Russo hustled me into an elevator and took me to the War Room on the top floor. It was actually a spacious conference room outfitted with sixteen phone lines and a wall of TV sets that carried all the major networks, and was where strategy was coordinated when there were emergencies like major hurricanes and wildfires. The room resembled my office at Tugboat Louie's, with pictures of Skell's victims taped to the wall and the case files spread on a large oval desk. Dead coffee cups lay everywhere, and when Russo slammed the door, they started to shake.
“You are a bad news buffet, you know that?” he shouted at me. “Every time I turn around, this case gets worse, and you're standing in the middle of it, pretending you don't have a fucking clue as to what's going on.”
I wanted to apologize for my behavior outside, but I didn't see it doing much good. Instead I handed him the transmitter.
“This is the transmitter I found on my car. The guy I saw at Julie Lopez's house put it there. The same guy who shot three holes into my car on 595.”
Bobby gave the transmitter a cursory look and tossed it into the trash.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“Park your ass in a chair and shut up,” he replied.
“But that's evidence.”
“Leave it there.”
There was real menace in his voice. I sat in the nearest chair and watched him remove a cassette tape from his pocket and insert it into a player on the desk.
“When was the last time you spoke with Melinda Peters?” Russo asked.
“Last night.”
“What was her mood like?”
“She was scared out of her mind that Skell would get out.”
“So she didn't tell you that she was going public.”
“I don't know what you're talking about, Bobby.”
Russo started the player. Music came out of the machine that faded into Neil Bash's abrasive voice. It was a tape of his talk show.
“I have a special guest on the line with me today,” Bash said. “Her name is Melinda Peters, and along with being one of Fort Lauderdale's premier adult entertainers, she was a key witness in the murder trial of Simon Skell, aka the Midnight Rambler. How are you doing today, Melinda?”
There was a short pause.
“I'm okay,” Melinda said.
“May I call you Melinda?”
“Sure.”
“I appreciate your coming on the show. There's been a lot of buzz in the last few days about Simon Skell being railroaded by a Broward County detective named Jack Carpenter. So far, the sheriff 's office hasn't responded. Since you were a witness at the trial, I was hoping you'd share your thoughts with our audience.”
Another pause.
“It was all Jack's idea,” Melinda said.
“What was Jack's idea?” Bash asked.
“My testifying.”
“Well, that's his job. He's a detective and he gets people to testify. Nothing new there.”
“He told me what to say,” Melinda said.
My fist slammed the table, knocking several empty coffee cups to the floor.
“It gets worse,” Russo said.
I leaned forward in my chair and stared at the tape player.
“Are you saying that Jack Carpenter
“He made everything up,” Melinda blurted out.
“
“Yeah.”
“But he is, or should I say was, a police officer. Why would he do that?”
Another pause. “Jack and I were going out together. .”
“You mean you were having an affair,” Bash jumped in.
“That's right. Then I met Simon Skell while I was dancing at a club, and he asked me out. He was nice, so I started seeing him on the side.”
“So you were dating Simon Skell
“Yeah.”
“What happened?”
“Jack found out and didn't like it.”
“Now, wait a minute, Melinda,” Bash said. “If I remember correctly, you testified at trial that Simon Skell abducted you and kept you locked in a dog cage in his house and tortured you while playing Rolling Stones songs, specifically ‘Midnight Rambler.’ Are you telling us now this wasn't true?”
“It didn't happen,” Melinda said.
I closed my eyes and imagined I was still submerged in thirty feet of water and the lemon sharks were swarming around me, only this time they were tearing me apart, one limb at a time. The water clouded with blood, and I silently screamed.
“So everything you said was a lie, Melinda,” Bash said.
Another pause.
“That's right,” she replied.
“And you helped send an innocent man to jail,” Bash said.
“Uh-huh,” she said.
I opened my eyes. Now it all made sense. Big Al's questions about me leaving town, the crazy scene outside.
“Are you still there, Melinda?” Bash asked.
“Yeah,” she said.
“Tell me why you did it.”
Again, she didn't answer.
“Did you love him? I'm talking about Jack Carpenter.”
“No,” she said.
“But you had an affair with him.”
“I found out he was cheating on me.”
“He was seeing another woman?”
“Yes. Her name is Joy Chambers.”
“Is she a dancer?”
“She's a prostitute,” Melinda said.
“If you don't love Jack Carpenter, then why did you do it?”
Another pause.
“He threatened me. Said he'd make my life living hell if I didn't play along. He had all these cases of missing girls that he couldn't solve, and he saw Simon as the perfect suspect, if I'd just play ball.”
“So you went along with him.”
“That's right.”
“Can I ask you one more question, Melinda?”
“Okay.”
“Do you feel ashamed by what you did?”
There was a short silence, followed by a dial tone. Bash took a commercial break, and Russo turned off the cassette player while looking at me as if I were some piece of trash in a holding cell. I wanted to defend myself but didn't know where to start. I thought back to last night's conversation with Melinda. What had I said to cause
