Death at China Rose (Sunshine State Murders) Page 4

  “You the primary?” I asked.

  Berry tapped his prodigious paunch and nodded. “So, what happened here?”

  I pretended to think about it and said, “Looks like attempted murder.”

  “Very funny, Gorsky—don’t quit your day job. I’m asking how come you found Harry.” Berry’s voice caught a little when he said Harry. But everybody knew everybody else in tiny Grubber County.

  “It was happenstance. I was driving on Big Pine Terrace when I saw Bambi on the road. I gave her a lift to Harry’s house, and that’s when we found him.”

  “I’m confused about one thing.”

  I bit my tongue and nodded—there were many things that confused Berry.

  “How’d you happen on this particular road?”

  I shrugged. “I was going to China Rose’s for a beer and took the wrong turn.”

  Berry’s beady eyes narrowed. “Kind of far from your regular stomping grounds.”

  I shrugged and glanced at the bungalow. “I got more than I bargained for.”

  Berry followed my gaze. “It’s pretty awful. I never seen anything like it.”

  “Me neither.”

  His big head tilted at me. “Not even when you worked Homicide in Baltimore? I mean, I watched that TV show all the time, and that city was pretty grisly.”

  “Real life isn’t like television,” I said, silently adding that sometimes it was much, much worse.

  “Yeah,” Berry said, unconvinced.

  “Harry has a lot of friends,” I said. “Everybody’s pretty shook up.”

  Berry’s smile held real affection. “Harry’s a prince. Screwy as hell, but a prince.” He stretched his back out, stared into the dark, impenetrable woods. “Last year that crazy camper attacked a young couple in the woods—I bet this is the same kind of thing.”

  “Any evidence of robbery?” I asked, remembering the wallet on the table.

  Berry shook his head. “The wallet didn’t look to be touched—money and credit cards still inside. It was a madman that did this, and I’ve got him bottled up.”

  “How so?”

  “Eula Lee Road’s the only way in and out of China Rose. We set up a checkpoint at the entrance to China Rose not five minutes after the first uniforms arrived. If he tries to leave, we’ve got him.”

  “A big if—the perp could hide out in these woods for days.”

  “That’s why we’re getting a search under way—immediately if not sooner.” Berry’s smile was smug and satisfied, but I wasn’t sure this was the way to go.

  The checkpoint was a smart move, but a search of the fish camp was a stretch. Maniac or not, the perp might be miles away by now, and even if he were somewhere in the woods, a nighttime search was easier said than accomplished. Hell, I’d only gotten a little taste of China Rose’s back roads and paths—there were plenty of places to hide. If it were my investigation, I’d want to talk to the people closest to Harry first—particularly Charlie Ware. I wondered if Berry was even aware of Charlie’s empty trailer.

  “Have you talked to Bambi’s dad yet?” I asked casually. Evidently I had to work on my casual tone—Berry’s eyes brightened and his thick neck jutted out.

  “Charlie Ware? How do you know Charlie?”

  “I don’t know him. Bambi mentioned him, that’s all.” I left it at that. Even an asswipe like Berry should be able to see the way forward. “I was just thinking that Bambi should have family with her.”

  Berry grunted, shot a last look at the trees and stomped off. He grabbed a uniform and yakked in his ear. A minute later the deputy was in his cruiser, no doubt speeding for Charlie’s trailer. With that taken care of, I figured now was a good time for an exit. I was about to slip into the Vic when someone tapped my shoulder.

  “I appreciate what you said earlier, ma’am,” Deputy Ford said with a bashful smile.

  “Call me Addie.” Ma’am was a term of respect in the South and I’d mostly gotten used to it, but when a kid like Ford used it, I felt about a hundred years old. “You know, Deputy, there’s no shame in being human—quite the contrary.”

  Red splotches appeared on Ford’s pale face and he mumbled something unintelligible.

  “So how’s Bambi?”

  Ford said she was on her way to the hospital. “She’s awful worried about her grandfather, but she did want me to thank you. When I told her you were Addie Gorsky, the private investigator who solved that mess out in Mystic Cove last year, she couldn’t believe it. Oh, did I do something wrong?”

  “It’s all right,” I said. As I walked backed to the Vic, I rationalized that maybe it didn’t matter that my cover was blown at China Ridge. In light of the current situation, there was a good chance Etta would put the kibosh on my search for Rose Ware—tonight might be my first and last sojourn at China Rose. But until Etta shut me down, I was involved, and I had an idea.

  I sat in the Vic for several long minutes. It was a dangerous play, but there was potentially a big payoff. Liking the odds, I dialed Charlie’s cell.

  A voice answered, sounding like a scratchy record that had been played one too many times. “This is Charlie, leave a message.”

  “We’ve never met, Mr. Ware. My name is Addie Gorsky. I’m a private investigator. By now you probably realize that you’re in a shitload of trouble. Call me. I might be able to help.”

  The trap was baited and set. Would Charlie bite?

  * * *

  It was after midnight when I got home. I grabbed a cold one and called the hospice, even though Pop was probably sound asleep by now. It had been two, no three weeks since he’d gone into hospice. After several rings, the nurse answered.

  The clipped female voice said that when she checked on Stanislaw Gorsky at eight he was resting comfortably. “Would you like to leave a message?”

  “No message.” I ended the call, only realizing after the fact that the nurse had been talking. I hadn’t meant to be rude but I’d had my fill of kind euphemisms and professional solicitude. The nurse had said Pop was resting comfortably.

  If only I could believe that. I’d seen my father rest and there was no comfort in it—the sallow face and shallow breaths, the way he winced with the slightest movement or lightest touch. Resting comfortably. God, I was sick of bullshit, no matter how kind. Just give me the truth. These cheerful thoughts were interrupted by a knock at the door, followed by an outburst of furious yapping from Jinks.

  The tall, lean form of Sheriff Brad Spooner filled my door. “I should have known you were in the middle of this clusterfuck,” he said by way of greeting.

  I waved Brad inside and went to the kitchen for a couple of cold ones. Although I’d expected that Brad would contact me once he learned of my involvement in the events at China Rose, I was surprised at his timing—surely this could have waited until morning. When I returned, Brad and Jinks were comfortably settled on the couch. I joined them.

  “Thanks,” Brad said, taking the proffered beer.

  While we both drank, I studied Brad’s dark features. Although his sun-bronzed face bore the unmistakable signs of a long, hard day, there was an intensity in his manner that belied any fatigue. “You could have just called.”

  “No, I couldn’t—it’s too damn easy for you to lie over the phone.”

  So it was going to be like that. As a PI my relationship with Brad Spooner, and by extension the entire Grubber County Sheriff’s Office, was complicated.

  “You weren’t at China Rose’s by accident. It had to be PI business.”

  I took a long pull on my beer. There was no point in denying the obvious so I took the last refuge of PIs. “I can’t discuss client business.”

  “I don’t want you to. I just have one question—is Charlie Ware your client?”

  I was dumbstruck. Brad was not a man who jumped to conclusions, and yet he’d just taken a hell of a leap.

  “You are working for Ware, aren’t you?” Brad said, though he sounded less certain.

  “I don’t know Charlie Ware from Adam,” I said, feeling almost virtuous. Too often the PI game was a twisted business of lies and deceit. It was damned refreshing to squirm my way out of a tight squeeze with the truth.

  “So why were you at China Rose’s tonight?”

  I was about to point out that this was question number two when my cell rang. I checked the number and my heart grew cold. “I have to take this—it’s the hospice.”

  I walked into the kitchen. It was the nurse I’d just spoken to. “What’s happened? Is Pop...”

  “Nothing’s happened. Your father’s still sleeping.” The nurse explained that after our conversation, she’d checked on Pop and reviewed his chart. “You sounded so concerned that I checked your dad’s chart. You’ll be happy to know his appetite’s improved—he ate most of his dinner tonight and his snack. He watched a little TV and then went to bed.”

  “Sorry I was an asshole before. Thanks for calling.” I took a deep breath and rejoined Brad on the sofa. I was going to pick up where we’d left off, when I felt Brad’s eyes on me.

  “Hospice? When did this happen?”

  “Three weeks ago.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  I felt awful. Brad knew Pop’s dire medical situation. The two men—one a sheriff and the other a former police sergeant—were friends. Last year I barely knew Brad Spooner and now I couldn’t imagine life without him. Brad was right—I should have told him that Pop was in the twelfth round, that the knockout punch we all knew was coming was just around the corner. “I didn’t want to t
alk about it—to anyone.” It was as honest an answer as I had.

  Brad sipped his beer. “You’re too damn private. You keep secrets that don’t need keeping.”

  I wanted to tell Brad he was wrong, that all secrets needed keeping. In that respect I’m like my Polish forebears, who understood that the wise soul keeps its own counsel. Not that I was wise, far from it. At thirty-nine years, I’d made enough mistakes to pave my own private road to perdition, but I knew how to keep secrets, and this ability had served me well.

  But rather than try to explain this to Brad, I made a joke. “Hey, I’m a private investigator—it goes with the territory.”

  Brad didn’t laugh, didn’t even smile. “I need to question Charlie—if he is your client, you need to tell him to get his butt to GCSO headquarters immediately.”

  “Is he a suspect?”

  “Right now he’s a person of interest, but based on what we saw inside Charlie’s trailer, we really need to speak with him.”

  “Quick work getting a warrant,” I fired back, unable to resist a needle.

  “I didn’t need a warrant to look inside the trailer—we were in fresh pursuit of a person of interest in a vicious attack, and since when are you so concerned about warrants?”

  I let that pass. Worrying about warrants and probable cause was one part of having the badge I didn’t miss. “Well, I don’t know where Charlie Ware is or even what he looks like.” When Etta briefed me, she’d shown me an old picture of Harry, but had nothing on Charlie or Bambi. “You want another beer?”

  Brad drank off the bottle and nodded. When I returned with fresh provisions, I asked why he’d been so cocksure Charlie was my client.

  “Because lately Charlie’s been acting like a man who needs a PI, and then you turn up at China Rose tonight.”

  “Charlie’s been acting strangely?” I prodded.

  Brad smiled faintly. “Sorry, confidential information.”

  “Right.” Time to me for change the tune, if not the lyrics, of this conversation. “Did Berry catch anything with his dragnet of China Rose?”

  Brad’s eyebrows came together. “An empty net so far.”

  “What about his search of the woods?”

  “Berry reconsidered the search.” Brad rubbed his eyes and laid his head back. “This is going to be hard on the community. Harry Pitts is a sort of legend in Grubber County. There’s going to be a lot of pressure for us to find the perp and soon.”

  “At the crime scene I heard the guys talking about Harry.” The one bright spot of this awful night was the almost universal affection that people had for the old fellow. In fact, the only person who’d disparaged Harry Pitts was Etta. “Harry sounds like a...character,” I added carefully.

  Brad laughed. “People around here say Harry doesn’t have a mean bone in his body or a brain in his head, but he’s a good sort.”

  An image of a jovial crackpot—a type much beloved in the South—was coalescing in my mind. I frowned, realizing that this very affection would hinder Brad’s investigation. People—including the police—wanted to believe that a stranger committed the awful crime. The thought that a friend or family member could beat Harry almost to death was unthinkable. Of course, I had no idea who the perp was, but all avenues had to remain open.

  “Can you tell me about China Rose? Surely that’s not confidential.”

  He drank his beer and sighed. “It’s hard to believe when you look at the place now, but twenty years ago China Rose Fish Camp was one of the prime resorts in Florida. It had plenty of trails, fishing on the lake, nice rental cabins and campsites. But these days the cabins are rotted timber and the trails are overgrown. I don’t know how Harry’s kept it going all these years.”

  “Some of the guys mentioned Harry’s daughter—I think her name was Rose.”

  Brad looked at me. “You never ask a question without a reason, Addie—why are you asking about Rose Ware?” He wasn’t the sort of man who raised his voice—he didn’t need to—but now he was coming dangerously close doing just that. “What do you know?”

  “I don’t...”

  Brad jumped to his feet, towering over me. “If you were the primary working this case, you’d be howling louder than a polecat if some scumbag PI refused to come clean about an attempted murder.”

  I rose to face him. “But I’m not a cop, and that makes all the difference. Until I straighten a few things out, I’ve got nothing to say.” That was a mistake, and Brad made me pay for it.

  “So you do know something.”

  “Brad, I...” Suddenly my anger was gone, replaced by a bone-weary tiredness. If this case was going to come between Brad and me, maybe I should tear up Etta’s check and walk away.

  “Berry will be getting in touch with you tomorrow.” Brad checked his watch. “I mean today. He needs to go over a few things.” He started for the door.

  “Berry told me he thinks a maniac attacked Harry,” I said.

  “That’s Berry’s theory, and he just might be right,” Brad said. When I nodded, Brad smiled and said, “So you’re a fan of Berry’s now?”

  “I’m just trying to be fair,” I said.

  “Right, and I’m the Dalai Lama.”

  “Guess that makes me the pope.”

  Before leaving, Brad lingered in the doorway. “You need to think about whose side you’re on in this thing. This isn’t over, Addie.”

  Brad was right about that—it wasn’t over. In fact, it was just getting started.

  Chapter Four:

  Bloody Murder

  He was waiting for me when I returned from my morning run.

  “Looking for worms, Berry?” I put the key in the latch—Jinks was raising bloody hell on the other side. “You’re up awfully early.”

  “Other way around.”

  “All-nighter?” I should have noticed that Berry wore the same tired suit and the bags under his eyes had deepened. When I pushed the door open, Jinks was in full attack mode, body taut and eyes bulging at the strange man.

  “Does he bite?” Berry asked.

  “You’ve got to be kidding.” I threw my keys on the side table and went to the kitchen to start the coffee. “Since when did I get so popular with GCSO? First Spooner last night, and now you this morning.”

  “Don’t flatter yourself.” Berry collapsed on the recliner that had been Pop’s favorite chair. “I just want to get this interview over.”

  “Who’s hungry?” I called.

  Jinks abandoned his watch of Berry and raced to the kitchen. If the apartment was ever burgled, all the intruder had to do was slip Jinks a dog biscuit. As I scooped kibble into the bowl, I asked Berry how he took his coffee.

  “Sugar, lots of it.”

  I made two coffees—mine with cream and Berry’s with enough sugar to send Santa Claus into a diabetic coma.

  “You could have saved yourself a trip,” I said, settling on the sofa. “I was going to stop by the station later today.”

  Berry shook his big head. “First thing this morning Spooner is going to ask how my interview with you went. I plan to give him an answer.” He sipped his brew. “Good coffee, Gorsky.”

  I had a simple philosophy. Life was too short for bad coffee, cheap beer or lousy sex. But I could see Berry was winding up, and I wanted to throw the first pitch. “Any luck finding Charlie Ware?”

  “Nah.” Berry cast a bleary eye my way. “I was hoping you’d help me with that.”

  I gave a theatrical sigh. “How many times do I have to say it? I don’t know Charlie.”

  “Spooner thinks the guy was either directly involved in the attack or knows who did it. I still think it was some maniac.”

  “That so?” I said. Berry was good at conclusions, especially when no facts got in the way. In this case I sided with Spooner. Charlie still hadn’t responded to the message I’d left on his cell. Obviously, he’d chosen to keep running—the mark of a guilty man.

  “How’s Harry doing?”

  Berry’s face grew solemn. “He’s critical, but Harry’s a fighter. If anybody can pull through, it’s Harry Pitts.”

  I made an approving sound, but I didn’t buy it. People liked to believe that survival was a matter of will, but I knew that death was a stubborn, hard-hearted SOB. All the courage, fight or will in the world couldn’t keep him from your door if he was of a mind to get inside.