On the Street Where You Die (Stanley Bentworth mysteries Book 1) (16 page)

Chapter 25
 

Ray’s Diner wouldn’t be crowded this time of day. The lunch rush was over, and dinner wasn’t for a few more hours. I stopped to get a quick burger on my way back from Buford’s. Bunny took my order without saying anything extra. That was okay with me.

I said, “The usual.”

She said, “And that would be...”

“A burger like always.”

“And how would you like it cooked?”

“Oh, knock it off, Bunny, and bring the fucking burger.”

“My, my.
Testy, aren’t we?” She left to put in my order.

I sat while I waited for the burger and went over my notes, trying to figure out what the next step would be.

Perhaps Rodney’s search for other witness protection clients would provide a lead. I could only imagine how my visits to them would be received.

“Hi,” I’d say. “I understand you’re in the witness protection program.”

I’d be about as welcome as Charles Manson and his bevy of blade-slinging bitches.

Bunny brought my burger and sat down across from me, interrupting my deep thoughts. She just sat and looked at me. Then she said, “Aren’t you even going to talk to me?”

I wanted to, but Willa’s and Sammy’s advice had taken hold. This was not the time to cave in and set myself up for yet another letdown.

I took a big bite of burger, chewed it up, and swallowed. Then I took a gulp of coffee. Then I wiped my face with my napkin. Then I answered.

“I thought we already understood that you weren’t to talk to me.” I said.

“We can’t go on like this, Stan.”

“Why not?”

“We are friends, aren’t we?”

“No,” I said. “We are not. We are former lovers, one of which dumped the other for the last time. Now go away, and leave me alone.”

She sat and fiddled with a napkin, folding it and unfolding it as if the small task gave her a reason to stay.

“I didn’t keep the date,” she said.

“What date?”

“With Barry.”

“Poor Barry, how did he take it?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t talked to him.”

“You stood him up?”

“Yes.”

“Maybe Barry and I can form a club. Bunny Rejects Anonymous.
BRA.
Has a ring to it.”

“Oh, stop it.”

“We can have monthly meetings here.
Can’t wait for the T-shirts.
When one of us has an overwhelming urge to call you, he calls his BRA sponsor, who rushes over no matter the time of day or night, and the two of them get drunk together.”

“Very funny,” she said. “You don’t have to be mean.” She got up and stomped away. According to Willa, she’d be back. I was counting on that.

I finished lunch and counted the money out. Rodney came in.

“Uncle Stanley, I hoped you’d be here. Can you stay while I have lunch?”

“Sure.”

Rodney ran up to the counter and gave Bunny his order. He came back and sat across from me.

“No candy bar and Coke?” I said.

“No. The dental hygienist at my dentist’s said I needed to take better care of my teeth.”

“You go to the dentist?” That was new.

“I do now.”

Apparently Rodney was serious about a professional career.

“What are you going to do with all those low-crotch shorts you used to wear?”

“Mom had a yard sale.”

“Heaven help the neighbors.”

“Okay, Uncle Stanley, I did some of the research you asked for.”

I sat forward. Anything he could get would be better than nothing.

“Did we get anything?”

“Did we ever? You aren’t going to believe it.”

He sat and looked smug. Bunny brought his lunch, a burger just like I had, and plopped it down without speaking.

“Well,” I asked Rodney, “how long do I have to wait to hear it?”

“Brace yourself.” He took a bite of the burger and talked through his food. “I found only one person in this area in witness protection.”

“Who?”

“Grab your jock strap. It’s William Sproles.”

“Holy shit!
That is something.”

Rodney was excited and proud about his find. “That’s why I couldn’t find anything about them before they moved here. I wasn’t looking in the right place.”

“Was Vitole blackmailing him?”

“I didn’t find any record of it.”

“Sproles has a crappy job and house and car payments. He couldn’t pay Vitole squat.”

“I checked OnlinePay. There’s no record of Sproles sending any money to Vitole.”

“Well, they were neighbors. Maybe he paid in person.”

Rodney shook his head. “I got into their financials pretty deep, Uncle Stanley. I found no record of Sproles paying anyone anything out of the ordinary.”

If Sproles wasn’t paying money to keep Vitole’s mouth shut, how was he doing it? I had a hunch. But it wasn’t much more that that.

 “Well, that’s good to know. Good work, Rodney. See what a haircut and a bath can do for a guy?”

“Now can I go on the next interrogation?”

“No. But you get a bonus.”

“I do?”

“Yeah.
I’ll buy your lunch.”

“Thanks a lot.”

“Who did Sproles testify against before he went underground?”

“He was an accountant.
Used to do the books for a syndicate of drug dealers in
Baltimore
.
He rolled on them when the IRS found shaky bookkeeping in his own personal finances.”

I put money on the table for Rodney’s burger. Rodney gulped down his meal, chug-a-lugged his coffee, and we left.

Bunny watched us go but didn’t say anything.

Chapter 26
 

Rodney and I returned to the office. The stairs were getting easier. He added the new information about Sproles to the whiteboard. I sat back, and chewed on it a while. All I had was speculation.
Nothing concrete.

Given that William Sproles was in witness protection, and that the late Mario Vitole was a retired handler, I wanted to go back and interrogate Sproles, Marsha Sproles, and Stella Vitole. But I didn’t have anything to go on.

This would be one of those occasions where I could have used Bill Penrod’s skills in the room. I was hoping for a confession. One of them, two of them, or all of them had something to do with Vitole’s killing, of that I was certain. But first I needed more evidence, something to back up my suspicions, something they couldn’t deny. I called Buford.

“Are Ramon and Sanford available?”

“I can make them available. When do you want to see them?”

“Right away.”

“Come on out.”

I drove to the Heights. By now Bob knew me on sight and waved me through the gate.
Same with Buford’s guards at his gate and his door.
The guy at the door told me to go into the study.

Buford, Ramon, and Sanford were in the study. Buford had a drink and sat in one of the easy chairs. The other two stood alongside him.

Buford wasn’t wearing his bracelet. I didn’t ask.

“You need me to leave?” Buford asked.

“No. There’s nothing you can’t hear. With luck, what we learn here will get you off the hook. Let’s all sit down.”

The two employees sat on the leather couch, and I sat in the other chair. I got straight to the point.

“Your alibis don’t wash. You weren’t here shooting pool all day. Now I know you guys take turns chauffeuring the ladies around when they go shopping or wherever. What I need to know is this. From the time of the murder until when Mr. Overbee was formally charged the next day, is there any time that the Rolls
was
left in a public place unattended?”

They looked at each other as if one could tell the other what to say.

“We usually stay with the car,” Ramon said.

“Except when we don’t,”
Sanford
said.

Ramon seemed to want to cover his ass.
Sanford
didn’t seem to care.

“That’s what I want to know. When and where was the car out of your sight?”

Buford signaled to Ramon to go get him another drink. “What’s the point of all this?” Buford asked me.

“You said it yourself,” I said. “Somebody planted that gun. It had to be when none of your people was with the car.
Unless, of course, one of your people planted the gun.
We are assuming that neither of them did.” Ramon returned with Buford’s drink. I turned to him and Sanford. “So think, guys, where and when?”

Ramon looked at Buford who said, “Don’t worry. You won’t get in trouble. Tell the man what he needs to know.”

Ramon said, “I went to Starbucks when the ladies were shopping.”

“When?”

“
One o’clock
.”

“For how long?”

“Most of the afternoon.
I read a book and drank coffee. The ladies called me on my cell phone when they were ready to leave. I guess this is my fault. I am sorry.”

“Did you do that any other time?”

“That morning too, Señor.
I walked around the mall.”

I turned to
Sanford
.
“How about you?”
I asked.

“No. I usually take a nap.”

“Could anyone have gotten into the trunk while you were sleeping?”

He shot me a look that said I had asked a stupid question. Buford laughed. First time I ever saw him laugh.

I went back to the office and called Bill Penrod.

“Bill, I need a favor.”

“Name it.”

When Bill said that, he was saying only that you should name it. No promises.

“Can you see if there are surveillance cameras anywhere around Belksdales?”

“I’ll call you back.”

He called back in about five minutes.

“The whole parking lot is covered. The store maintains them.”

“Great.
What’s chances
of getting a warrant for the tapes the day Vitole was killed?”

“Based on what?”

“New evidence.”
I explained about Sproles being in witness protection and my suspicions.

“That’s quite the fishing expedition. I doubt we could get a judge to issue a warrant based on that. Particularly since my boss considers this a closed case and doesn’t like you.
And because of privacy laws that shroud public surveillance videos.”

“I figured as much. Thanks.”

I hung up the phone, lit my last cigarette ever and looked at Rodney.

“Did you make that appointment with Overbee?”

“Yes.”

“Did it have a good outcome?”

“Yes.”

“You understand that I don’t know anything about that?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Go on line, and see if you can find a blank warrant form for evidence in a criminal case.”

Tap
,
click
,
tap
.
“Got it, Uncle Stanley.”

“Print a copy on Willa’s laser.”

He did that and brought the form to me. I scribbled what I wanted on the scratch form and gave it to Rodney.

“Fill in a new copy with a typewriter font, print it, and sign the judge’s name.”

“You’re kidding,” he said. “Judge Roy Bean?”

“Sure.
Why not?”

I got Roscoe out of the safe and clipped it to my belt. With my official-looking counterfeit warrant in hand, I headed out to go shopping.

Belksdales is on the east side of town in an upscale shopping center north of the Interstate. It’s one of the bigger stores there and has its own parking lot.

I went inside and went through the store to management’s offices. I asked a receptionist for directions to security. She sent me down a flight of stairs into a small glass-enclosed space with a wrap-around console housing video monitors surrounding a chair. An elderly man in the usual ill-fitting uniform sat dozing in the chair. His name tag said Jim.

I tapped him on the shoulder. He came awake and looked me up and down. Here I was, a man with fading bruises on his face, casts on his arm and leg, and a crutch, and I was interrupting his busy day. He looked annoyed until I flashed the gold P.I. shield at him. He came to attention and said, “Yes, sir. How can I help you?”

The gold shield again. Best thirty bucks I ever spent.

“Got a warrant here for copies of your parking lot videos.”
I held up the warrant and told him the date and times.

“I should probably run this by the general manager,” Jim said, “but he went home. Can you wait until tomorrow?”

“No. This is for a murder investigation. You might have read about it, Jim. A fellow got shot down in the street in one of the southern subdivisions. I’m under a lot of pressure to close this case.”

“Oh, yeah.
Right near
his own
house. I remember it was on the news. Didn’t you guys get the killer?”

“We did, but our case is weak. He might walk on a technicality. He’s rich and can afford the best lawyers. All we have is a limited budget and not enough manpower. Hell, man, you’re in law enforcement. You know the job.”

He seemed pleased that I included him among the finest.

“Seems the criminals have all the rights and the poor victims ain’t got
none
,” Jim said. “Have a seat over there, please. It’ll take a bit of time.”

I sat and waited while Jim typed on his console’s keyboard. After a couple of minutes he got up and brought a DVD and handed it to me.

“Always happy to help my brothers on the force,” he said. “Don’t take the stairs. There’s a freight elevator down that hall. I use it.
Ain’t getting any younger, myself.”

I thanked him, went to the elevator, and up and out to my car. I drove back to the office whistling all the way. I hoped the video would prove my theory.

I gave Rodney the DVD and said, “Watch the whole thing. There will be several clips, one for each camera. Look for the Rolls. Pull off any sequences in which there is activity around the Rolls, and make a video of only those scenes. Put the new video on another DVD, and make three copies. Put one in the safe. I’ll take the other two.”

“You got it, Uncle Stanley.”

Why do people always say that before you get anything?

“No I don’t,” I said. “But I will after you’ve done what I ask.”

“How do I get into the safe?”

“Willa has the combination. I’ll look at the DVD tomorrow. I’m whipped, and I’m out of here.”

Dinner at Ray’s was quiet. Bunny tried to ignore me while I ate, but whenever I glanced over at her, she was staring at me and quickly looked away.

I went home alone after I ate. I needed a night off. I had a couple books I wanted to read, and I tried that but couldn’t get into either one. The case had me preoccupied. I was dead sure that one of those three people had killed Vitole, and I hoped the DVD would prove it. If it didn’t show anyone opening the trunk, then the culprit had to be Ramon or Missy. Neither Buford nor Sanford
were
stupid enough to keep a murder weapon where the cops would find it. And Serena had an air-tight alibi.