Zuni kept the proceedings from turning into a witch hunt.
Bell said, “So you don’t have a record of the detective using a temporary evidence locker?”
The heavyset, middle-aged man acted like Bell was a fifth grader. “I said this before and now I will repeat myself for the fourth time. He was checking in something, I don’t know what, and took a temporary evidence key. Whoever took in the package and gave him the key expected him to be back in the next few minutes and didn’t log it for some reason. It was a mistake that I accept responsibility for. But it happened and I do not have time to explain it to you even once more. Is there anything that confuses you in that statement, Mr. IA?” He had spoken slowly and clearly.
Patty smiled at his condescending manner, chalking it up to some past run-in with the Internal Affairs division.
Bell said, “If we don’t have the key to the second lock how do we get into the locker?”
The evidence custodian rubbed his bald head and said, “We do have an emergency master key. But we don’t use it very often.”
Bell said, “I think this qualifies as an emergency. You can use it on my authority.”
The evidence custodian chuckled, reached low under his counter, and handed him a three-foot-long set of bolt cutters, saying, “Ooh, your authority. I can’t wait to see if these things work. I’ve never been authorized to use them before.” The evidence custodian didn’t even wait to see Bell’s reaction. He rolled his eyes and went back to his usual work.
Bell, Sparky, and Sergeant Zuni walked across the outer room to the wall of fifty lockers. They scanned the numbers along the top row to find the locker the narcotics detective had used. The evidence custodian had given Sergeant Zuni his key to the second lock. Once they found the locker the evidence lock was opened and off instantly. Then Bell used the big bolt cutters on the second heavy-duty lock. He struggled as he pulled the handles together and let the giant clippers snap through the shackle of the padlock.
He wasted no time opening the locker and even from her position, Patty could see a gray bundle. She stepped behind the group as Bell pulled it out and saw the initials and date written by the injured narcotics detective.
Sparky looked at Ronald Bell and said in a very moderate and cool tone, “Perhaps you people in IA should read up on policy a little more. We could’ve avoided this entire ugly incident had you showed a bit more interest in doing your job well.”
Patty smiled at the portly detective’s comment.
Sergeant Zuni summed it up more succinctly. She looked at the IA investigator and said, “You’re a douche bag.”
Patty Levine laughed out loud for the first time in a week.
FIFTY-ONE
Tony Mazzetti felt the week start to catch up to him on Friday morning. He had set up an interview room in the administrative section of Shands hospital. The management and security at Shands could not have been more helpful and open to the investigation. Their help sped along a number of tasks he had to complete on the murder case. He also felt a lift in his spirits when he heard that the missing narcotics had been found and no one would get in trouble for it. He was starting to realize that Patty Levine had been a suspect and it bothered him. It bothered him because he didn’t understand how a great cop like Patty could fall into the crosshairs of Internal Affairs and he didn’t understand why Patty had not wanted to talk to him about it at all.
He’d spoken to her last night, hoping she might suggest he come over. Instead she was polite and cool. Just before he ended the phone call she said the words he had been dreading, “I think we need to talk sometime this weekend.”
He felt the same way, but based on the way she’d been acting and the tone of her comment, he suspected they each had two entirely different things to say. In his mind he was already trying to figure out how to arrange his life without falling back into the lonely routine he had lived before he met Patty.
He sighed and looked down at a notepad, trying to build an interest in talking to one of the thirty hospital employees who thought they might get to help him in his investigation. There were two other rooms with detectives taking down information. Mazzetti realized he should be coordinating information and supervising the investigation, but he needed to settle down to a simple task for a little bit.
As Mazzetti was about to call down for his next witness, a tall, odd-looking young man of about thirty poked his head in the door, pushed his dark brown glasses up on his face, and said, “Are you one of the cops looking into the murder of Katie Massa?”
“I am.” The young man gave off an odd vibe and Mazzetti let his hand drop to the side where his Glock sat on his hip.
“I think I need to talk to you”
“You have information?”
“Yes, I know who killed her.”
Mazzetti sighed, set down his pen, and finally said, “Really? And who would that be?”
“Me.”
Buddy had parked his van with the magnetic sign slapped on the side. He couldn’t believe how long he had agonized over the logo for Classic Glass Concepts. He had given a sort of a regal sketch to the sign company, which had made him five signs he could slap on his van. He’d lost two, one had been defaced, and one had faded. The best part was that he got the signs for free when he fixed a broken window in the sign company showroom. He charged them for materials and made the labor seem harder than it really was so they didn’t think they were being ripped off.
He’d taken this job at the hotel for two reasons. The woman hadn’t offered him his full estimate, but it wasn’t bad money and she was a very likely candidate for his work of art. From a strategic standpoint it didn’t make sense to use a subject that he’d worked so closely with. But the time to worry about covering his tracks was past and Buddy had come to terms with it.
Had Detective Martinez talked to him about Cheryl a year or two ago, he might have learned something about police procedure he could’ve used. Instead he had the sense Detective Martinez had a lot to do and not very much help on his investigation. He wondered if all police investigations were like that and if his constant worry over the years about being discovered had been a waste of time.
As he lay down his tools and cut the caulk from around the outside of the wide bay window he looked up to see the lovely Liz coming out the front door of the ramshackle hotel. She turned toward him with a steaming cup of coffee and a wide, bright smile.
She said, “I thought a good cup of strong coffee might start you off on the right foot.”
He accepted it with a gracious smile.
“How long do you think this’ll take?”
“I should be out of your hair by lunchtime.”
“I wasn’t trying to rush you. I just wanted to know if you’d like me to make you lunch around noon?” She placed a delicate hand on his shoulder.
That was all he needed. It was like an electric shock. The combination of her sweet smile, pretty face and kind manner was all he needed to know for sure that she was the final piece of his work of art.
John Stallings checked in at the office, hoping the media coverage had generated a decent new lead. He was ready to go out and get something done. In the darkest corners of his heart he recognized he wouldn’t mind punching someone. Someone who deserved punching. Just the thought made him feel better. He didn’t like that side of his nature, but as he got older he’d come to accept it. There were many cops who never came to terms with their natural instincts. Really smart guys who tried to act tough. Tough guys who wanted to show how organized they were. Police work took all kinds of cops to complete.
The squad bay was very quiet as Sergeant Yvonne Zuni came in the main door and paused at Stallings’s desk. She said, “How are you today, Stall?”
