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Back at the station, he went directly to Wainwright’s office. Wainwright was on the phone and motioned for Louis to wait. Louis walked to the watercooler and poured himself a cup. Wainwright had a photograph on the desk in front of him. It was of the homeless man’s body lying on the beach. Louis was glad it wasn’t a close-up of the face.
“Back from the shelter already?” Wainwright asked, hanging up the phone.
Louis nodded. “Nobody there recognized the tattoo, but the director promised to post a notice. Maybe someone will recognize it. Also found out about a soup kitchen over on Fort Myers Beach, but the guy was gone when I got there. I’ll check into it tomorrow morning.”
“Good.”
“Van Slate’s off work today. I’m heading over to his apartment,” Louis said. “You want to come?”
Wainwright stood up, groaning. “Can’t. Mayor Westoff’s coming by in twenty minutes.”
“No problem. I’ll handle it,” Louis said, tossing the cup in the trash.
“Take Candy with you.”
Louis eyed him. “I can handle it.”
“Van Slate doesn’t like you and he knows you’re not a cop and he can do anything to you he wants,” Wainwright said. “Candy can step in if he gets out of line. Take backup, Louis.”
Louis bit back his response. Backup. That was a nice way to say “baby-sitter.” He knew Wainwright was right but he still didn’t like it.
Outside, he spotted Candy waiting near the door. Candy tossed down his cigarette and fell into step with Louis as he walked to the cruiser. Candy walked to the driver’s side and Louis paused, then climbed into the passenger side.
“Know where we’re going?” Louis asked.
Candy nodded. “I arrested him the first time.”
Louis put on his sunglasses, hiding his souring mood. Van Slate knows you’re not a cop.
God, he was really begi
He leaned back in the seat. No. That wasn’t really true. He had learned that much in Michigan. They had all been cops but they had not known their limits. And he had almost allowed himself to be pulled right in with them.
They pulled out and turned onto a narrow asphalt road, shaded by a tu
“What is that?”
“What?” Candy asked.
“That song.”
“ ‘I Walk the Line.’ Joh
“Right.”
“I keep a close watch on this heart of mine . . .”
Louis looked away.
Candy kept singing, sounding less like Joh
“I walk the line,” Louis sang softly.
Candy laughed. “Man, you got a terrible voice.”
Louis smiled.
Candy was quiet for moment as he slowed for a stop sign. “Chief going to take you on eventually?”
Louis was surprised he asked. “Nah, I think I’m going home after this.”
“Where’s home?” Candy asked.
Louis was about to answer, but hesitated. Who knew anymore?
“Up North,” Louis said finally.
“I’m from a place called Everglades City,” Candy went on. “Ever hear of it?”
“I’d guess it’s in the Everglades.”
“Yeah. Armpit city. I came up to Fort Myers to go to college, got my bachelor’s, met the girl I’m going to marry, and landed this job. I figure in three years I’ll have one of those cool old condos on the Atlantic and be wearing a Miami-Dade patch on my arm.”
“Why Miami?” Louis asked.
“That’s where all the shit happens, Louis. Sereno’s great and so is the chief, but I’d be bored to death if I had to spend the rest of my career here.”
“You call this case boring?”
“Well, no, but I’m twenty-three, man. I want to be where life really happens. That’s why I have it all pla
Louis smiled to himself.
Pla
Just like all those great plans he had made for himself. Prelaw at Michigan but always with an eye to the police academy. Then the first job with the A
Life is what happens when you’re busy making plans, Louis.
Who was it who had told him that? Phillip Lawrence . . . his foster father. He remembered now. A rainy afternoon in May 1980. College graduation ceremony. It was what Phillip had said after Louis had finally worked up the guts to tell him he wasn’t going on to law school after all.
I’ve got it all pla
Phillip Lawrence had been disppointed. Frances had cried. But they supported his plan. It was three years later when Phillip finally told Louis what he really thought, that Louis’s life plan was “safe.”
Safe? What’s safe about being a cop?
You’re looking for what you didn’t have as a kid, Louis, assurances that life is neat and tidy and safe. But life, real life, is messy. It’s what happens when you’re busy making plans.
He sat up in the seat. A thought that had been just a swirl in his brain was starting to coalesce. He wasn’t going back to Michigan. He could see that now. He didn’t know where he would go when this was done. But he knew now that he wasn’t going back.
“We’re here.”
Candy pulled to a stop in front of a pale pink apartment building. There were four units. Louis got out and followed Candy to the door of one on the ground floor. They knocked and waited. Candy was tapping his nightstick lightly against his thigh, whistling softly.
Van Slate opened the door, squinting into the sun.
“Oh, Jesus Christ . . .”
“May we come in, Mr. Van Slate?” Candy asked.
“What do you think?”
Candy glanced at Louis. “Where were you last night after eleven?”
Van Slate started to close the door. Candy shoved his foot in to brace it. Van Slate looked down at Candy’s shiny black shoe, then up, his eyes sliding to Louis.
“Get off my property. You’re trespassing.”
“He’s with me,” Candy said.
“Ain’t that too bad.” Van Slate shoved on the door and Candy was forced to withdraw his foot. The door shut in their faces.
“So much for cooperating,” Louis said, turning. He spotted Van Slate’s truck in the drive and walked to it. It was a new Chevy pickup, painted a bright custom blue. Louis went to it, his eyes sca
He moved to the doors and peered in the dark-tinted windows, tempted to try the door handle. He knew he couldn’t open the doors as a cop, but he wasn’t sure where he stood as a private citizen. He also knew it would bring Van Slate storming from his apartment. He decided to take the chance.
He opened the truck door. The interior was clean, except for sand on the driver’s-side floorboards.
“You can’t touch that without a warrant!” Van Slate shouted, bursting from his apartment.
Louis turned, facing him. Candy was standing to Van Slate’s left, watching.
“Get away from my truck.”
“Where were you last night?” Louis asked.
Van Slate was panting. Louis glanced back at the truck. There was definitely something in there that Van Slate didn’t want them to see. What was it? Gloves? A knife hidden under the seat?
“Where were you last night?”