Chapter 22
We caught up with Cliff in his roach-trap of an apartment at the edge of Jamaica Village. It wasn’t the best part of town.
The brown cinderblock building wasn't much to speak of. There were four units down and four units up. The paint was peeling, and it was in need of a power wash.
I put a heavy fist against the door, and Cliff stumbled down the foyer a moment later. "Who is it?"
"Coconut County!" I shouted through the door. "We just have a few questions for you.”
"I don't talk to cops."
"Ray Coleman is dead.”
Cliff went silent for a moment. He flipped the deadbolt and pulled the door open. His concerned eyes flicked between the two of us. "How did he die?”
"It’s my understanding there was a little bad blood between you two,” I said.
"Yeah, so. He fired me. Am I supposed to like the guy?”
"From what I hear, you were showing up to work intoxicated, stealing, doing all kinds of unbecoming things.”
He scoffed and dismissed the notion with a headshake. "Where'd you hear that from?”
"Is it true?”
"Hell no, it's not true.”
I regarded him with a healthy dose of skepticism.
Cliff was a shaggy-looking guy with long, curly brown hair, a trimmed beard, and tattoos under his eyes in script. That was a commitment. Kinda hard to get a corporate job with his appearance. Then again, I don't think Cliff had a Master’s in Business Administration.
"Did you threaten Ray?" I asked.
"No. I thanked him when he fired me,” he said, thick with sarcasm. “He opened my world up to new opportunities."
It didn't look like he’d found a new job yet.
"You want to tell me where you were last night?" I asked.
"I went out drinking with some friends."
"Who?”
"Friends.”
"I need names and numbers.”
Cliff's face wrinkled. "Man, you think I'm lying?”
"You look like a trustworthy guy," I said, trying to keep a straight face. "I just need to verify.”
I smiled.
Cliff didn't smile back.
"I was with Dale and Everett. I’ll give you their numbers. They can vouch for me. Better yet, let me call Dale.”
He did and put it on speaker.
Dale answered after a few rings. “Yo, what’s up, bitch?”
“Hey, tell these fucking cops where I was last night.”
“Uh, you were hanging out with me.”
“What time was that?” I asked.
“Shit, I don’t know. I think we got to Mango about 9:30 PM.”
“How long were you there?” I asked.
“We had a couple beers there, then we hit Turtles til about 1:00 AM, I think.”
“Thanks, bro,” Cliff said. “We’ll talk later.” He ended the call and smiled. "Satisfied?”
I remained stoic. No doubt Dale would cover for his friend. "You own a gun?”
"Nope.”
"Oh, that's right, you're a convicted felon."
Cliff frowned at me. "That was a long time ago, man. It was total bullshit."
"Possession with intent to distribute."
"I didn't intend to distribute shit. It was just weed, for crissakes.”
"You were going to smoke a pound of weed?”
Cliff shrugged. "What can I say? I had a big habit back in the day.”
I didn’t buy it for a second. “You mind if we take a look around your apartment?”
"You get a warrant, you can search all you want."
"We might be back," I replied.
"I’ll count the minutes," he snarked before closing the door and latching the deadbolt.
JD and I shared a look, then returned to the van.
I cranked up the engine, and we drove to Ken’s house.
He was an independent insurance agent working with multiple carriers, providing home, auto, and boating insurance.
He worked out of his home on Driftwood Trail.
It was a nice teal two-story with a wraparound veranda, white wooden trim, and a pitched roof.
The yard was well tended, and a few palms swayed overhead.
I parked at the curb. We hopped out, pushed through the gate, and strolled to the front porch. I rang the video doorbell, and an energetic voice crackled through the speaker a moment later. "Can I help you?"
I flashed my badge to the lens. "Coconut County. We’re hoping you can help us with an investigation.”
"That sounds serious. I'll be right there."
I shared a look with Jack as we waited.
A figure approached a few moments later and pulled open the door. "Ken Boyd, good to meet you," he said, extending a hand.
Ken had a firm grip, a pearly smile, and a square jaw. In his late 40s, he was still fit and looked a little juiced up. His skin was tan from weekends in the sun, and he wore his blonde hair combed back. Ken had a full head of hair, but it was slightly receding.
"I suppose this is about Ray Coleman," he said.
I nodded.
Ken frowned and shook his head. "Damn shame. Frightening, actually. He lived just a few blocks from here. I didn't think the neighborhood had gotten that bad. Do you boys have any leads yet?”
"A few.”
"That's good. How can I help?”
"It's my understanding you two weren’t on the best of terms.”
"Well, we had our disagreements here and there.
But that's neither here nor there now. My concern is with his family.
He's got those two kids, and I'm not sure what kind of financial shape he left Dana in.
I'd like to call and offer my support, but I'm not sure if she wants to hear from me right about now.”
"Tell me about the incident with Bobby," I said.
Ken shook his head dismissively. "Kids are going to be kids. They're gonna fight.”
"He put a kid in the hospital.”
"Bobby doesn't know his own strength. But I had a stern talk with him. I told him he can't do that kind of thing.” He chuckled. "The boy’s got a hell of a right hook.”
He was definitely a proud father.
"Sounds like it.” I stared at him for a moment.
Ken’s unsettled eyes darted between the two of us. "What? You guys don't think I had something to do with this, do you?”
"Ray benched your boy for the remainder of the season.”
"He sure did. I wasn't too happy about that, and I made my opinion known. But I didn't kill the guy over a Little League game. Come on,” he said with a chuckle.
"There are some who would say it's a little more than a Little League game. You’ve got a lot of money invested in your son's career.”
"I've got a lot of money invested in my son. I think that's the duty of any parent, to give their child the best opportunity. Wouldn't you agree?"
"There are some who say you've gone as far as bribing umpires and even other coaches to rig games.”
Ken laughed. "Now that sounds like something out of a movie. I don't think anybody is rigging Little League games. The betting market isn't that big.”
"Can you tell me where you were last night between 9:30 and 10:00 PM?” We had a pretty narrow window.
"I was right here.”
"Can anyone else verify that?”
"You can talk to Bobby when he gets back from school. He was here last night."
I shared a look with Jack, then addressed Ken. "Do you own a gun?”
"I got a few. Why?"
"What caliber?”
Ken’s concerned eyes darted between the two of us again.
"Wherever you're going with this, it's the wrong direction.
I can tell you, I had no involvement in Ray's death.
I'm not that stupid. I'm not gonna throw away my life over something like that. We may have had our disagreements, but at the end of the day, I respected his coaching decisions.”
"9mm? .45?”
A frustrated exhale escaped Ken’s mouth. "I've got a 12-gauge shotgun, a couple of rifles, a 9mm, a .38 special, a .45 ACP, and a little .22mm Ruger." Ken smiled.
With a subsonic load and a suppressor, the weapon wouldn’t sound like much.
"I’d love to see your collection," I said in an optimistic voice.
Ken chuckled. "Nice try. Come back with a warrant."
"You know what really concerns me?" I said.
Ken's eyes narrowed at me. "No. What's that?”
"Can you vouch for Bobby's whereabouts after 9:00 PM last night?”
"It's lights out at 2130 around here. Sharp. I don't play around. Morning reveille is 0530.”
“Do you keep your guns locked up?” I asked.
His brow knitted. “I keep my shotguns and rifles in the safe. I keep my 9mm in the drawer by the bed. Not going to do me a lot of good if I can’t get to it.”
“What about the Ruger?”
“I believe that’s in the safe at the moment. Where are you going with this?”
“Does your son have the combination?”