Chapter 40
“That blood drop on Darrell’s shoe is not a match for either Cameron or Dr. Renick. I’m not saying he’s not your shooter, but this doesn’t connect him.”
I thanked her for the info before ending the call.
Daniels had put a deputy in the hospital to watch over Darrell. As long as Jacob Sweet was at large, Darrell was at high risk. I didn't think Jacob would stop until he had accomplished his mission.
I pulled myself out of bed, showered, dressed, then headed down to the galley to fix something to eat. I cracked a few eggs and sizzled bacon in the pan. The smell of fresh coffee wafted.
I flipped on the TV and caught up with current events. Paris interviewed Darrell from the hospital. With a beaming smile on his face, he lay in a bed, wearing a pale green gown. An IV dripped into his arm, and vital statistics blipped on a monitor beside the bed.
"Someone was looking out for me," Darrell said. "I’ve got a purpose and a plan. I’ve been blessed.” He paused. "Though the last time you interviewed me, I got shot. Maybe I should stop doing interviews with you," he teased.
Paris laughed. "Jacob Sweet is wanted by authorities in connection with the shooting. What are your thoughts?"
"I suppose he feels he's doing what's right.
My heart goes out to him. It really does.
But he's going to have to serve his time like everybody else.
I sure hope our good people in law enforcement can bring him to justice just as swiftly as they brought justice to me. " Then he added, "More like injustice."
"Still bitter about your conviction?"
Darrell forced a smile. "I'm not bitter about anything. I'm happy to be alive. I've been given a second chance. Perhaps I should call this my third chance.”
"Would you be willing to do a sit-down interview with Jacob Sweet after he's been arrested?"
Darrell pondered it for a moment. "I suppose if you can arrange such a thing, I'd be game. I certainly have a few things to say to him.”
"When do you think you'll get out of here?" Paris asked.
"Well, unlike my last incarceration, I can leave anytime I want.
" Darrell flashed that sly smile again. "They say if all goes well, I might actually go home today. They tell me the bullet went between my fourth and fifth intercostal, whatever that is. Said it grazed my lung. I had a pneumothorax. The bullet got lodged in the bone, and they were able to remove it. They put in a chest tube, but took that out this morning. If everything looks good, they’re gonna send me home at the end of the day, possibly tomorrow. Like I said, somebody was looking out for me.” He looked to the heavens, then he added, "I’m thankful Jacob didn't have very good aim. He might want to spend more time at the range, but I’m not upset that he didn't.”
Jack staggered into the galley in time for breakfast. We ate at the breakfast nook. It was still overcast and cold outside. 48°. It was nothing to the snowbirds, but down here, that was close to an Ice Age.
A bunch of packages had arrived. The aft deck looked like a warehouse of brown boxes. We gathered the toys and organized them.
I called the sheriff after we finished and told him about Darrell's impending discharge.
"What do you want me to do about that?”
"That guy’s going to be a prime target as soon as he gets out,” I said.
"You want me to babysit him?"
"I think it would be wise to keep a deputy on him. At least until Jacob is apprehended.”
"Are you volunteering?”
"I think our resources are better spent elsewhere.”
"Why did I know you were going to say that?” The sheriff sighed. "Might want to reevaluate your usefulness. Last time I checked, you two didn't have anything solid on this case."
"This one has proven more challenging than anticipated.”
"I’m stretched thin on resources as it is.
But you’re right. Jacob Sweet might turn up at Sandpiper Point to finish the job.
” After a pause, he said. “I’ll put Van Zandt on it.
In the meantime, start talking to gangbangers.
See if there is any talk on the street about the drive-by. Somebody has to know something.”
“We’re on it,” I said.
After we pulled ourselves together, JD and I drove to Jamaica Village and chatted up prostitutes, dope dealers, and gang members.
As you can imagine, we didn’t get far. Nobody wanted to talk.
Nobody on the street wanted to be seen as a rat.
There were consequences. Snitches get stitches and sometimes worse.
While we were in the neighborhood, we looked up James William Wilson.
Jay-Dub was 32 years old and drove a tow truck.
He had a prior conviction for simple battery and resisting.
Plead it out and did 12 months probation.
That was 12 years ago. He hadn’t gotten crossways with the law since. But he did own a black Dominator GT.
He lived at 463 Avenue K. It was a poured concrete cracker box with pale blue, weather-stained stucco siding and a pitched roof.
The desolate lawn was surrounded by a sagging chain-link fence.
Weeds attempted to reclaim the walkway. The wrecker was parked out front, and the Dominator was in the driveway.
Jack parked behind it. We hopped out and stepped to the gate, and a pit bull lunged at us, snapping and growling. The only thing that kept it from taking a chunk of flesh was the heavy chain staked to the ground. It gave Chompers the run of the small yard.
“Easy there, boy,” I said with a smile.
Saliva dripped from its pearly fangs as it continued to snap.
“Got any doggie treats?” JD muttered.
“Back at the boat.”
The dog was an effective strategy to deter knock-and-talks. That much was certain.
The commotion drew enough attention to bring Jay Dub to the door with a shotgun. “What the fuck are you doing to my dog!?”
The barrel stared me down. I was never a fan of being on this end of it. With caution, I reached for my badge and displayed it.
He lowered the weapon. “What the fuck do you want?”
I pointed to the Dominator. “That your car?”
Jay Dub’s face wrinkled. “I don’t talk to cops. Get the hell out of here!”
“Just a few simple questions.”
He stepped back inside and locked the door.
The car was in the gated area, and well within range of Chompers. We weren’t going to get a closer look without a warrant. We didn’t have enough probable cause at the moment.
We banged on neighboring doors. My hope was that maybe someone saw Jay Dub coming or going in the GT the night of the murders, but nobody would talk to us.
We drove a few blocks over to the Pine Crest Place apartments.
Several brown multi-unit buildings comprised the complex.
A few towering palms swayed overhead. Like most of the complexes in this area, landlords stretched out maintenance schedules as much as possible, and the grounds were in need of attention.
Jack drove through the parking lot, and we spotted another black Dominator GT. He found a place to park, and we hopped out and approached the vehicle.
It was an outdoor car and had seen better days.
The rear tread was almost bare, and the paint was a little oxidized in spots.
The dark-tinted windows had a few bubbles and had a slight purplish cast from an ammonia-based cleaner.
There were two bullet holes in the rear quarter panel. I shared a look with JD.
“This may be our car,” he said.
I cupped my hands and peered in through the windows, looking for spent shell casings.
I didn’t see any.
“You fuck with Edwin’s car, he’s gonna kill you,” a kid on a bike said when he pulled up. He couldn’t have been more than 8.
I smiled and said, “Just looking. It’s a nice car.”
The kid eyed me with suspicion. “You a cop?”
“What makes you think that?”
“Ain’t nobody around here dumb enough to touch Edwin’s car.”
I chuckled. “Is he around?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know. I don’t talk to 5-O.” The kid rode off.
I shared another look with Jack.
A skinny guy approached with an angry face. He wore jeans, a leather bomber jacket, and a backwards red baseball cap. “What do you want with my car?”
“You must be Edwin.”
“Depends who’s asking.”
I flashed my badge.
Edwin was mid-20s and unimpressed with authority. “What do you want?”
“How’d you get the bullet holes?”
“I don’t know. It’s a rough neighborhood. Came outside one day and it was like that.”
I didn’t see any obvious gang tattoos, but his arms and legs were covered. Edwin had priors for possession, simple battery, and shoplifting.
“Mind if we take a look around the inside of your car?”
“I do mind. What’s this about?”
“A car like this was used in the drive-by murder of some Christmas carolers a few days ago.”
“Not my car,” he said with confidence.
“Where were you that evening?”
“Get the fuck out of here. I didn’t do nothing.”
“Do you know Father Callahan?”
Edwin chuckled. “Do I look like I go to church?”
“You run with a gang?”
“Naw, I ain’t into that shit,” he said, looking away.
I didn’t buy it for a second.
“Look, man. I gotta go to work. Do you mind?”
I didn’t move from his path. “Where do you work?”
“Am I being detained? Am I under arrest?”
I shook my head and said, “No.”
He stared at me for another beat, then I stepped aside. Edwin clicked the key fob, and the lights flashed. He brushed past me, pulled open the door, and slid behind the wheel. The aftermarket exhaust growled as he fired up the car.
JD and I stepped out of the way as he pulled out of the space and took off, the exhaust singing.
Jack looked at me and said, “Now, that guy’s up to no good.”
Our adventures on the wrong side of town took up most of the day. I called Lindsey, who had witnessed the shooting. When she answered, I said, “This is Deputy Wild. Do you remember if the assailants’ vehicle had bullet holes?”
She paused. “I don’t. I’m sorry.”
“Was there anything else about the car you remember? Faded paint? Bubbling tint?”
“I’m sorry. Like I said, it all happened so fast.” After a beat, she asked, “What do you need me to say?”
She was clearly willing to say whatever was necessary. People were scared. They wanted a resolution.
“I need you to tell the truth.”
I thanked her and ended the call.
We headed back to the Avventura and regrouped.
It was early afternoon when the sheriff called and told us to get back over to Holy Cross.
“What happened now?”