One Deadly Sister (Sandy Reid Mystery Series #1) (8 page)

He heard some shouting outside, must be the TV people. From the hallway, he heard noises and the rising clatter of voices. He got up and stood at the bars. People noticed him and stared as they passed, looking in at the caged man on display. He moved to the back, far back, not wanting anyone to see him.

He sat huddled in the corner on his bunk with his knees up under his chin, as far away from the bars as possible. His jumpsuit was itchy and hot. He could smell the snoring drunk a couple of feet away. Over the next few hours, he would hear the clang of a door and indistinct voices. Blurry shadows would move past in the hallway. More shadows and voices as he slipped in and out of troubled sleep.

T
hat night the news about the shooting raced through the small town. As rumor had it, the perpetrator was a hit man with a Philadelphia crime connection; a thug who had wormed his way close to the trusting senator and brutally assassinated him. Half of the citizens were phoning the other half telling them to turn on the TV.

When the Sunday paper hit the street the next morning, it confirmed the unbelievable. Outraged, the citizens read about the ruthless stranger who had shot the senator. Even those who had opposed Senator Towson in the past had to admit his death was an indisputable tragedy for the town and for Florida.

A handful of people had met Ray at the party a week ago and forgotten about him. Others were trying to catch his name from the TV item repeated every hour. Now, thanks to the newspaper, the entire town had the opportunity to frown at his blurred photo and read about this shadowy stranger from up north.

A record for Sunday circulation was set that morning, the paper sold out within an hour.

Ray was oblivious to the commotion outside. He was sitting on his bunk craving a cup of coffee when Beau Cobb hurried up to his cell waving the newspaper. “Seen the paper, man?”

“No, it was missing from my breakfast tray. They forgot the rosebud as well.”

“Well, you’re all over the front page.” Beau passed the thick paper through the bars.

Ray was stunned to see his scary driver’s license picture on the front page. Alongside, Al Towson smiled out in a charming studio pose. The headline,
SENATOR TOWSON FOUND MURDERED. …his campaign manager and long time aide, Anthony Hackett, discovered the senator’s body in the Towson residence Saturday evening. Mr. Hackett was to accompany the candidate to a campaign function and became concerned when there was no answer on the victim’s phone. Mr. Hackett and the building maintenance man discovered the body. A person of interest is in custody. The Governor is expected to make a statement later today. The Miami Herald is reporting it as an assassination. Party officials in Tallahassee couldn’t be reached for comment. A spokesman at the FBI regional office in West Palm Beach had no comment….

In the twenty-four hours since Loraine Dellin’s urgent phone call, Ray had progressed from an unknown, to a person of interest and, according to Beau Cobb, on up to an alleged assassin.

“Beau, you said Goddard was a rookie detective. Does this town have the resources to make an adequate investigation?”

“You asking are the police any good? Not bad. They routinely bring in the state crime lab for backup, for DNA and all the tricky junk. They have state investigators available in Tallahassee. But the local state attorney here seldom uses them. Doesn’t like to give up any control. Of course, he’s never handled anything this big. Now if someone starts thinking you’re a hit man from Philadelphia, the FBI will show up fast.”

Ray guessed Beau loved hanging around, thrilled to be on the inside of a big deal crime and chilling with the perpetrator. “Beau, can you fill me in on a few things?”

“Well, here’s how it is, man. I’m not gonna make anything off your bail bond, you know, because like there won’t be any. Gonna cost you if you want services. I’m not sure if the tabloids are gonna come through like they said and buy my story. Hey, that reminds me, they want me to sneak out a picture of you.”

“Absolutely not!” Ray hoped the guy was joking about the tabloids. “How about twenty bucks to get a couple of things for me and fill me in a bit?” Ray wondered if the cops were also paying Beau to report these conversations.

“Are you one of those rich guys? You look like one of those trust fund babies.”

“Getting poorer by the minute.”

“Okay, twenty’s cool. Now if you really are a Philadelphia hit man, all my favors are free.” He made a weak laugh. “Don’t want my kneecaps shot off, know what I’m saying? Saw that in a movie.”

“How do I pay you for things? They took my money.”

“I’ll keep track. Of course, I know a lot of inside police stuff from upstairs, can’t give that out,” Beau said with a slight swagger.

“Tell me how to find a lawyer on a Sunday.”

“You might not find one on any day. Word upstairs is no lawyer around here is going to defend the perp of the Towson murder. They’re afraid the lynching party will string them up alongside you.” He chuckled. “Just a little jail house humor there.”

“I know the judge will appoint one, if I can’t afford it. Nevertheless, I want someone competent. I
can
afford it, within reason anyway. Problem is I must find one.”

“The judge will ask if you have counsel. You tell him you need help to find one. What else?”

“Did Towson have enemies?”

“Sure, goes with the territory. A man of the common people, so he stepped on a lot of big toes. So those people didn’t want to see him make Governor.”

Ray guessed Beau hadn’t thought up that cliché all by himself. “Who are
those
people?”

“
You
are those people, according to the talk upstairs.”

“What about love triangles, jealous husbands and so on.”

“Don’t think much about that sort of stuff, I’m more into car chases, junk like that. Oh, I get it, man. You’re wondering who wanted him dead. So for twenty bucks I’m supposed to solve the crime for you?”

Ray tried to bring the pieces together. “Do you know a Norma Martin?”

“There’s Nutty Norma. She’d come over here and do you right through the bars. Just let me know.” He grinned. “Guess you don’t mean her. Let’s see, Norma Martin? Don’t think so. Is she hot?”

“How about Tammy Jerrold?”

Beau brightened. “Of course, I know
her
.” He plainly had given some thought to this subject.

“How do you know her? She’s a generation ahead of you.”

“She’s around the city offices a lot. Got a smoking hot body. You seen the rack on that babe? And the word is they’re real. Yeah, she’s pretty old. The only forty year old I’d ever bang.”

“You’re a man of high standards. Was she romantically involved with the senator?”

“Romantically involved? Man, I’m gonna start talking like that. You mean like was he doing her? Now you see when I talk, people know what I’m saying. When you talk, people have to think. How did you zero in on them two, you being new in town?”

“What’s your guess, were they...banging?”

“You think a powerful man like the senator is gonna let that nice stuff jiggle around him and let it go to waste? Get real.”

“I know she doesn’t dress flashy, but I was told she’s a pushover.”

“Only in my dreams, man. You’ve seen her? Is she gravy or what?”

“Spectacular,” Ray said going along with it.

“Didn’t think of spectacular, that’s cool. So the dude’s looking for a get-out-of-jail-free card. Depends on the evidence don’t it? Depends on how it all shakes down. You can have many suspects, all of them with shitty alibis and it don’t mean zip, if the lab puts you at the crime scene. And that’s just what they did.”

“What?”

“Oh, wasn’t supposed to say nothing. I guess you’ll find out soon enough. They found something proves you pulled the trigger on the senator.”

No question about how serious this had become, much more than expected. He must get a lawyer, any lawyer
right now.
He sent Beau off to find a pad, pencil and phone book.

Ray sat reading the Sunday paper. In the back pages, there were other pieces on the life and times of Senator Towson. Ray could see that the senator had lived a meaningful and important life. The editorial demanded justice on a scale befitting such an outstanding public figure.

Ray was all for justice himself, he was counting on it. He was rereading the editorial when he looked up and recognized Detective Goddard. The officer with him began unlocking the cell door.

“We’re making it official. We’re taking you up before the judge for arraignment. You’re under arrest for the murder of Albert Towson. You’ve the right to remain silent—.” Goddard continued with the routine spiel. The weight of the words seemed impossible for Ray to bear. His whole body grew weak. The detective noticed the prisoner’s face turning pale and sweaty.

The uniformed officer ordered Ray to put his hands behind his back. His wrists were forced together, and with the click of the handcuffs his arms ached immediately. He could feel his heart thumping with an intense force. Suddenly, he couldn’t breathe. He made a choking sound. His knees melted. He collapsed forward. The officer tried to hold him up.

Goddard rushed into the cell just as the prisoner pitched forward and vomited wildly onto the wall and bunk. They lifted him onto the opposite bunk. Goddard quickly loosened the jumpsuit and motioned for the officer to remove the cuffs. “Let him relax then hook him up in front from now on, not in the back.”

Upon lying down, the color returned to Ray’s face, although he was still shaking. He gave the detective a meek smile. “Sorry, I’ve never been gagged like that before.”

“We didn’t gag you.”

“You didn’t gag me? Oh, I thought you did.”

“We would never gag you. Are you diabetic or taking any medications?”

Ray shook his head and slowly brought himself upright on the bunk.

“You okay now? Want to see a doctor?”

“Okay, now. This is all very disturbing. You definitely can’t arrest me. I definitely can’t remain in jail.”

The detective took Ray upstairs and completed the booking ritual, and then transported the prisoner across the boulevard to the Court House. The detective sat with him in a small room off the courtroom until his case was called. A brief Sunday morning arraignment for the Saturday night offenders was routine. Other cases were DUI and minor wrongdoings; Ray Reid was a big deal.

The judge asked Ray if he was financially able and desirous of employing counsel. He said he was, although he hadn’t been able to locate a lawyer. Whereupon, the judge postponed the First Appearance for another twenty-four hours and instructed the State Attorney’s Office to assist in finding suitable counsel for the defendant. The proceeding was short and dreadfully frightening.

They took him back to his jail cell. Last night, when they first put him in this cell, it was frustrating to be misunderstood, but he could bear it thinking the situation would straighten out in the morning. This morning, however, the authorities’ massive power became clear. This time the metal clang of his cell door made him flinch. The echo would never leave his memory. His small window of hopefulness had closed.

Beau, showed up with the requested writing paper and a borrowed phone book. Ray had intended to search for a hot lawyer, but now he’d wait and see who the Court came up with.

One name he did look up but wasn’t eager to call, was his new boss. Maybe the boss would be sympathetic and offer some suggestions. He answered and coldly asked what happened, as though he was the one person in the country who hadn’t heard the news. Ray stretched it and said they might release him at any time, although he probably wouldn’t be in Monday morning. He’d definitely get back at work as soon as possible. The boss explained Ray hadn’t been there long enough for vacation or any special treatment. “I know you’re in a jam but a couple days, Ray and that’s it. Can’t cover for you any longer.”

He began to hate his newly adopted town. He came here because this is where the job offer was, just a spot on the map. He wasn’t looking for any trouble. Would people here actually convict him? Surely, it wouldn’t go that far if he’s innocent.

He sat at the end of the bunk staring out between the bars at the gray cinderblock wall opposite his cell. The cold blanket of reality settled down around him like a fog. Need to find a lawyer, he kept saying, need to get out of
custody
.

E
arly Monday morning, after Ray’s second night in jail, attorney Jerry Kagan appeared, sent over as ordered by the judge. This wasn’t a public defender; Ray would be paying for him. He could take him or leave him.

Ray didn’t know what to expect. Just give him someone who can get him out of there. Someone between a youngster taking leftover court-assigned cases and an oldster rising from his deathbed for his swan song. He got an oldster.