“No,” Nick shot back.
Harry looked at Jim. It was time for him to jump in. He did, and he came in hard.
“You’re a liar,” he snapped, his eyes cold and hard on Nick.
“Fuck you,” Nick responded weakly. He hadn’t anticipated the sudden turn, the hard edge to Jim’s body language. He thought he was in control and it had taken him by surprise.
“You were jealous of every man who had ever been with her. She was beautiful, more beautiful than any woman you’d ever had. Men saw her on television and sat in their living rooms wanting her. And now you had her. You, Nick Benevuto, a short, fat, aging womanizer, who could only get a woman when he could browbeat or threaten her into it. And you weren’t going to let this one slip away. You weren’t going to share her with anybody. So you started following her, and when you caught her with that pathetic salesman, all dressed up like a cowboy, you flipped out and killed them both.”
“Prove it. It’s all bullshit!”
Harry watched Jim bear in, ignoring Nick’s denial.
“And when you realized what you’d done, you knew you had to do two things. First, you had to move the body so it was sure to come under county jurisdiction, where you’d have some involvement in the investigation. And second, you knew people were watching her, and that somebody might have seen your department car at Darlene’s house, might even have written down the license plate, so you had to cover yourself, you had to alter department records so they never showed you taking that particular car out.”
“It’s bullshit and you know it.”
Again, Jim ignored him. “And then you found out that Bobby Joe Waldo knew about you and Darlene, so you went to him and threatened him, scared the living hell out of him. But Harry Doyle was on his case; had him named as a suspect because people had seen him at Darlene’s house. And you knew Harry was good, you knew he’d break him down eventually, and that the little punk would give you up to save himself. So this afternoon you went to see him, didn’t you?”
“What the fuck are you talking about? I was never anywhere near that dope-peddling little prick. I never even met the son of a bitch.”
“You went to him and you killed him, just like you killed Darlene. You killed him because you knew he’d not only tell Harry about you and Darlene, about how you’d threatened her and blackmailed her into having sex with you, but that he’d tell him how you were threatening him to keep his mouth shut. You knew Harry would break him eventually, and so you had no choice. It was a ball rolling downhill and you couldn’t stop it.”
“The kid minister is dead?”
Harry noted the genuine shock on Nick’s face. If he was acting, he’d missed his calling in life.
“Stop the innocent act, Nick,” Vicky said. “If you want to show us you had nothing to do with this, let us toss your apartment, right now, tonight.”
Harry could see the wheels turning in Nick’s head. He was clearly thinking about what they might find there if he allowed a search. But it wasn’t necessarily what they might find about Darlene or Bobby Joe Waldo. Harry knew if they tossed his apartment and found the duplicate evidence he kept at home, he might easily face a suspension. Very few cops, if any, were clean as the driven snow. If the department wanted to get something on you, there was always something they could find.
“Let me think about it?” Nick said.
“Think about it for how long?” Jim asked.
“A day or two,” Nick said, knowing it was more than they’d agree to, but also knowing they’d have a tough time getting a search warrant any faster.
“Just enough time to clean out the place,” Vicky said. “That’s bull.
Would you give a suspect a day or two?”
“So now I’m a suspect? I thought I was a brother cop.”
“You’re both,” Jim said.
Nick leaned forward again, glaring at him. “If I wanted to toss a suspect’s crib, I’d get a search warrant. Maybe you should do that, rookie.”
“So you’re refusing?” Vicky asked.
“You bet your ass I’m refusing. And as far as I’m concerned, this interview is over.”
Nick sat back in his chair, stone-faced, hands in his lap. Harry noticed that his hands were trembling slightly. He was scared, and he should be scared. Harry was sure murder charges would never hold up. But Nick had to know they could be filed. Mistakes had been made before. Harry still didn’t make him for either murder. It just didn’t add up, and he’d fight filing charges against Nick. But at best the guy’s career had been tarnished beyond redemption. Even if he remained with the department, it would never again be in a position of trust or authority.
“You still don’t make Nick for either murder?” Vicky’s tone was pure incredulity.
“Are you going to back us on a warrant?”
“Go for your warrant,” Harry said. “I agree he’s a viable suspect. I just don’t think he’s our guy.”
“And who do you think is?” Jim asked.
Harry studied his shoes for a moment, considering how much he wanted to say. “I still think it’s someone connected to Bobby Joe’s church. And I think he knew who that person was, and it was somebody who really scared the hell out of him.”
“You said his father scared him to death,” Vicky said.
“No, this wasn’t someone who just intimidated him. This was somebody who made Bobby Joe believe he’d be killed if he ever talked. But his father was part of it. His father sent out a call asking his parishioners to get something on Darlene. Bobby Joe answered that call-that’s how he met Darlene. But our killer answered it too, and Bobby Joe knew it. That’s what eventually got him killed. The parents of the kid Darlene molested gave me a copy of a church bulletin where that call from Reverend Waldo was repeated. That’s the only thing that was taken from my house when the killer broke in. That’s the connection, that church bulletin. So I’m going to find out why it was important enough to make our killer risk breaking into my house. And when I do, I’ll know who killed Darlene and Bobby Joe.”
“I don’t buy it, Harry,” Vicky said. “It still could have been Nick Benevuto. Bobby Joe knew about him and his connection to Darlene. And Nick smells to high heaven on this. The only thing we haven’t been able to do is place him at the scene. When we get our warrant, we’ll do that. In the meantime, I need people watching his house to keep him from removing any evidence.”
“I’ll assign the two Tarpon detectives, Davis and Deaver. You two can alternate with them, take turns sitting on him. One at a time, six-hour shifts each.”
“That’s going to slow us down,” Vicky complained.
“I can’t help it,” Harry said. “Give it thirty-six hours. If you don’t get a warrant by then, you’re not going to get one. But right now I can’t spare any more manpower.”
“You can’t spare it for a suspect you don’t believe in,” she said.
Harry gave her a long, hard look. “That’s right, Vicky, not for a suspect I don’t believe in.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
It was ten o’clock when Harry finally made it home. Jocko Doyle was seated on the living room sofa, glasses perched on the end of his nose, a Stuart Kaminsky mystery in his lap. Harry noticed he had his old, off-duty. 38 snub nose on his hip, a weapon he rarely wore since his retirement from the Clearwater P.D.
“Where’s Rubio?” Harry asked.
“He’s out on the lanai watching TV.”
“Jeanie?”
“In bed, asleep,” Jocko said.
Harry started toward the bedroom.
“Hold up a minute,” Jocko said, stopping him. “There was a call from that assistant state’s attorney, Cal Morris. He’s got some info on your mother you need to hear.” He raised his chin indicating a pad on the coffee table.
