Paint It Black

“It still doesn’t explain why Levon would kill Quick. He was a stranger,” Louis said.

“Drugs can mess up your head,” Wainwright said.

Wainwright was staring off down the street, his brows furrowed. “Roberta put up a reward,” he said finally.

“She told me,” Louis said.

“Do you know what that’ll do? The screwballs are going to come out of the woodwork now. People would turn in their mother if they thought they’d get some bucks out of it. Not to mention the reporters and PI’s. Goddamn amateurs.”

Wainwright looked quickly at Louis. “Didn’t mean you, Kincaid. You’re not a real PI anyway.”

Louis forced a smile. He guessed that was a compliment.

Wainwright cleared his throat. “So, when you heading back to Michigan?”

“Soon,” Louis said.

“I guess that means you didn’t send away for that PI license application then.”

Louis shook his head. He knew it was time to say his good-byes and walk away, but he didn’t.

Wainwright leaned against the railing, looking out at the parking lot. Across the street, some people were coming out of the Lazy Flamingo, laughing as they piled into a car.

“Whoever it is, I don’t think he’s finished,” Wainwright said.

Louis nodded. “I had the same feeling.”

Wainwright looked at him. “You ever work a case like this before?”

Louis shook his head. The car peeled out of the Flamingo’s lot, trailing laughter in the warm night air.

“You don’t realize at first what it can do,” Wainwright said. “You’re working, trying to catch the fucker, doing your job, and you don’t even notice what it’s doing to you. It gets inside you until one day you realize looking at stiffs isn’t any harder than cleaning up cat shit.”

Louis stared at him. Ask me to stay.

The moment lengthened. “I better get going,” Louis said finally.

“You wa

“Margaret locks up at ten. I’d better go.”

Wainwright nodded and started up the steps. Louis turned to the parking lot.

“Hey, Kincaid. Have a nice flight,” Wainwright said.

Chapter Ten

Wainwright sifted slowly through the autopsy photos. Tatum’s battered face. Quick’s bloated body. Two men. Two strong, healthy men without enemies. Men from different states and different professions. And nothing to link them but the color of their skin.

Across from him, Officer Greg Candy craned his neck to look at them. Wainwright noticed Candy made no move to turn them around for a better viewing.

“The doc call yet with his final report?”

“No, sir,” Candy said. “You want me to try him again?”

Before Wainwright could answer, there was a knock. Wainwright hollered, “Come in” and a man entered. He wore a suit, and Wainwright knew instantly he was a cop.

Officer Candy started to rise, but Wain wright waved his man back into his seat.

“Can I help you?” Wainwright asked.

“Sergeant Driggs,” the man said. He flipped open his badge and slapped it shut in one flick of his wrist. But not before Wainwright saw the Lee County Sheriff’s emblem.

Wainwright looked at Candy over the desk and smiled. “I’ve always wanted to learn how to do that.” He looked back at Driggs. “Can you do that again?”

Driggs sneered at him. He was short and balding and looked stretched too tight, as if he felt the need to constantly overcompensate for both his lack of height and hair.

“I’m here on behalf of Sheriff Mobley,” Driggs said.

“And what business does Mobley have with me?” Wainwright said.

“Homicide,” Driggs said.

Wainwright looked at Driggs and calmly gathered the photos and slipped them back into the manila file. “Really. Who died?”

“You know what I’m talking about. Two dead men in less than three weeks.”

“True enough, true enough. But I don’t see why you’re interested, Driggs. Both bodies were dumped here on Sereno Key. There’s a whole lot of water and a big-ass causeway between Sereno Key and your turf, isn’t there?”

“Anthony Quick’s car was found at the Holiday I

“Who’s to say Mr. Quick didn’t go voluntarily?” Wainwright said.

“You and I both know the odds are against that.”

“Right now, we have no reason to believe he didn’t. Therefore, I don’t think you have any jurisdiction here, Sergeant Driggs.”

The top of Driggs’s head was red. “Look, Chief Wainwright. You don’t have the resources to work this alone.”

Wainwright looked down at the manila folder. Part of him wanted to hand off the file and forget about it. Let the jokers have it. He knew Mobley. He was an ambitious son of a bitch who was probably looking to use the murders as a springboard for reelection or even DA. The county did have the technology, the money, and the manpower. What did it matter who caught the bastard?

“Don’t make me embarrass you here, Chief,” Driggs said softly.

Wainwright’s eyes shot up. “Excuse me?”

Driggs glanced at Candy, who was sitting off to one side, failing miserably at looking disinterested. “Chief,” Driggs said calmly, “you have three men on your force here, one who’s near retirement and two who never wore a badge before you took them on.” He paused just a beat. “And you are retired from the FBI, the OPR, to be exact. Why don’t you just give us what you’ve got and let us do our job?”

Wainwright took a breath. “You mean let you do my job. They’re my bodies on my island. Now why don’t you see if you can get yourself safely back across the bridge without driving into the goddamn bay?”

Driggs pulled a folded newspaper from under his arm and slapped it down on the desk. “Okay, Chief. Have it your way. But when this case blows up in your face, you’ll reconsider.”

Wainwright looked down at it. It was that morning’s News-Press with a headline big enough to be read from a car speeding by a newsstand box: NAACP: MURDERS ARE HATE CRIMES

Wainwright had already read the story. An anonymous source in the sheriff’s office was quoted as saying they were looking at a racially motivated crime. The Southwest Florida NAACP was demanding swift investigation.

Driggs held out a card. “When you change your mind, give me a call.”

When Wainwright didn’t take it, Driggs slipped the card back in his pocket. He left, leaving the door open. The office was quiet. Wainwright could hear his own breathing. Officer Candy picked up the newspaper, sca

“Chief,” Candy said, “what are you going to do?”

“I don’t know.” Wainwright turned to look out the window.

Candy stood up. “Anything else you want me to do before I sign out?”

Wainwright turned and picked up the case folder. “Yeah, get Louis Kincaid on the phone.”

“Move, damn it.”

Louis pushed Issy off the bed, but the cat jumped back up, strolling across his open suitcase.

“Are you taking her back with you?”

Louis looked back over his shoulder at Margaret Dodie standing at the door.

“Unfortunately.”

“You could leave her, you know.”

Louis stood up, stretching his back. The cat was sprawled across his shirts, looking up at him with calm green eyes.

“No, I can’t do that.”

Margaret came into the bedroom and walked over to Issy, petting her gently. “How’d you end up with her? It’s obvious you don’t like her very much.”

Louis frowned. He had tried to be nice to it. “She was abandoned. A friend of mine left suddenly. I took her until . . .” Louis paused.

Until what? Until he saw Zoe again? Until she came back? Until he went back?

Margaret smiled and sat on the corner of the bed. Louis kept his eyes down, folding his things, hoping Margaret would leave, wishing she didn’t seem to know everything.