Play It Again, page 5
Joe walked into the living room and turned off the George Harrison record. “I’m not sure I understand what you’re talking about.” He held the phone between his ear and shoulder, slipped the record back into the cover, and placed it back on the shelf. “Can you just tell me what else you know about what happened with Dickie, rather than insinuating that I know something about it?” He switched the phone to his other ear and walked to the sliding glass door. He stood, staring out at the blue morning sky hanging over downtown.
“I’m calling as a friend,” Bart said. “Whatever you tell me, goes nowhere else. You should know that.”
As much as Joe could trust Bart, he was hesitant to continue the conversation, to put them both in a bad spot. But he didn’t want to keep lying to Bart either. “Dickie had nothing to do with it,” he said.
The line went quiet again.
“I’m sure Dickie would appreciate your loyalty. But from what I just heard, it doesn’t exactly appear he had nothing to do with it.”
Joe headed into the kitchen and grabbed a cup from the cabinet, poured himself a cup of coffee. “I wish I had something to tell you, Bart, but—”
“Jesus, Joe. You can be real thickheaded. I’m not a cop. If I was, I wouldn’t be calling you like this. I’d be knocking on your door, taking you downtown to make you talk. I just thought you’d like to know your friend could be in a lot of trouble. You’re welcome.”
Joe looked at the phone and saw Bart had hung up.
He tapped Bart’s number and called him right back. It rang three times before Bart finally answered.
“What the hell’d you hang up for?” Joe said. “What are you, a ten-year-old girl?”
Bart laughed.
“Can’t you just tell me why Dickie had to go down?” Joe sipped his coffee and leaned back against the front of the sink. The sun had started to rise up over the buildings outside, brightening the hardwood floor just inside the balcony.
“You remember my friend, Woody Thomas?”
Joe nodded into the phone. “Sergeant Thomas?”
“Yeah, that’s him. Well, we still talk on and off, like me and you do. I’ve known him for a long time, going back to the academy. I think sometimes he misses me. So, he knew I knew Dickie, called to let me know they’d sent a couple of officers over to his house, first thing this morning.”
“But he wasn’t taken into custody?” Joe said.
“No. At least not at the time I spoke to Woody. He claims Dickie was well behaved, acted real calm, and didn’t resist in any way. He followed the officers downtown, drove his own car.”
Joe kept quiet. He liked Bart. And trusted him. But he didn’t feel there was good enough reason to go into any of what he already knew about Maxine. “You haven’t told me what he did… what’re they questioning him about?”
“Right, well, I guess if I have to believe you really have no idea what this is about… From what Woody told me, there was a witness—the victim’s boyfriend—saw Dickie in the lobby, coming off the elevator. The man said Dickie hurried past him and out the door from the building.”
Uh-oh.
“The boyfriend? Who’s the boyfriend?”
“I know you’re not a church guy, but you ever hear the name Bobby-Joe Latimer?”
Joe came in from the balcony. “Is he the pastor, owns that big church? He used to be on TV on Sunday mornings, right?”
“Well, yes and no. He’s the one who used to be on TV. But the church… you’re thinking of Wayne Latimer. Bobby-Joe’s his younger brother. Wayne’s the one who started that church. I guess Bobby-Joe’s still involved, or at least one of the pastors.”
Joe said, “The Elevated Church of God, or something like that?”
“Yeah, that’s the one.”
“So, just because he’s a so-called man of God, he must be telling the truth?”
“I’m just telling you what Woody told me,” Bart said.
“How would this guy, Bobby-Joe… how would he know Dickie? I don’t think Dickie’s been to church in twenty years. Besides, I’m pretty sure he’s Catholic.”
“I have no idea how he knows Dickie. We didn’t get into all those details. But this guy, Bobby-Joe, he’s the one found her body in the condo. Saw Dickie in the lobby. That’s all I was told. But, as you can imagine, it doesn’t look good for Dickie.”
“What about cameras?” Joe said. “They have footage?”
“I have no idea. New place like that, people with money… I would think so.”
Joe looked at the Elvis Presley clock on the wall. “Well, I’m sure it’ll get cleared up.”
“For his sake, I sure hope so. But Dickie’s no angel, Joe. You know that.”
“He’s not a killer,” Joe said.
“You sure about that?”
Joe thought for a moment. “If I judged all my friends for their wrongdoings, I wouldn’t have any friends.”
“Or maybe you just need to find better friends.”
Joe sipped his coffee, but it had already gotten cold. “I was including you in that bunch, Bart.”
The line went quiet for a second, and Joe looked at the screen on his phone, thought maybe Bart had hung up again.
“I just hope you weren’t involved in anything,” Bart said. “And if I could just advise you, as a friend, that if by chance someone from the department comes around asking questions, you’re better off telling the truth.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Joe said.
“You know you can’t bullshit a bullshitter, right? If you’re going to sit there on this phone, tell me you know nothing about any of this, you should at least start by asking the victim’s name. You know, the who in the who, what, where, when, and why? It’s not like you, Joe. Your lack of journalistic questioning raises suspicions. That’s all I’m saying.”
Joe knew Bart was already a step ahead of him. But as a good enough friend, Bart let him know he’d slipped up. As a fair warning.
Bart said, “So, you can play games with me if you want. But, like I said, officers show up at your door, you’d better be straight, or you’ll end up in hot water, like your friend.”
Joe dumped whatever coffee was left in his cup in the sink. “All right,” he said. “You want to meet me out on South Beach? I’ll tell you what I know. But you have to promise it’ll be between you and me.”
“You really need me to promise you I won’t talk? Jesus.”
“I’m just saying, I can’t—”
“Joe, you have my word.”
Chapter 6
Joe turned the Mercedes down Sixth Street on South Beach and drove past the front of Café de Palmas. He saw Bart on the patio out front, already seated at a table waiting for him.
Bart’s eyes were down on a newspaper he held open in front of him.
Joe drove the Mercedes around the block and pulled in around the back of the café. He thought it was a good idea to keep the car out of sight from the street.
The entire ride over, all he could think about was he needed to tell the cops he was there at the condo, dropped off Maxine in the garage. Although, of course, that was the last time he saw her. He was afraid of the chance they wouldn’t believe him. Especially since he’d waited too long. And with Dickie being questioned, the only thing Joe could do was wait it out, hope to hear from Dickie soon.
He just wished he’d called Dickie sooner, so they could’ve collaborated, gotten their stories straight. But it was too late for that.
Joe walked along the sidewalk from the back of the café. He loved South Beach, although he didn’t spend nearly as much time there as he used to. He hadn’t even sat on the beach in a couple of years. Although he’d get bored just sitting there anyway. And he never liked the crowds.
Bart looked up when Joe stepped over the rope surrounding the sidewalk patio, folded the paper over, and pushed it aside. He stood from the table and shook Joe’s hand. “When’d you get the Mercedes?”
Joe was sure Bart didn’t look up when he drove by. Although, the truth was, Bart rarely missed a beat.
It had been a few months since they’d seen each other. Maybe close to a year. Bart looked different to Joe. He looked like he’d gained some weight, wasn’t as thin, and had a little more gray on the sides of his head, over his ears. But mostly it was his hair slicked back, wearing some sort of hair product. His face was more tan, with more color, and his trendy rectangular sunglasses, Joe thought, made him look cool.
“You look good,” Joe said, pulling out a chair across from Bart. He sat down, looked over Bart’s flowery buttoned-down shirt and khaki cargo shorts. “You look like a tourist.”
Bart shrugged and looked around. “You know what? I’ve been hanging around South Beach more. Never used to like it much. But, you know, I’m a bachelor.” He sat down in the chair again. “I’m trying to take a cue from you, trying to learn how to be a little more laid back. You know? Try and enjoy the next chapter.”
“Yeah, well, life for me hasn’t been laid back. Not like it used to be,” Joe said.
Bart took off his sunglasses, collapsed them, then stuck them in his shirt pocket. He looked Joe in the eye. “What do you expect, hanging around Dickie Caldwell.”
Joe fixed his sunglasses and leaned back in his chair. “I knew you were hanging around South Beach, I would’ve come out to meet you. You want to relax? Next time we get together, we’ll smoke a fat joint, sit on the beach one evening.”
Bart shook his head. “I didn’t mean I was going to start smoking grass.”
Joe laughed. “I don’t even smoke it much myself. Nothing like I used to.” He grinned. “But anytime you want to give it a try…”
Bart picked up his coffee and took a sip. “So, you talk to Dickie?”
“Not yet. Called him a few times. Calls go right to voicemail.” He got up from his chair and started for the tinted glass door to go inside. He said, “You need anything? I gotta get some caffeine in me.”
Bart raised his cup, shaking his head. “All set.” He opened the newspaper. “When you get back, I’ll share something with you.”
Joe paused and glanced at the newspaper on the table, nodded, and walked inside the café.
When he came back out with his coffee a few minutes later, Bart was on his phone, his sunglasses back over his eyes. He held up a finger to Joe, gesturing for him to wait.
Joe sat down across from him.
“Yeah, that’s interesting,” Bart said, talking into the phone. “Okay, yeah. Thanks for the call.” He nodded, the phone still against his ear. “Right. No, of course not. You never told me a thing. Got it.” He tapped the screen on his phone and placed it facedown on the table. “That was Woody. The footage they took from the security cameras doesn’t show anything.”
“What do you mean it doesn’t show anything?”
“Exactly what I just said.” He shrugged. “Apparently, the cameras were turned off. He doesn’t know if the system was down, or what. Was out that whole day.”
Joe made a face. “The cameras just coincidentally stopped working? The day a woman’s murdered?” Joe sipped his coffee. “What about Dickie? He say anything else?”
“Woody?” Bart nodded. “He’s not the one doing the questioning. But he believed Dickie was still in there with the detectives when I was on the phone. What he has, so far, is Dickie admitting she was his customer at the repair shop. He delivered her Corvette after he made some repairs. But that was all Woody had for me.”
“They believe him?” Joe said.
Bart shrugged. “We didn’t go into whether or not anyone believes him. But you’d have to admit it sounds suspicious, don’t you think? Especially knowing a witness placed him inside the building?”
Joe still wasn’t clear if Dickie told them if he’d gone into her apartment but didn’t want to ask Bart specific questions, still trying to play the game like he hadn’t known a thing.
Either way, none of it was good.
“But what about the pastor? What was he doing there? I assume they’re questioning him too?”
“I’d assume so,” Bart said. “But Woody wouldn’t get into the details.”
“What would make anyone believe this guy’s even telling the truth? Because he’s a pastor?” Joe laughed, looked off toward two young women coming into the roped-off patio from the sidewalk, sitting down at a table on the other side from where Joe and Bart sat. There was nobody else out there. “And they’re assuming she was dead before Billy-Joe—”
“Bobby-Joe,” Bart said, correcting him. He pulled off his sunglasses again and rubbed one of his eyes. “I’m not sure anyone’s assuming anything, Joe. I think, at this point, Woody was just stating the facts.”
“The only fact I’ve heard so far is that one man has admitted to being in her condo. And he’s the one who found her. I hope they don’t let this guy skate, just because he’s a so-called man of God.”
“You’re getting pretty defensive,” Bart said, “for someone who supposedly knew nothing about this before I called you.” He gave Joe a look and slipped his sunglasses back over his eyes.
Joe didn’t like lying to Bart. And he had a good sense Bart wasn’t buying it anyway. And Joe found himself getting further from the truth the more he talked, all to protect Dickie from a lie he probably never had to tell. If they’d only gone right to the cops.
Joe stared down into his coffee, quiet as the thoughts whirled through his mind. He looked up at Bart. “You want me to be straight with you?”
Bart grinned, nodding. “I’ve been waiting for it since you pulled around in that Mercedes.”
Joe pushed his coffee aside, leaning on the table. “Dickie was there that day. But he had nothing to do with it.” He hesitated, afraid to say too much, even though he knew whatever he shared with Bart was safe. “And he wasn’t the only one who was around there before she was killed.”
Bart straightened out in his chair and looked around. He scratched the back of his neck. “Jesus Christ, Joe. What the hell’d you two get yourselves into?”
Joe picked up his coffee and leaned back in his chair. He looked toward the young woman on the other side of the patio. “I gave the victim, Maxine Carter, a ride home from Dickie’s shop yesterday.” He pointed with his thumb behind him, toward the side of the building. “That Mercedes? It was actually hers. Dickie bought it from her. For me. I’m only telling you this because you’re not a cop anymore, Bart. It’s not even registered yet.”
“Yeah, enough with the insignificant details,” Bart said.
Joe nodded. “Dickie’s mechanic was repairing her Corvette. A seventy-eight Stingray. Not a bad car. Yellow. I wouldn’t want one though. Anyway, I drove her there, to One Miami. She asked me up for a drink. But I turned her down.”
“You turned a woman down who invited you for a drink?” He shook his head. “Why do I have a hard time believing that?”
“Listen,” Joe said. “I dropped her off in her garage. And that was the last time I saw her.”
Bart stared back at Joe, a look of disbelief on his face. “You just left? I saw her face on the news. She was an attractive woman.”
Joe nodded.
“And you haven’t told anyone you dropped her off?”
“I was going to. I swear. I’d planned to, first thing this morning. But I tried to get in touch with Dickie, make sure our stories matched up. And then you called, and—”
“You wanted to make sure your stories matched? That’s not something you’d hear from a man claiming innocence. I’m not saying I don’t believe you, but…”
“Bart. It’s the truth. I just… I didn’t know what Dickie was going to do. I don’t know what he’s told them. But you know me. If I was going to tell the truth, I’d have to tell them everything. So I didn’t want to put Dickie in a precarious position.”
“You think he’d worry about putting you in a precarious position? I wouldn’t be surprised he’s down there right now, telling them you took her home, maybe trying to turn their attention off of him and on to you.”
Joe shook his head. “You don’t know Dickie. He wouldn’t do that.”
Bart rolled his eyes and looked toward the glass door to the café. “Jesus, Joe. You gotta get down to that station. ASAP. I wouldn’t even finish your coffee, if I were you. Get this shit straightened out before—”
“Let me finish,” Joe said. “There was someone—a doorman—a young man, goes by Tex, who was there watching us when I first pulled up.”
“Watching who, you and the, uh, what was her name?”
“Maxine.”
“So, you’re saying this doorman, Tex, probably thinks you went upstairs with her?”
Joe nodded. “I just… I had to think it all through. But now, check this out: you know Gloria, over at Hal’s Diner?”
Bart nodded, a slight grin on his face. “The one who wants to get in your pants?”
Joe didn’t respond. “I met her for a drink.” He looked down the street in the direction of Jack’s Hideaway. “And I met… her cousin was there with her. Turns out she lives in One Miami. And she tells me her boyfriend’s a doorman, which is how I assume they can afford to live there. Must get cheap rent or something.”
“Yeah?” Bart said. “Maybe I should get a job over there. Wouldn’t mind living in a place like that.”
“So, it gets better,” I said. “I’m standing there with these two women, look up, and here comes Tex.”
“The doorman? Did he recognize you?”
Joe shook his head. “I took off. Went through the kitchen and out the back door before he saw me. I have no doubt he would’ve known who I was, the way he was staring at us when I pulled up with Maxine.”
Bart sipped his coffee, leaning back in his chair. “So, does this guy have a real name? I don’t imagine it’s just Tex, is it?”
“His name’s Chuck. Chuck Dixon. From what Gloria said, he nicknamed himself Tex.”
“He’s from Texas?”
Joe cracked a grin. “He lived there for eight months. Gloria said he’s a real piece of work. Originally from Pennsylvania, but took on this whole cowboy persona.”
