my back against the same wall.
“I know who killed Tony Spiltz,” I said.
“Mr. P.,” she said.
“You,” I answered.
She shook her head and said, “You are somethin’. My mom and dad get murdered. I get thrown in here and you come… You are sick. I’ve seen ’em sick. But you are really sick.”
“I can prove it,” I said.
“You can’t, because I didn’t.”
“I’ve got the gun,” I said. “Found it below Pirannes’s balcony, near a palm tree. Took Ames and me about half an hour, but we found it.”
She shook her head no.
“Smith and Wesson thirty-eight. Silver barrel.”
“I don’t know nothing about guns,” she said, looking at the ceiling.
“You didn’t have to. You just pulled the trigger. I’ve got the gun in my car. It has your fingerprints on it. When I leave here, Sally will stay so you can remain in this room. You walk to the window, look down. I’ll be parked right in front of the Dumpsters. I’ll hold up the gun.”
“I didn’t shoot him,” she said weakly.
“Your story was terrible,” I said. “You’re a smart girl. You could have done better. You could have done all kinds of things. You could have wiped your prints off the gun.”
“You think I wanted to get caught?” she said, turning to me with a look, a typical teen look, that said, Are you nuts?
“I think so. I can make up a story to fit, but it would be faster if you just told me what happened. I’m not out to get you, Adele. I’m out to help you.”
“No,” she said, back to the wall again, arms folded, eyes looking up at the ceiling.
“Okay. Pirannes wasn’t in the apartment with you. Spiltz was. Just you and Spiltz. He was there to keep an eye on you. You weren’t exactly a volunteer. Spiltz went after you. You got his gun, shot him, panicked and didn’t know what to do. You threw the gun over the balcony, managed to get Spiltz’s body into the chair and then you cleaned up the blood where you shot him.”
“No,” she said.
Tears were coming. She fought them back.
“I’ve got the gun. It has your prints. The police, if they know the story, can find the spot you killed him. There’ll be blood traces.”
“I shot him in bed,” she said, her eyes closed. “I wrapped him in the sheets and blankets and dragged him into the living room so there’d be no blood and so it’d be easier to move him. There’s a washer and dryer down four, five doors down. I washed the sheets and blankets, dried ‘em and put ’em back in the cabinet. Then I put new sheets and a new blanket on.”
“He had to have a holster,” I said. “Ames and I didn’t find one.”
“I figured a holster would be too easy to find. Reason I took it off him was I… I thought if he was wearing one when he was found dead, the cops might wonder where the gun was that went in it. I figured if he didn’t have a gun or holster, the cops would figure whoever shot him came and went with his own gun. I rolled the holster up neat and put it in one of Mr. Pirannes’s drawers.”
“That was smart,” I said. “No gun. No connection. Police would think the holster was Pirannes’s. Holsters aren’t registered and they’re not illegal. It might even suggest that a gun might have been in it and it might have been the gun Pirannes used on Spiltz. You really think it out that far?”
“No,” she said, eyes still closed. “I just…”
“It’s full of little holes, but it’s pretty good.”
“I was gonna go back when it was safe, find the gun, bury it fast, but I’m here and you got there first. What’s gonna happen to me?”
“I’m working that out,” I said.
“He was gonna rape me,” she said so softly I could hardly hear. “No one ever did it to me without saying I was willing. Nobody, not my dad, not Tilly, not any man. You won’t understand the difference. A man wouldn’t. Most women wouldn’t.”
“Maybe I’m the exception,” I said.
She looked at me.
“Our five minutes are just about up,” I went on as I checked my watch. “The gun disappears. You stick to your story. The only one who knows it’s not true is Pirannes. The police won’t believe him if they catch him. The problem is that Pirannes has probably figured out that you killed Spiltz.”
“He’ll come for me,” she said. “He’ll kill me.”
“No. I’ll get Sally to keep you in here a couple of more days. I’ll find Pirannes and convince him you didn’t kill Spiltz.”
“How you gonna do that?”
“You’re not the only one who can tell stories,” I said.
“And me?” she asked, turning to me again and pointing to herself. The question came out in a thin, plaintive whine like the air escaping from a balloon.
“You? You get out, go live with Flo Zink and live happily ever after,” I said.
“I’ll give it a try,” she said. “I’ll try. I really will.”
“You’ll make it,” I said with a certainty I didn’t feel.
“You don’t have to show me the gun,” she said. “I believe you.”
The door opened and Sally came in. She looked at Adele, who was looking down at the floor, her arms folded. Then she looked at me.
“You all right, Adele?” Sally asked.
“I’ll be fine. Sally, can I stay here a few days, just a few days? I’ve got some thinking to do, things to work out about my dad, stuff. I gotta get used to going to live with that lady.”
“I think that can be arranged,” Sally said.
“I’ve got to go,” I said.
Sally looked at me with questions in her eyes, questions I might never answer. Then she turned and moved to comfort Adele.
15
The afternoon was gone. I headed down Fruitville, driving into the setting sun. I flipped down my visor till I hit Tamiami Trail and turned right. The sun was big, low and bright over my left shoulder.
I thought about what I was going to do with Tony Spiltz’s gun. I thought about how many laws I was breaking, started counting them and gave up at six. I’d worry about that, if I had to, when and if there was peace for me here in Paradise.
People in business usually arrive early to prepare for the day or the night. They make sure the furniture or stock is in place, the cash register is still working, the pictures on the wall and the merchandise are straight. Lots of things.
Pimps are no different. Tilly was no different. I pulled into the parking lot of the Linger Longer Motel, parked, locked the doors and moved quickly to Tilly’s home away from home.
I knocked. No answer. I knocked louder. No answer.
I went to the office. The kid with the big glasses who spoke a dozen languages looked at me.
“Tilly?” I asked.
“If he’s not in his room, I don’t know,” he said. “I just got here.”
I needed Tilly.
“Take a guess.”
“He usually eats at the Mel-o-dee before he begins his night. Always goes alone. He says he needs some
