Only Make Believe (22 page)

“OK, you win. Who came up to you?”

“Otis Dreyer. Amelia DiGennaro’s lawyer. And you know what he starts with?”

I said no, I couldn’t guess.

“Five brand-new one-hundred-dollar bills. Tries to hand ’em to me. Says Mrs. DiGennaro has decided it will be better for all concerned if the whole matter is dropped. Buried, just like her husband.”

“Some thoughtful neighbor probably showed her Ralph’s scandal-sheet exposé in the
News-Press.
Remember what she said at the hospital? That she wants to protect her children? This has got to be Bradenton’s scandal of the year. She wants to put a lid on it. Can’t blame her for that.”

“People talk. I can’t call off a murder investigation just because it makes somebody unhappy. Especially if a county official’s brother-in-law’s involved some way. I mean—”

“No, but if Mrs. DiGennaro killed her husband, or the son did, with Fletcher’s help or not, you can’t blame her for trying to hush it up.”

“I told him where to put his bribe money.”

“Good thing I didn’t go up there with you. I might have taken the cash. We could buy you a new car. So did he take no for an answer?”

“Bastard doubled the offer. Pulled five more big ones out of his other pocket. Said Mrs. DiGennaro wants to avoid more publicity. Said she’s in the clear in any case. Because—
he says
—she’s got what he informed me is a
alibi
witness
, a individual who is not a member of her immediate family. Hell, Dan, I thought I was listening to Dick Tracy on the radio.”

“Or the Hardy Boys?”

Bud cut me a rueful grin. “Whole thing’s getting to feel more like Terry and the Pirates.”

“So what kind of car are you going to buy? That Jeep’s on its last legs.”

“Huh? Oh hell. I didn’t take the bastard’s money. Kinda wish you
had
been there, though. With a witness, I’d have him disbarred faster than you can say ‘attempted bribery.’”

“He wouldn’t have tried it with a witness. You can still file a complaint, though. Put him on notice.”

Waiter Homer Meadows appeared with more coffee for Bud and a cold Regal for me. Bud didn’t answer until he was gone.

“It’d be a pissing contest. The shyster got my message and put his money away. Then he as much as warned me if we bring charges against the grieving widow we’ll regret it—when I have to defend myself on some kind of false-arrest complaint.”

“They’re playing for keeps. Is the Dragon Lady a damned fool?”

“A fool? You saw her. I’d say no. Anyhow, not only that. When I went by the department on the way back here, there was a registered, special delivery letter from the other legal eagle, Wayne Larue Barfield. He’s done gone to the sheriff and convinced him that I can’t have no dealings with his nephew, Albert Fletcher, unless he or other competent counsel is present.”

“I already took care of Fletcher. I gave you a memo. Remember?”

“Just listen to this horse shit.” Bud reached inside his jacket. The holstered handgun beneath his armpit winked. He pulled out an envelope, unfolded a typed letter and began to read from the second page. “`My nephew, despite his size and manly appearance, is not only childlike in certain ways but somewhat nervous. Overall, he’s a fine church-going man and excellent father. But having an officer of the law enter his house uninvited, invade his privacy and question him about matters that are no concern of the police, much less a private individual, this all so confused and upset my nephew that he shouted at his wife and made their baby cry.’”

“The brat was crying when I got there,” I answered. “And he’s a second or third cousin, not the uncle.”

Bud smiled. “Could be the little tyke saw you coming.”

“Colic, the mother said.”

“Letter don’t say nothing about that. Anyhow, the nephew, cousin, whatever he is, it appears he mistook you for me.”

“I mentioned Sunday night and he seemed to know who I was. I didn’t give him a job description.”

“Maybe you’re a slicker dick than I thought, Lieutenant. OK, so the sister-in-law states he was home the rest of the night. Right? And you didn’t give her your name, either?”

“Right, and probably not. She said she didn’t hear him go out again. She wasn’t with him. Probably no way she could know for sure.”

Bud shrugged. “OK, Fletcher stays on the list.”

“Who else is left? The victim’s wife claims to have an alibi but she’s offering to pay to have the investigation dropped. Who’s she covering for?”

“Her pride and joy, her son and heir? Maybe he had help from his roughneck buddies. That kind of thing’s happened before—sons turning on drunked-up daddies who beat their wives; husbands who put their hands on their innocent daughters and pay the price. Worse.”

“Remember I asked Ted Peters about that? He said it’s highly unlikely with a middle-class boy. I still think the mob was involved somehow. That would be easier. You could just write it off.”

Bud swigged coffee and set down the cup heavily. “Could be you’re correct. Sounds a little too much like
True Crime
magazine
,
though. Could be I need to dump the whole thing on the FBI’s field office over in Miami—whether your boss and my boss like it or not. And I guess I’ll have to go back and talk to your little
middle-class
roughnecks, individual-like. See what they say.”

I finished my beer. “Let me check on the Bradenton boys. I talk middle-class a lot better than you do. I learned enough of it in the fraternity house and the navy.”

“Bull shit, Lieutenant. You better keep your nose out of that part of my investigation. You hear? You might queer the whole thing.”

“My nose is already in it, Sarge. Right up to my ears. And I’m not queering anything.” I laughed. “Except you. Nice choice of words, though.”

“You’re gonna check on what? Why the Hell do you figure the boys are going to tell you anything true? Like you said, Junior’s willing to lie.”

“So am I, when I have to. But it just doesn’t fit. Not that kid. I’ve seen killers. You’ve seen killers. That boy couldn’t kill a squirrel with a blowtorch”

“And you think I should call in the feds?”

“No. I think you should contact Amelia DiGennaro’s lawyer again, tell him you’ve been informed that Nick was connected and see what he says. Let him deny it, and then ask if he can hook you up with the Tampa syndicate on an informal, off-the-record basis to confirm or deny. Just say it’s another line on your checklist. Tell him you’re looking at Nick’s business ties in homicide terms only. Tell him if that pans out then his client is in the clear. That should give me time to talk to the boy and his buddies.”

Bud considered. “Bad idea. But I do want more information on Muscles Fletcher. Did he look like a church-goer to you? Can you check on that for me? Without going near the individual?”

“Amen, brother. And give me one for one. What I want to know about is Mama DiGennaro’s alibi. Ask her lawyer to spell it out. Or else threaten to bring her in for questioning.”

“Will do, Dan. Anybody ever tell you you might make a hell of an investigator?”

I got to my feet, moved in front of his chair again and slowly rubbed my bare torso and damp bathing trunks with the towel. “I’m doing my best to qualify as Hardy Boy Number Two. But you never know. I might queer the whole thing.”

I phoned club pianist Tommy Carpenter from the locker room. I figured he could scare up a second opinion on Al Fletcher’s reputation as church-goer and all-round good citizen. Tommy, an undercover civil rights organizer, kept up with local gossip through an informally integrated league of young Sunday school teachers and what would come to be called social activists. But when I asked him to skip the cocktail music for tonight and help with the investigation, he tried to duck the assignment.

“Has this got anything to do with whites and coloreds? I’m cool with a lot of these high-church honkies right now. But it took a while, you hear me? Your priest friend’s voting rights project is working out real good. So I don’t want to mess up none of those delicate connections. Nor yours, either, if you get my meaning.”

A couple of years earlier, I’d had a brief fling with a civil rights organizer from up North, Father Frank Bridge. It happened when Bud was still trying to deny his feelings for me. It pissed him off royally but helped solve a case. We’d argued about it before calling things even. Until now, I was unaware that Tommy knew my connection to Father Bridge. I wondered who else was privy to what I’d thought was a secret.

“Be cool. Just ask around. This has to do with somebody getting killed. Somebody you worked with. Remember?”

Tommy snorted. “Only too well. OK, boss, I’ll see what I can do. Tell you the truth, though, I never heard of the Fletchers. And I’ve lived here five years.”

Tommy called back later that night. He’d talked to two white churchwomen, reformed sinners of different denominations. One had dated both Fletcher boys. The other claimed to be friends with Rob Fletcher’s wife. They told Tommy plenty but made him swear not to mention their names.

“Mrs. X, she admit she was a bad girl back then, back in the early Forties. Shameless hussy, worse than a whore, only nobody knew about it except God.”

“And the people she whored with.”

I expected Tommy to laugh but he didn’t. “She say the Fletcher boys was handsome as show horses, boss, she’ll give us that. The older brother, Rob? She say he was the better lover. Brought her flowers. Was gentle. Went slow. Some of the things he did to her made her crazy, though. He talked her into doing things she say none of the girls she ran around with ever dreamed of.”

“Or admitted dreaming of?”

“That may be so. She say Albert, the one you call Muscles, was different. On the first occasion she was with him, she and Rob and him went to the beach together, all three. And, and—she really didn’t want to tell me this—I had to talk sweet—one thing led to another.”

“All three?”

“Uh huh. She went with Albert a couple more times, just the two. Said he wasn’t so considerate on his own. So she got shut of him. Shut of both brothers, in fact.”

Diva and the Sloan twins jumped to mind. I pushed the thought aside. “I’m surprised she told you that much.”

“I’m filling in some details that weren’t spelled out
per se.
What I’m saying is the gist.”

“Gist for the mill, huh?”

“You’re a card, boss. Glad you can laugh with the Diva not dead a week. And my friend’s son, Sergeant Washington, hardly cold in the ground.”

Ouch
. “What about the other lady?”

“Hmm, well, Miss Y, she claim she never had any personal dealings with either brother at that time. She just in school with them, but in a different crowd. However, she did go steady with a boy who played ball with Albert for several years. She say that Albert, he talked a good deal to the other athletes about loving up every pretty lady from here to Arcadia. But she says all the jockstrap boys talked that way. She say the only place he ever stood out was on the football field, due to his size and strength. Only he got kicked off the team. As she remembers it—and I’m figuring this must be second hand, from her boyfriend—the place-kicker said something to Albert in the gym shower after a game they lost, something Albert didn’t like. Albert picked the boy up, threw him against the wall and broke his arm. Albert was suspended for the rest of the season. He’d already missed a couple grades and he dropped out of school soon after.”

“Big, strong and violent. You’d think the draft board would have been after him like a foxes on a duck.”

“And there was another incident, boss. It was over a girl putting out—or not putting out, something like that. Miss Y believes it had to do with the young lady that Albert knocked up, that he actually had to marry. Miss Y say that he say he was defending his wife-to-be’s honor. And that he’s a good man. At least in that respect.”

“Doesn’t mean much if she’s close with Mrs. Rob.”

“Maybe not. But that’s the story she tell me.”

“Another local source called the girl he married a slut.”

“That may be, too, boss. It isn’t what was said to me.”

“Do the Fletchers attend church?” I asked, frustrated, looking for another opening.

“Christmas and Easter, she say, boss. Christmas and Easter.”

The letter on my desk, signed ‘A Christian,’ was set off by crude crosses scratched on each corner. There was no return address on the envelope. It had been mailed the previous day, Friday, at the open-air post office on First Street, two blocks away.

Sir,

You could be NEXT. We have been watching you. We know how many sins against Christ in GOD you allow under your roof. We do not want the Devil in Myers no more. Myers is always a GOD Fearing City of the Lord. But now a blaspheeming farry was struck dead as a warning with his pants down. GOD is not mocked. This is HIS message from on High. If the farreys and nigroes and hores of Babylon and Sodom are not expeled and driven OUT, and your place turned into a place for GOD-fearing Christian People to enter, your place will be purged by FIRE. This is the Lord’s Will. Heed HIS Warning Before it is TOO Late.