac and Dicky Campau says Dale Crowe was last seen in a Cadillac, driving around with Elvin.