“Like a solution.”
“What do you mean?”
“How would you handle this case if it was yours?”
Gaylord chewed it over all the way to the convenience store. Valentine had decided that the guy wasn’t stupid, just stuck in a crummy system that wouldn’t let him use his brains for anything besides typing reports. As Gaylord pulled into the lot, he slapped the wheel.
“Got it,” he said, a triumphant smile on his face. “We go after the woman who helped Ricky with the blackjack scam. She’s an accessory. Stick the computers we found at the house under her nose and turn the steam on.”
Valentine found himself smiling. Out of the mouths of babes and police sergeants came the most amazing things. He tried to recall the woman at the blackjack table. White hair and cigarettes was all he could pull up. She’d passed Ricky dozens of signals. That took hundreds of hours of practice. And trusting your partner. Only, that had to come naturally.
“She’s a relative,” Valentine said.
Gaylord stared at him. “You think so?”
“Positive.”
“That first cup of coffee must still be working.”
Sitting in the convenience store’s parking lot, Valentine called Bill Higgins at home on his cell phone. Normally, he tried not to call Bill at home and ruin his evenings. In the end, it was only casinos’ money they were talking about, and usually that could wait until the next day. But this was different. He had to assume that Ricky had contacted the woman who’d helped him cheat at blackjack and alerted her to what was going on. Bill needed to grill her, before she had a chance to work on her story.
“Her name is Helen Ledbetter,” Bill said.
“You know her?”
“I interviewed her last week. She’s a retired bookkeeper, used to work for the casinos. You really think she was involved?”
There was real doubt in Bill’s voice. Had Helen Ledbetter served him coffee and something to eat and won him over? She’d rehearsed her role in the scam and probably rehearsed being interviewed by a policeman as well.
“Let me put it another way,” Valentine said. “She’s the only lead we have. And if you can’t link her to Ricky Smith, we don’t have a case.”
“And I’ll probably end up losing my job,” Bill said.
“Correct.”
“I’ll need a search warrant,” Bill said. “Considering I don’t have any evidence, I’m going to have to do some tap dancing before a judge. This is going to take time.”
“How much?” Valentine said.
“Give me until early tomorrow morning.”
Valentine filled two sixteen-ounce Styrofoam cups with coffee and walked to the front of the convenience store. Gaylord was shooting the breeze with the manager, a turbaned Middle Easterner with a permanent smile plastered on his face. As Valentine put the cups on the counter, he saw Gaylord glance at the doughnuts sitting in a cardboard box beside the cash register. What did marketing people call that? Point of purchase. Valentine picked up a napkin and plucked a pair oozing with purple jam.
“These too,” he said. “My treat.”
“Would you like some cigarettes?” the manager asked as he rang up the items.
“How did you know I smoked?”
“Sergeant Gaylord said you were a policeman,” the manager replied.
“Do all cops smoke?”
“All the ones that come into my store do.”
“I’m trying to quit.”
“Nicotine gum perhaps?”
Valentine threw up his arms in defeat. The manager’s smile grew, and he added a package of nicotine gum to his items. Taking out his wallet, Valentine extracted a ten-dollar bill and handed it to him. As he waited for his change, he glanced at his money. He was running low and would need to find an ATM soon. He took the change from the manager and tucked it into his billfold, then noticed a piece of paper he hadn’t remembered seeing before.
He pulled it out and stared at Ricky’s racing slip from the OTB parlor. Printed on it was the date and time of the race and the three winning horses Ricky had picked. Ricky had wagged the slip in his face, then left it on the seat of the car. Valentine guessed he had subconsciously known the slip would come in handy and had stuck it into his wallet. Putting the slip to his lips, he kissed it.
“Did you win the lottery?” the manager asked excitedly.
“Close enough,” Valentine said.
44
Huck and Arlen Dubb were driving across the Florida Panhandle when Arlen said he had to pee. It was growing light, and they were on a desolate stretch of highway called I-10. The highway bisected the northern part of Florida and stretched into two time zones. They had left Gulfport four hours ago and hadn’t pulled over once, Huck fearful of being seen by some rent-a-cop who had nothing better to do than look for wanted criminals.
“Can’t you hold it in?” Huck asked.
“Nuh-uh,” Arlen said.
Forty-eight years old, and Arlen’s brain had never grown past the second grade. Huck reminded himself of that every time he got angry with Arlen. Huck picked up the thermos off the seat and poured the last of Grandma’s iced tea out his window. Handing it to his younger brother, he said, “Do it in this. It will save time.”
Arlen scrunched his face up. “Nuh-uh.”
“Why not?”
“I gotta do both.”
“Why didn’t you say that in the first place?”
“Didn’t want to.”
Huck reined in the urge to curse him. He pushed the car over the speed limit. After a minute a sign flashed by. Rest stop, two miles.
“Hold on, little bro,” he said.
Arlen had his pants undone before he was out of the car. He ran to the brick building that housed the restrooms and hit the door hard with his shoulder, then disappeared.
Huck got out and stretched his legs. His ass felt like it had melted and become part of the car seat. He walked around the grounds and saw a bunch of signs planted in the grass. One was a welcome from Jeb Bush. Another said a twenty-four-hour guard was on duty. He looked for the guard, didn’t see him, then looked for the guard’s car. The lot was empty. It didn’t feel right.
He walked down a concrete path to the edge of the building, lit up a cigarette, and in the flame’s temporary light stared across the grounds. A police cruiser materialized before his eyes. It was sitting in the shadows beside the exit. Was the cop hiding, or taking a snooze?
Huck got back into his car and tapped his fingers on the wheel. The cop hadn’t put his lights on. Maybe he was asleep. Or hadn’t seen them. Or didn’t care. Arlen came out a few moments later munching on a candy bar and hopped in.
“Put your seat belt on,” Huck said.
Huck pulled out of the rest stop and got on the highway. He put the car up to the speed limit but didn’t go over it. A minute later a car appeared in his mirror. Then another, the two vehicles driving side by side. They’d been spotted.
He floored his accelerator. He watched the two cars disappear from his mirror, then glanced at the
