Thicker Than Water (19 page)

“I figured you'd be calling sooner or later,” Ahnert said.

“We need to talk,” Louis said.

There was a silence on the other end of the line. “All right,” Ahnert said. “I'm on duty. You'll have to come out to the substation.” He gave directions and hung up without another word.

Louis was an hour's drive into the wasteland of the Corkscrew Preserve before he saw the radio tower that Ahnert had told him to watch for. It led him to a sun-bleached cinderblock building set in the flat gray-green scrub land, land that looked untouched by the recent hard rains. There were no trees, nothing to give shelter from the sun. The only break in the monotonous landscape was the line of electrical towers marching like skeletons to the horizon.

Louis parked next to the Lee County Sheriff's Department cruiser in front. As he got out of the Mustang, he saw Bob Ahnert emerge from the building.

Why was Ahnert wearing the standard green uniform? He was a detective, wasn't he? Louis's eyes dipped to the name tag on Ahnert's shirt.
SGT. AHNERT.
Had the guy been busted in rank? Is that why he was sitting out in a substation in the middle of nowhere?

Ahnert removed his glasses, drew out a handkerchief and started to wipe them.

“You must want something pretty bad to drive all the way out here,” he said, putting his sunglasses back on and resting his hip against his cruiser.

“I know now what was missing from Kitty's homicide file,” Louis said. “The second lab report. That's what you were talking about, wasn't it?”

Ahnert drew a cigar out of his breast pocket and lit it. He didn't have to cup a hand; there wasn't one whiff of a breeze out here.

“Did you find it?” Ahnert asked.

“No.”

“So that's why you're here. You want me to tell you what it said,” Ahnert said.

“Yes.”

Ahnert drew on the cigar. Louis could see his reflection in Ahnert's sunglasses.

“Is she talking to you yet?” Ahnert asked.

Louis stiffened slightly. “Yes,” he said.

For a moment, Ahnert didn't move. Louis could hear the faint hum of the electrical lines above. He could feel the sun on his neck.

Ahnert took the cigar out of his mouth. “The semen inside her was blood type AB-negative,” he said.

“That proves Cade didn't rape her,” Louis said.

“You're not going to prove anything on my memory,” Ahnert said. “You're going to have to find that report. Why haven't you gone back to Duvall's old defense records?”

Louis shook his head. “I can't get access.”

Louis waited for Ahnert to say something, but he just chewed on the cigar, watching Louis through the sunglasses.

“I have reason to believe that Duvall buried the semen report and let an innocent man go to prison,” Louis said.

“Duvall was a winner. Why would he do that?”

“I don't know.”

“What about two killers? You consider that?”

Was Ahnert talking about Cade and Ronnie acting together? It was sickening, the image of Ronnie raping Kitty and then Cade killing her to shut her up. Was that what Cade meant by blood being thicker than water?

“Cade and Ronnie . . . together?” Louis asked.

Ahnert said nothing, just moved the cigar to the other side of his mouth.

“Sergeant,” Louis said, “was that where you were going with this twenty years ago?”

A lone white egret took sudden flight and Ahnert watched it rise and disappear against the bleached sky. “April 9th. That's the day she was killed. I remember it was hot, like summer was coming early.” He paused. “ ‘April is the cruellest month, breeding lilacs out of the dead land, mixing memory and desire, stirring dull roots with spring rain.' ”

He looked back at Louis. “It doesn't matter where I was going twenty years ago.”

“It mattered. It still does,” Louis said. “I think you still want to solve this case. I think you're the only one who does.”

“Besides you, you mean.”

“Yes.”

Ahnert was silent for a long time, looking out over the desolate landscape.

“It's over for me,” he said. “She's yours now.”

Louis was surprised to hear a hint of relief in Ahnert's voice. What the hell had happened to this man twenty years ago? Had he been so obsessed with finding Kitty's killer that it had destroyed his career and the rest of his life?

He suddenly heard Mobley talking to him as he leaned over the bar at O'Sullivan's.

He stole an item that belonged to the victim. A gold necklace. Some kind of heart-shaped locket. Guess Ahnert needed the money.

Ahnert hadn't needed the money a cheap gold necklace would have brought, and he wasn't obsessed with finding Kitty's killer. It was
her
he was obsessed with.

“Why did you stop investigating?” Louis asked.

“I was told to.”

Louis shook his head. “I don't believe that.”

Ahnert finally looked back at Louis. “I was hung up on a dead girl.” He looked away. “It's sick, isn't it?”

Louis ran a hand over the back of his neck. It wasn't the sun that was making him sweat.

“I'm just trying to give her justice,” Louis said quietly.

Ahnert didn't answer. He tossed the cigar into the sand and squashed it out with his boot. Then he picked a bit of wet tobacco off his lips and flicked it away.

“Forget justice,” he said. “Give her some peace.”

It was on the drive back to Fort Myers that Louis remembered something Ronnie Cade had said the very first time he had gone out to J.C. Landscaping. Ronnie had mentioned that his father had bailed him out of jail when he was a teenager. That meant Ronnie probably had a record. And there was a slim chance that the record could lead to a blood type on file somewhere. But he needed Mobley's help to get it.

The reception area outside Mobley's office was empty when Louis got there. He looked at the wall clock. Past five. Mobley's door was shut, the lights off. He was about to leave when the Amazon came in, carrying a freshly washed coffeepot.

She smiled at him. “What are you doing back here?”

“I needed to see the sheriff.”

“Too late. He cut out early today. He won't be back 'til Monday.”

“Damn,” Louis said under his breath.

“Can I help?” she asked.

Louis almost told her no, but nodded. “Yeah, maybe you can. Can you check to see if someone has a record?”

“Sure. What's his name?”

“Ronnie Cade.”

She gave him a look, but went to the computer terminal at the back of the room. Leaning over the chair, she brought the monitor to life and looked back at Louis.

“Got a social or a birthday?”

“Sorry.”

She typed in the name, then looked back at him. “I got two. Ronald John or Ronald Walter?”

“Hell, I don't know. Do you have birth dates or anything else there?”

“I got one in nineteen-forty-nine and one in nineteen-thirty-two.”

“It's got to be forty-nine.”

She pecked at the keys, then the printer in the corner started pumping out a piece of paper. She ripped it off and brought it to Louis.

Ronnie Cade had one charge: a DUI from 1976, the result of an accident with injuries. Finally, a break. Any accident victim who had been treated at a hospital was always tested for alcohol. And they were routinely blood-typed.

“Excuse me,” Louis said.

The Amazon had been putting away the coffee filters and she looked back at Louis over her shoulder.

“Is there any way you can check to see if the hospital records for this accident are in his file?” Louis asked.

For the first time, she gave him something other than a smile. “Hey, I've clocked out. I gotta go pick up my kid at the baby-sitter.”

“I wouldn't ask—”

“But you
really
need this . . . yeah, yeah, yeah.” She heaved a big sigh. “We don't usually have hospital records.”

“Sometimes they're put in the files. Can you check?”

She took the computer printout back. Louis paced while she made the call. He was looking up at Dinkle's portrait when she called his name.

“This must be your lucky day. We've got them,” she said.

Louis came toward her quickly. “I just need to know his blood type.”

She spoke into the phone and looked back. “O-positive.”

Louis let out a sigh. He was relieved for the sake of Ronnie and Eric.

The Amazon had hung up the phone and was now stuffing things into her big purse.

“Can you tell me how I can reach the sheriff?” Louis asked.

“No way. He would kill me.”

“I doubt that. Come on, it's important.”

She hesitated, then shrugged. “Okay, but don't tell him I told you. He's a partner in a supper club down in Naples—La Veranda. He'll be there tonight and tomorrow night. I've been there. Fancy place. Men gotta wear ties to get in.” She smiled. “I can drive you down, if you want, after I pick up my kid.”

Louis smiled. “Maybe some other time.”

Outside, he paused on the sidewalk. He knew he needed to call Susan. The fact that neither Cade nor Ronnie had raped Kitty could still be important to her defense. If he could tie Kitty and Duvall's deaths together. And if she would listen.

But there was something else, and it bothered him when he recognized it. He just plain wanted to talk to her.

He turned and walked a block to a café, ducking inside to a pay phone in the back. He dialed her office number and it rang ten times before she picked it up, breathless.

“Susan, don't hang up,” he said.

She hesitated. “I wasn't going to.”

“I want you to listen to me without saying a word.”

There was another pause. “Okay.”

Louis took her through his day, laying everything out for her, from the unreadable slide to Bob Ahnert's revelation about the AB-negative sample. He finished up with the fact that neither Jack nor Ronnie Cade raped Kitty.

She said nothing.

“Well?” he asked.

“I'm a little stunned,” she said softly. “I'm trying to figure out what I can use.” There was a pause. “Can you bring me this report that says Kitty's rapist was AB-negative?”

“Not exactly.”

“Can I subpoena it from someone?”

“No.”

A long pause this time. “Where
is
this report?”

“It's in Jack Cade's trial file from 1967, which was on Spencer's desk when he was shot. The cops picked it up along with everything else.”

There was another pause. Louis could hear papers rustling. He was about to tell her that he was going to see Mobley when she interrupted.

“It's not here,” she said.

“What?”

“I have the evidence sheet from Duvall's office right here in front of me. There's no mention of Jack Cade's trial file. It's not here.”

“It has to be. You're sure?”

“I'm looking at the list, Louis. They took other files, but nothing about Jack Cade.”

Louis shifted the receiver to his other ear. “Then where the fuck is it?”

“How the hell should—”

“Wait,” Louis said quickly. “Ellie told me that she gave Duvall the file. It was there. So whoever killed Duvall must have taken it.”

They were both silent for a moment.

“Susan, I have to go see Mobley,” Louis said. “Come with me.”

“Why?”

“I need to convince him to reopen Kitty's homicide.”

“You don't need me for that.”

“Yes I do. I need him to see you're with me on this.”

Susan was quiet for a moment. “If I decide to use this in a new defense, I don't want to tip my hand. Mobley is a cop, Louis, with a cop brain. I can't trust him.”

“Susan, listen to me. You're going to have a hard time making this believable. You need Mobley to reopen Kitty's homicide for credibility. You need the cops on your side this time.”

Susan was quiet.

“Trust him, Susan,” Louis said. “And me.”

He heard her sigh. “Okay. Give me an hour. Pick me up at home.”

Susan jerked open the door and stared at Louis.

“Damn,” she said.

“What?” Louis said.

She waved a hand at his blue blazer and tie. “Why didn't you tell me this was dressy?”

Louis's eyes traveled down to Susan's blue jeans and back up to her face. “I'm sorry,” he said. “We're meeting Mobley at a restaurant down in Naples.”

Susan let out an impatient snort. “Give me ten minutes,” she said over her shoulder as she disappeared down the hall.

Louis came into the living room. Benjamin was tossing foil icicles on a Christmas tree, helped by a teenaged girl Louis assumed was the dreaded April.

“Hey, Benjamin,” Louis said.

“Hey.” He eyed Louis's striped tie. “Ricco Tubbs wouldn't be caught dead in that tie.”

“Well, when I get my Masarati, I'll upgrade.”

“You taking my mom on a date?”

“Nope. Just work.”

Benjamin went back to throwing wads of icicles. Louis stood there watching him until a flash of red made him turn.

Susan was there, dressed in clingy red silk, leaning against the wall as she struggled to put on her high heels.

Oh man . . .

He tried not to stare as she came forward. She was cramming stuff in a small black purse and it was a moment before she looked up at Louis.

“What?” she asked, frowning.

“Nothing . . . nothing,” he said.

“Well, let's go,” she said, heading out the door.

Louis glanced back at Benjamin.

“Sure looks like a date to me,” Benjamin muttered.

 

 

La Veranda was a candle-lit womb of a place on the water. Someone was playing “Fly Me To the Moon” on the piano as Louis followed Susan and the maitre d' to a table near the window. It wasn't until he heard the singer's voice that Louis turned to look at the man seated at the piano.

Fuck a duck.
It was Mobley.

Louis looked over at Susan. She was staring at Mobley too.

“I can't believe it,” Susan said.

“I know,” Louis said.

“No, I mean, I can't believe he's good.”

Suddenly, Mobley spotted them. He didn't miss a beat as he finished and then leaned into the mike.

“Okay, here's a special song for two special friends of mine,” he said. He launched into “Hello Young Lovers Wherever You Are.”

Louis was watching Mobley, trying not to let his gaze drift over to Susan. On the ride down from Fort Myers, they had talked only about the two cases, bouncing things off each other in a mad tango of ideas. They had made a commitment to back each other up in front of Mobley. For the first time, they were on the same track.

But now, the heat of the work talk had tapered off, and they were left with only the votive candle flickering between them.

Louis looked over at Susan. How had she managed to do her hair up like that so quickly?

She felt his eyes on her and looked at him.

“You look really pretty,” he said.

She blinked several times, like she hadn't heard him. “Thank you,” she said softly.

Mobley finished singing. He announced he was taking a short break, rose and came to their table.

“Well, if it isn't the Lone Ranger and Tonto,” he said. “What are you two doing here?”

“We're here just for you, Lance,” Louis said.

“How'd you find out I was here?”

Louis pulled out a chair. “Hard to keep a talent like yours secret for long,” he said.

Mobley looked at Susan, who was grinning. Finally, he sat down and a waiter immediately appeared with a scotch and water. Mobley glanced at the table, and seeing their empty glasses, motioned toward the waiter to fill them up. When he was gone, Mobley took a drink, then sat back.

“Didn't know you moonlighted,” Susan said.

“It pays for all the piano lessons my mom made me take,” Mobley said. He looked at Louis. “I thought it was us against the lawyers, Kincaid,” he said.

Louis could feel Susan's eyes on him. “I had to tell Susan. She's Cade's lawyer.”

Mobley took a drink of his scotch. “Forget it. Just tell me what you found out. Did the second sample match or not?”

“It didn't match. It was AB-negative.”

“Any chance Ronnie Cade did it?”

“Nope. I checked his blood type. He's O-positive, just like his father.”

“Son of a fucking bitch,” Mobley whispered. “I guess I will have to go pull Cade's old defense file out of my evidence room.”

“You don't have it,” Louis said.

“What?”

“You never had it. Whoever killed Duvall took it.”

Mobley leaned back in the chair. In the flicker of the candle, Louis could see something pass over Mobley's eyes, like the sheriff was watching his whole career go down the toilet. Mobley reached up and, with a hard tug, undid his black bow tie.

“Lance,” Louis said quietly. “We can't put this back in the box. You've got to reopen Kitty's homicide.”

Mobley looked at Susan. “I hate lawyers,” he said. “I fucking hate lawyers.”

Susan glanced at Louis but said nothing.

Mobley got slowly to his feet. “I've got to do my second set. Order whatever you want, dinner's on me.”

He drained his scotch and set the glass down hard. “Goddamn, I liked being sheriff,” he muttered, walking away.

Susan looked at Louis. “Is he going to reopen?”

“Yeah,” Louis said, watching Mobley resume his place at the piano. “I think he will.”

Louis looked down at his drink, thinking about Jack and Ronnie Cade and what they would do when he told them they would be cleared. This whole thing had kicked up so much mistrust between them, so much bad blood. Twenty years was a long time to wait for the truth, and it might be coming too late to repair the damage that had been done between them. Damage that he himself had helped cause by his accusations.

He looked at Susan. She was stirring her drink, her dark eyes intense with thought.

“Susan, what are Cade's options now?” he asked.

“It's going to depend on the investigation, but assuming it favors Cade, a motion for a new trial would be first, I suppose,” she said. “But it's always a tough road.”

“You can do it.”

Susan looked at him, then played with the swizzle stick in her drink. “Not me, Louis. I never had a case like this one. I'd be in over my head.”

Louis let a moment pass, looking at her in the soft light of the candle. He knew how hard it was for her to admit that. She had fought hard to get the Cade case in the first place, and once the news broke that Kitty Jagger's case was being reopened, there was a good chance her bosses would take it out of her hands. Innocent man does twenty years for a murder he didn't commit? The press would be all over it. And Susan would be cut out.

Louis glanced back at Mobley. He was playing “Yesterday.”

“Who would've thought,” Susan said softly.

“Thought what?”

“That for twenty years, this whole town looked at Jack Cade like a piece of garbage. And he's probably innocent.” She shook her head. “I'll go see Cade the first thing in the morning and give him the news.”

Louis thought about how Cade looked last night, standing in the dark, Issy in his arms, making threats. He thought of the knife Cade had thrown at his feet.

“Do you mind if I tell him?” he asked.

She frowned slightly. “Why?”

He took a drink. “We have some unfinished business,” he said.