The Night Watchman Read online

  Since Ashley worked as a dancer or “entertainer” with Jamie at Club Venus on Orange Blossom Trail, I knew all too well the world I was entering. The fundamentalist schoolmarm had no clue who or what I might have to deal with. We might get into some sensitive areas regarding David's relationship with Jamie, and that could be a bit dicey. Pam would hamper any serious discussions. She said she was ready to hear everything, but I wasn't convinced.

  David was less of a mystery now, although I hadn't exonerated him yet. I definitely wanted to know more about Mario, but that would come in due time. I needed to know who Jamie DeAngelo was, how she was linked to David, and what—exactly—was the nature of their relationship.

  Pampas's report stated they were involved in a sexual relationship, but he didn't have much corroborating evidence, other than Jamie's history as a dancer, one arrest for prostitution two years before, and her being on David's bed when she was murdered. While that theory was probably correct, I needed something more tangible before I'd say that with conviction, especially since she was fully clothed and lying on top of the covers at the time of death.

  I arrived at Ashley's complex, the Fox Croft Apartments, just off State Road 528 at Narcoossee Road near Orlando International Airport. I grabbed the file and checked her picture again. Blond, young, and attractive, Ashley was around the same age as Jamie, twenty-three. She drove a green Honda Civic, which I spotted in the parking lot, so odds were good she was home.

  The day after the bodies were found, Pampas got a brief one-page statement from Ashley. Nothing revealing in it, just that she and Jamie had worked together and Jamie had known David for a few months. Since Ashley was the only friend listed in the report, I hoped she could enlighten me about Jamie DeAngelo.

  Ashley lived in apartment 311, and there was no elevator. Lovely. I scaled the first set of steps and took a break on the landing to the second floor. I was as winded as if I'd just hiked Everest. The same round that broke my arm also ripped into the right side of my chest, collapsing both lungs. The other took out my hip and pelvis.

  They said I was lucky to survive. I didn't feel so lucky. Recently I had been able to increase my aerobic endurance by the pool workouts dear Helga developed for me, but this little jaunt revealed how out of shape I really was. I made it to the top; Helga would have been proud of me. Maybe I should have planted a flag up here in her honor.

  I took a left from the stairs and found Ashley's apartment. The television blared so loud I had to pound twice before she came to the door.

  “What do you want now?” She swung the door wide and stood with one hand on her hip, the other on the edge of the door.

  “My name is Ray Quinn.” I flipped out my wallet with my badge and ID. “I'd like to talk with you about Jamie DeAngelo.”

  She glanced at the badge and opened the door wider. If she'd taken the time to actually read the ID, it clearly stated I was a retired Orlando cop. I had several stories prepared about why I was here asking questions, but since she didn't ask, I didn't offer.

  “I'm sorry.” She rubbed her eyes. “I thought you were the manager again. He's been on my case since I moved here.”

  “No problem. Do you mind if I come in?”

  She waved me in as she sauntered toward the television and turned it off. It looked like Springer had another lively show going on. Too bad we had to miss it.

  Ashley directed me to a small kitchen table next to a freestanding birdcage containing an animal I was loath to correctly identify. (I'm not a big nature guy.) I think it was in the parrot family, and the thing had a huge hooked beak that could remove a finger with ease. As I sat next to it, it squawked and waddled across its little perch to the edge of the cage in an attempt to stare me down. If Ashley weren't watching, I would have pacified it with my cane.

  She pulled up the chair next to mine. She wore a pink muscle T-shirt, and I use the term wore in loosest sense of the word, as it just barely covered her, depending on how she shifted in the chair. The well-maintained chemical-blond hair from her driver's license picture had been replaced with a bed-head mess I suspected she used to house the bird at night. She didn't seem concerned about her appearance. Maybe working all night trying to attract men to make a buck numbs a girl to prettying up in the off-hours. She pulled a cigarette from her purse.

  “What did you do to your leg?” Her raspy voice seemed too old for her.

  “Long story. I wanted to talk with you about Jamie. Tie up some loose ends and all.”

  “I already told you guys about Jamie.” The cigarette smoke mixed with an overpowering odor from my feathered friend to the point that I wanted to cut the interview short. “I'm still pretty upset. She was a good girl and didn't deserve that.”

  “I'm doing some follow-up on the case and wanted to make sure I have everything.” I turned on my thin digital recorder and placed it on the table. I explained the formalities of the statement, then asked her name and date of birth for the record. She raised her right hand as she answered. Since I was looking into this, I might as well do it right. I like having details on tape, so there's no arguing later about who said what. Memory can be imprecise.

  “You were friends with Jamie DeAngelo when this murder happened, correct?”

  “Yeah. We worked together at Club Venus. I still work there.” She glanced at the clock. “I had a shift last night and didn't get off until early this morning, so I'm still a little outta sorts.”

  “Did you ever see this guy there?” I held out a photo of David Hendricks.

  “No. Like I told the other cop, he never came to the club.”

  “But you do know him?”

  “Jamie and I met him at Starbucks one morning. He was in line behind us and started up a conversation. He and Jamie chatted away, but I thought he was hitting on us, so I didn't say much. Then he started with the God and Jesus stuff. I just let her do the talking, if you know what I mean.”

  “How long was this before the murder?”

  “Maybe two or three months.” Ashley extinguished the butt of the cancer stick while reaching for another. A veil of tobacco residue hovered around me; my eyes watered.

  “What was their relationship like after that?” I coughed. “Were they seeing each other?”

  “I guess so. Why else would he hang around her?”

  Big Bird shrieked in my ear, and I jerked in my chair.

  “Oh, pipe down, you big bundle of feathers. We have a guest.” She smiled at me. “He's harmless.”

  I squeezed the brass handle of my cane and waged a valiant fight not to play an inning of birdie baseball with my noisy friend. Between Big Bird and Puff the Magic Dancer, my filter was facing its greatest challenge in some time. I needed to get back on track.

  “Was there anyone who'd want to hurt her?”

  “Jamie was sweet but a real bum magnet. She loved the losers. She was seeing a guy about a year ago, a bad drug-dealer type. He'd knock her around quite a bit. One night, he beat her so bad she had to go to the hospital.”

  “Who is this guy?”

  “Tay or something like that,” Ashley said. “She stopped hanging out with him shortly after she came to the club.”

  “Is Tay his street name, real name, last name, or what?”

  She shrugged. “I only know Tay. Never saw or met the guy.”

  I pulled a notepad from my pocket and jotted down some names. I'd try to catch up with this Tay later. “Was she dating anyone else?”

  “She mentioned a couple of guys. I think one was rich because she kept showing me presents he gave her, like clothes and jewelry. She didn't say much about the other one, except that he was very demanding. She didn't look happy when she said that. I figured he was another one of her deadbeat boyfriends.”

  “Any names, descriptions?”

  “No. Jamie wasn't like that. She kept her business close to her.” Ashley smooched her cigarette like a lover, puffing a plume of smoke over the table. Silence engulfed the room for the first time since I entered;
even the bird hushed. Ashley glanced at the recorder. “Can you turn that thing off for a minute?”

  I picked up the recorder and flipped it off. It was clear that something was bothering her, and I didn't want to let anything stand in the way of her telling me.

  She scanned the room, as if expecting to see someone other than Big Bird and me. “I don't want this part on the record or however that works.”

  “Fair enough.” I laid my pen on the table and leaned back in the chair.

  “Do you think someone other than the preacher guy killed her?” She hit the cigarette hard again and exhaled dramatically. “It seems that way from what you're asking.”

  “I don't know for sure.” I shrugged. “Maybe.” I'd revealed a little more than I wanted, but I hoped my answer would prompt her to tell me what was really on her mind.

  Ashley brushed some dust off the table for several seconds before engaging me again. “Jamie's life was… complicated. She had people coming down on her. I don't think she wanted to do this anymore. You know… entertain and dance and stuff. I think she was just done with it all.”

  “Who was coming down on her?”

  “Chance Thompson, the manager at Club Venus, for one. He put her under a lot of pressure. He always wanted more and more from his girls.”

  “I imagine he puts all the girls there under pressure,” I said. “That's what guys who run those clubs do. They try to keep the girls down so they can rake in the cash. I'm sure you know that better than I do.”

  “You don't understand. Jamie was different. She was…” Ashley toyed with an errant lock of hair hanging down across her eyes. “I don't know if I should say this.”

  The tinglies swam down my spine, and I did everything I could not to telegraph to her that we'd just hit a hot spot. I was so giggly I almost reached in and tickled the bird. The foreboding beak kept me from doing that. I'd forgotten how much I loved a good interview, extracting information out of reluctant souls.

  “She was what, Ashley? What's so important that it's bothering you so much?”

  “She was one of Chance's special girls. Jamie was part of the Lion's Den.”

  “What's that?”

  “It's a spin-off of Club Venus,” she said. “Only a few of the hottest girls worked there. Jamie was gorgeous and made a ton of money when she danced. Chance's girls entertain for some powerful and very private groups. Men who like a little more discretion and attention with their entertainment. No one outside of the Lion's Den is supposed to know it even exists… but I do.”

  “How did you find out about it?”

  “Jamie got high one night and spouted off some things about Chance and the Lion's Den and important, powerful people. Then the next day she came over and begged me not to tell anyone. If anyone found out she talked, she could be in serious trouble. Jamie was crying and seemed pretty upset.”

  “Did you tell the other detective about this?”

  “No,” she said. “It seemed like you guys already thought the preacher killed her. Why would I bring up all this other stuff?”

  “Do you know any of the players with the Lion's Den?”

  “Bigwigs. Connected and rich people. City officials, power brokers, judges, lawyers… and cops.”

  Her smirk told me she knew she'd scored a hit. For the first time in the interview, I didn't quite know what to say, and she had me flatfooted and against the ropes. I let the peculiar pause pass and regained my bearings.

  “How sure are you about this? The cop part?”

  “Only what Jamie told me, and she had no reason to lie. She said she wouldn't tell me any names of the Lion's Den, but if she did, I'd recognize some of them. I've been around dancers for a couple of years now. A lot of them talk trash and can't be trusted. Jamie had her problems, but she was honest. She shared all this with me a couple of weeks before she died, just before she started acting really weird.”

  “What do you mean weird?” I was sure her definition and mine would differ significantly.

  “Jamie didn't want to party with me anymore. She stopped… you know, using and all. She'd ask me stupid questions about life, God, her purpose, and stuff like that. I think the preacher guy was getting into her head.”

  “Did she ever say she was afraid of the preacher?”

  “No. She just said he was really nice and listened to her. That's why I have a hard time believing he murdered her. But I guess you never really know people.”

  She was starting to sound like me, which creeped me out a bit.

  “Detective Quinn, I only told you this in case the preacher man didn't kill her. I want whoever did it to pay. But if what Jamie said about the Lion's Den is true, then these people can make a girl like me disappear. Don't tell anyone you talked to me, especially any of your cop friends. I can't afford for any of this to get out.”

  No one had called me Detective Quinn in a very long time. I probably should have corrected her right then and explained myself. But I didn't. For a moment, I felt like my old self. I was so into the interview, I mostly dismissed the ache in my leg.

  “I give you my word. No one will know we talked.” I stood and thanked her for her help. I stuffed my recorder in my pants pocket and loaded up the notebook.

  “One more thing, Detective. If you're going to take on Chance, be very careful. He acts all nice to everyone's face, but he's got a mean streak. You seem like a nice guy, and I'd hate to see you get hurt.”

  That was the second time in recent history that someone called me nice. Maybe it was the cane.

  “Don't worry, Ashley. I'll be fine. And just for the record—I'm not that nice.”

  I headed out the door and mentally prepared for the perilous descent to the parking lot from Mount Birdbreath. I slipped my second recorder out of my top pocket and shut it off. Her comment made me feel a twinge of guilt for keeping it on when she spilled her story. But it faded quickly. That information was much too juicy to lose. I took the stairs carefully and hoped the breeze would brush off some of the stench from my clothes; I smelled like the backseat of a taxi.

  Ashley turned my little fact-finding mission upside down and made me question Pampas's conclusions even more. If he'd taken the time to actually talk with Ashley perhaps he would have discovered this information too.

  I'd check out this Tay guy see if he was around and still interested in Jamie. Then I'd track down her dating schedule, which sounded like it would be voluminous and time consuming.

  Ashley's revelations about the Lion's Den were disconcerting, especially the possibility of tainted cops in the mix. I wasn't so naive to think that officers couldn't be corrupted; I'd seen more than a few fall and crash hard. But a dirty cop is the worst kind of criminal-he knows the system, knows our tactics, and isn't afraid to take people out if necessary. My list of tasks in this case had just grown considerably.

  But the first order of business was to chase down Chance Thompson.

  11

  HELGA ONCE TOLD ME, just before tweaking my hip in that special way of hers, that sometimes she'd have to hurt me to help me.

  This statement came barreling back to me as I checked David's Internet history on his computer. Some sites he'd visited were inappropriate at best, bizarre at worst—especially for a so-called pastor. They'd been deleted from the history, but I had software on my laptop that could retrieve deleted pictures and Web site info. It had come in handy more than once on homicide investigations. Just when I thought this David character might be the real deal, I discovered he had a couple of predilections that bordered on the very disturbed.

  The all-too-quick knock came at my apartment door. Pam was early… again. I printed the list of porn sites, then turned it facedown on the table before I opened the door.

  Refreshed and in a much better place than I'd ever seen her before, Pam looked almost giddy. Her hair wasn't tied up in the usual ponytail, and her blond locks bounced around her shoulders. It was a good look for her. She'd wanted an update, and I promised I'd tell her abo
ut my visit with Ashley earlier today. I just wished I had more time between my discovery of his Internet viewing habits and her visit to formulate how and what to tell her.

  “Ray”—she extended her hand—“how'd it go?”

  I shrugged. “Learned a little.”

  “Is everything all right? You seem down.”

  “I'm fine,” I lied. If I didn't plan to visit Club Venus later tonight, I'd have already been talking with Jim. He'd help me wash down the bitter taste of this finding. But I needed to be somewhat sober for my upcoming visit.

  I told Pam about my talk with Ashley, how she'd told me things she didn't reveal to Pampas. I told her about the Lion's Den, but not about the types of people they served—especially the cop angle, which turned my stomach. No use going there until I had something more concrete.

  “This is fantastic,” she said. “I knew you'd come up with something.”

  “Well, I've come up with a little bit more.” I didn't know quite what to say, which was really unusual for me. So I limped over to the table, grabbed the sheet, and handed it to her. “I found these sites on your brother's Internet history. They'd been deleted in an attempt to hide them. There could be more. I haven't been able to check everything yet.”

  She read a few lines, then glanced back at me like someone had just given her a death notice. “This can't be.”

  “I'm sorry, Pam. I've checked out a couple of the sites and would recommend that you do not. The names will tell you everything you need to know. It seems there were things in your brother's life nobody knew about, not even you.”

  Her eyes scrolled down the list, and the room was eerie quiet for a while.

  Just because Hendricks surfed porn sites didn't mean he was a killer. But it did chip away at the facade of his being a super Christian and practically perfect in every way. He had issues and definitely dabbled with a double life, if only in his head. But that's where murder starts—as a thought, a passing rumination of the possible that morphs into something monstrous and ugly. Maybe Pampas had this whole thing right to begin with, which irked me to consider.