New Hope for the Dead (12 page)

Slater and the two girls were at the lieutenant’s desk. The executive officer was showing them slides of homicide victims on a viewer he had set up. Some of the slides were in color and others were in black and white, but the photos were graphically clear on the lighted, eight-by-ten-inch glass screen.

“I’ve been showing the girls some pictures, Hoke,” Slater said. “Explaining some cases. You worked on the Merkle shotgun case, didn’t you? The one we called the ‘Laura’ case because her face was unrecognizable?”

“That was Quevedo’s case,” Hoke said, “but I did some legwork for him. I think we all did. They caught the perp when he tried to sell the gold chain. It was a driveway killing, girls. This guy followed Mrs. Merkle home from the supermarket because she was wearing a heavy gold chain around her neck. He shot her for the chain and about forty bucks worth of groceries. Any woman who wears a gold chain is asking for it in Miami. And if she wears it every day, she can count on somebody snatching it eventually. But this guy was a crazy. He didn’t have to kill her. You girls don’t wear neck chains, do you?”

Sue Ellen and Aileen, still staring wide-eyed at the gory face on the screen, shook their heads.

“Don’t do it, girls,” Slater said. “They usually work in pairs, driving around town till they spot someone. Then one guy jumps out, snatches the purse and chain, gets back
in the car, and they drive off. They’re hard to catch because the woman usually gets hysterical and can’t remember, half the time, whether the perps were black or white. Our problem with Mrs. Merkle was that even though we knew who she was, we couldn’t prove it for a while. There were no fingerprints of hers on file either, so we couldn’t get an ID. She was unrecognizable, as you can plainly see, and we were trying to identify her from an oil painting—a portrait—instead of a photo. But the people who knew her said the painting didn’t look like her, and they wouldn’t give us a positive ID. That’s why we called it the ‘Laura’ case, from the old movie with Clifton Webb. It was a pretty good movie, too. If it comes back on late TV some night, you girls oughta see it.”

Hoke laughed. “We kidded Que vedo about falling in love with the oil painting. Eventually he got so pissed we had to stop. What made it so funny was that Que vedo had never heard of the movie, so he didn’t even know what we were kidding him about. Besides, no one could’ve loved that face in the painting.”

Slater laughed. “I remember now. I’d forgotten about that part of it.”

“I appreciate you looking after the girls, Lieutenant. But I’ll take ’em off your hands now.”

“Your partner okay, Hoke? No trouble?”

“No, no, she’s fine. She just wanted me to take a look at a guy she thought she recognized at the supermarket. But he was gone before I got there. Thank the lieutenant, girls.”

“Thank you, Lieutenant Slater,” Sue Ellen said. “Especially for the dessert.”

“Thank you,” Aileen said.

They went back to Hoke’s office as Slater began to put his slides away.

“We got the special,” Sue Ellen said. “Macaroni and cheese, but didn’t have enough money left over for dessert. So Lieutenant Slater bought us apple pie.”

“That was nice of him, but don’t ever let him get you anything else. Slater’s not into altruism, so—”

“What?”

“Never mind.” Hoke sat down behind his desk and looked at Sue Ellen. “I’ll just say that Slater likes to have everybody under some kind of obligation to him … but don’t worry about it. Did you finish the letters to your mother?”

“I couldn’t think of anything to write,” Sue Ellen said.

“Me neither,” said Aileen.

“Bring the paper and pens with you. You might be able to think of something later. We’ve got to get back to the Eldorado now, and then you can meet my partner. She’s going to be staying at the hotel with us for a few days.”

“You’ve got a lady detective partner?” Aileen said.

“That’s right, and she’s a good one, too.”

“Think I could be a detective? When I grow up?”

“No. The best career for a girl is marriage. Even my partner, who’s a very good detective, probably wishes she was married now. But don’t mention that to her.”

Hoke unlocked his desk drawer, retrieved the envelope of money for Mrs. Hickey, and then drove the girls back to the Eldorado Hotel.

Ellita Sanchez was waiting for them in the lobby, and Hoke introduced her to Eddie Cohen as his partner. There was an empty room two doors down from Hoke’s suite, and Hoke told Eddie to give Ellita the professional rate—or 10 percent off the ten-dollar daily room charge.

“I don’t think Mr. Bennett’ll go for that,” Eddie said.

“If he doesn’t,” Hoke said, “tell him to talk to me.”

After Ellita registered, they went upstairs. Hoke carried Ellita’s cardboard box, and Sue Ellen carried the train case. The small room was hot and musty, but the window air conditioner worked after Hoke switched it on and kicked it a couple of times. Hoke registered the expression on Ellita’s usually impassive face; he detected depression beneath
her attempt to smile. The scarred linoleum floor had sections missing, and the furnishings, a metal cot with a thin mattress and patched sheets, a straight ladder-backed chair, and a dented three-drawer metal dresser—all painted dead-white—completed the inventory. The cracked gray walls had been painted with a cheap water-based paint, and the walls were powdery to the touch. The faucets in the bathtub and sink dripped. The washbasin, with most of the enamel missing, was rusty. There was no toilet paper in the bathroom, and there was only one face towel.

“I’ll go down and get you some more towels and toilet paper,” Hoke said, “but until this room cools off, you’d better come down to our suite.”

Hoke left them in his suite to get acquainted, took the elevator downstairs again, and returned with two bath towels, two rolls of toilet paper, and a dozen small bars of soap. He dropped these off in Ellita’s room and returned to his suite. Ellita was showing the girls her .38 pistol—although she had taken the precaution of removing the rounds before letting them handle it.

“Look,” Hoke said, “I’ve got to go out this afternoon. There’s not much to do around the hotel, so why don’t you take the girls over to the Fifth Street Gym, Ellita, and watch the boxers work out? Tony Otero, the Puerto Rican lightweight, is preparing for a fight later this month, and he’s a pretty good boy. You can walk over there and kill the rest of the afternoon. Then this evening, when I come back, I’ll take you all out to dinner.”

“I thought you said we’re not supposed to go out alone,” Aileen said.

Hoke pointed to Ellita, who was sitting in the Victorian chair and reloading her pistol. “You won’t be alone. Ellita’s with you, and she’s armed. You’ll be safe with her, and besides, nobody’ll bother you in the daytime. I was going to suggest going to the beach, but I know Ellita hasn’t got her suit with her. It’ll rain later this afternoon anyway.”

“The sun’s out now,” Sue Ellen said. “How can you tell?”

“Because in July it always rains in the afternoon.”

“Don’t worry about us, Hoke,” Ellita said. “We’ll find something to do. If you have somewhere to go, go ahead.”

“I’m out of cigarettes,” Sue Ellen said, “and the machine in the lobby takes six quarters for a pack. Can I have some change for cigarettes?”

“No.” Hoke took two Kools out of his pack and handed them to her. “Better make these two last. If you can’t support your habit on the allowance I gave you, you’ll just have to stop smoking till I can find you a job somewhere.”

Sue Ellen poked out her lower lip. “I don’t like the menthol kind.”

Hoke snatched the two Kools back from her and returned them to his pack.

“When will you be back?” Ellita asked.

“I don’t know exactly, but I’ll be back before dark. I’ve got to go to Coral Gables, and then, if Bill’s back from the Metrozoo, I want to talk to him about something.”

Ellita nodded and started for the bathroom. As Hoke was on his way out, to his surprise the two girls each kissed him on the cheek.

Hoke parked on the second level of the bus station in Coral Gables, put his police placard in place instead of feeding the meter, and walked over to Miracle Mile, a block away. The Bouquetique was a narrow shop between a luggage store and a Cuban
joyería
. The flower arrangements in the window were artificial for the most part, and there was no FTD logo, but there were signs for Visa and MasterCard on the glass door. If Loretta Hickey wasn’t a member of FTD, Hoke thought, and had to depend on walk-in customers only, she would be hard-pressed to pay the high rents charged on Miracle Mile. During the last two years the street had been upgraded and tile sidewalks had been added. The Mile merchants had all been assessed accordingly for the beautification.

A short Oriental woman was behind the counter. Behind her a tall, lighted refrigerator held flower arrangements and a huge vase of red roses. It was cool in the shop, and there was a pleasant odor of freshly cut flowers and ferns. In a glass-topped case beside the counter were the so-called smart things Loretta Hickey sold as well as flowers. There were silver bracelets, turquoise rings, earrings and necklaces, and a half-dozen glass paperweights.

“Yes, sir?” the Asian woman said, in a high tiny voice. She was the woman Hoke had talked to on the phone and had thought was a child. She stepped back two paces as Hoke moved to the counter, and Hoke wondered why Mrs. Hickey would hire such a shy woman as a salesperson. He decided it was because Loretta could probably get her for the minimum wage.

“Tell Mrs. Hickey I want to see her.”

“She’s designing in the back. I can help you?”

“No. Just tell her Sergeant Moseley is here.”

The woman pushed through the bamboo curtains that separated the front from the back workroom. It was almost three minutes before Loretta Hickey came through the curtains. Her lipstick was freshly applied, and Hoke figured she had redone the rest of her makeup as well.

“I meant to come earlier,” he said, “but I was delayed.” He opened the envelope and removed the receipt Loretta had already signed. “You’d better count it.”

“I trust you.” She smiled.

“But cut the cards.”

Loretta counted the money, replaced it in the envelope, and then put the envelope into the wide front pocket of her blue cotton smock. Her honey-colored hair was in two braids down her back, and her face was flushed slightly.

“I was going to ask you out to dinner tonight,” Hoke said, “but a few other things have come up.”

“I thought you were coming to my place for dinner. I’ve still got all that ham, and—”

“Ham’ll keep. But I won’t be free till Monday night. And I’d prefer to take you out to dinner. Then, if we don’t
get enough to eat, we can always go back to your house and snack on the ham.”

“All right. But most restaurants in the Gables are closed Monday nights.”

“We don’t have to eat in the Gables. I know a nice place on Calle Ocho. You like Spanish food? I don’t mean Cuban, I mean Spanish.”

“They use so much garlic …”

“Okay. Seafood it is, then.”

“I’m not picky. It’s just that even when you tell them no garlic they put it in anyway.”

“I know a good seafood place. Incidentally, I talked to Mr. Hickey, your ex, and he’s going to have Jerry cremated.”

“Oh? Have they released the body?”

“Not yet. On Thursday, as I recall, there were about twenty-five
P.M
.s ahead of him. They only do six or seven a day, unless there’s an emergency, and then they hire extra help. As you know, if you looked at the paper, there was a fire at the Descanso Hotel last week, and they’ve got about six charred bodies to identify, too, so—”

“I’m sure Harold’ll call me when the cremation takes place. Did he say anything to you about me?”

“What do you mean?”

“About Jerry and me. Harold had this ridiculous idea that Jerry and I—well, it was just crazy. There’s no way in the world I could ever get interested in a kid like Jerry.”

“No, he didn’t say anything to me. But I went through a divorce myself, Loretta, and it always changes people. In fact, my wife accused me of having an affair with a young woman in the Grove. At the time of our divorce I was putting in fourteen-hour days, so I wouldn’t’ve had time for anything like that. Even if I’d had the money it takes for motel rooms.”

“I often work twelve-hour days myself. Right now, I’m making a funeral wreath. I wish I could get more funerals.” She blushed. “I didn’t mean what you think.”

“I know what you meant, and I hope you get more funerals, too. Anyway, Minrow’s Funeral Home will be taking care of Jerry’s cremation. So if you want to add anything to the announcement in the papers, or if you want to invite some of Jerry’s friends, you should call Minrow.”

“Jerry didn’t have any friends that I know of. I tried to make a list for you, and couldn’t think of anyone. But I’ll call Mr. Minrow. There should be some flowers, even at a cremation.”

“Okay, then, Loretta. I’ll pick you up at your house Monday night about eight-thirty, depending on the traffic.”

“All right.” Loretta reached across the counter to shake hands. Hoke held her hand with both of his, pulled her toward him, and kissed her on the lips before he released her hand.

He turned toward the door when he heard the high-pitched girlish giggle from behind the bamboo curtain.

Hoke stopped at a Greek restaurant on his way back to his car and ate a Greek salad for a late lunch. It wasn’t enough, and he was still hungry, but he decided to let it do until dinner. He showed the cashier his badge and asked her if he could use the phone. He dialed Henderson at home, and Bill answered.

“I’m glad I caught you. I didn’t think you’d be back from the zoo yet, and just took a chance.”

“We didn’t go. Marie took the kids to Bloomingdale’s instead. They hadn’t seen the new store yet, and she just got her Bloomie’s card in the mail.”

“You should’ve intercepted it, Bill, and cut it into little pieces.”

Bill laughed. “It’s in her name, not mine. And Marie’s flush right now. She just sold the same house she sold three months ago, and picked up an identical four thousand in commissions. The same house, at the same price.”