Chapter FIVE
Jock and I ran the boat up the lagoon to my cottage. I pulled her into the dock, secured the lines, and washed her down with fresh water while Jock cleaned our fishing gear. I flushed both engines, turned off the dock lights, and we went to the house. I fixed a pot of coffee, thinking we might have a long night. I didn’t know what to expect when Jock and J.D. gave Gene the news of his wife’s death.
J.D. knocked on the front door and stuck her head inside. I waved her in. She had changed into what she called her detective uniform, navy slacks, white golf shirt with the Longboat Key Police badge embroidered on the pocket, and the belt with her Sig Sauer, pepper spray, cuffs, Taser, and God knows what else hanging off it. “Want some coffee?” I asked.
“Sure. I’ll get it.”
I heard her rummaging around in the kitchen, and in a few minutes she reappeared with a steaming cup of coffee. “Where’s Jock?”
“In the shower.”
“I’m glad he’s going with me. I hate these notifications. They always change somebody’s life. And never in a good way.”
“Gene will tough it out. He was a company commander in Vietnam. Had to write a lot of letters to parents telling them that their son had been killed in action. He once told me that was the hardest part of his job. Sometimes the kid had been cowering in a hole, too scared to even fire his weapon, and a grenade or a stray shot or a mortar round took him out. Gene always told the parents that their kid died a hero.”
“Maybe,” said J.D., “just being there doing his job was heroic.”
“I guess so. They were all heroes. Every damn one of them.”
“One of whom?” asked Jock, coming into the living room.
“Soldiers,” J.D. said.
“Yeah,” said Jock. “Yeah.”
“Miami-Dade called,” said J.D. “They can’t find a connection between anybody I put away and the whale tail killer. Most of the ones I arrested early in my career were small-time hoodlums who did a couple of years and came home. The later ones, from when I was in homicide, are either still in prison or dead. One was executed and a couple of others died of natural causes. Probably of sheer meanness. I think that’s a disease.”
“Were you able to backtrack the number of whoever called you with the threat?” I asked.
“Yeah. It was to a disposable cell phone. A dead end. The phone was bought in Miami a couple of months ago. But the call pinged off a cell tower in Bradenton. So the guy’s here.”
“Any thoughts on how he got your number?” asked Jock.
“Good question. That number was issued to the Longboat Police Department. The phone isn’t supposed to be used except for department business. When I call out on it, the number is blocked on the receiving end’s caller ID. I can’t figure out how he got the number, but the fact that it was issued to the department got us some quick action from the phone company. Martin Sharkey is going to look into it tomorrow. See if he can figure out how that number got into the hands of this jerk.”
Jock looked at his watch. “You ready to roll, J.D.?” He was dressed in his traveling clothes: black silk shirt, black trousers, black socks, and black Italian loafers. All black. Appropriate, I thought.
“Yeah. Let’s get this over with.”
They left through the front door, leaving me alone with my thoughts. Which were bleak.