P. Parrish - Paint It Black

“Just a little, from reading,” Louis said. “They weren’t such a hot topic when I was in school. Kind of a new breed.”

“They caught Bundy down here, you know.”

“I know. Stopped by a traffic cop. We could stop our killer tomorrow and not know it was him. We have no idea who he is.”

“You’ll catch him. You and Wainwright make a good team. He’s got a damn good reputation down here.”

Louis laid his head back. “He’s calling in his buddy from the bureau.”

“Well, that’s gotta help.”

Louis got up abruptly. He tossed his beer into the trash can and stood there, staring out at the canal. It was so dark out here. So quiet.

“What’s the matter, Louis?”

“Nothing.”

Dodie was quiet for a minute; then Louis heard the chair squeak as Dodie got up. Louis turned and watched him walk toward the sliding glass door.

“I need to tell Wainwright about Michigan.”

Dodie came back and sat down across from Louis.

“I don’t want him to hear it from someone else. I want him to know why I had to quit the force.” Louis looked away. This was hard. “I don’t want to lose his respect.”

“Then tell him.”

“It’s hard to explain.”

“Tell me first then,” Dodie said. “It’ll be easier the second time around.”

The darkness seemed overwhelming. Louis could feel the sweat on his forehead.

“It all came down to one night,” Louis began slowly.

Twenty minutes later, Dodie sat back in the lounge chair, his eyes leaving Louis’s face for the first time. For a long time, Dodie just sat there, staring at his hands. Then he looked up at Louis.

“Sounds to me like you had no choice, Louis,” he said.

“Should I tell Dan?”

“If you feel like you need to, yeah. If it’s bothering you that much, tell him.”

Louis shook his head. “But he’s got so much on his mind right now. He doesn’t need this.”

Dodie nodded. “You’ll know when. It’s your choice.” He rose, stretching. “Well, I’m going in to bed. Night, Louis.”

“Night, Sam.”

Dodie left. A few minutes later, the light in the bedroom went out.

Choice. . had he had a choice that night in Michigan? Yes, he had plenty of choices he could have made. Not to go into the woods, not to pull the trigger. Men were dead because of his choices. And he was just now learning to live with that.

The question was, could others see it the way he had that night in the woods? Could a cop like Wainwright see it and not condemn him?

Louis gathered up the files. He would tell Wainwright. But not now, not until this case was over. They needed to catch a murderer and to do that, they had to believe in each other. The rest could wait. It would have to.

The large bulletin board took up the entire wall near the watercooler. Wainwright told Louis he had put it up that morning, and this was the first time Louis had seen it.

It was divided into three columns, one for each victim, and covered with photos and colored note cards. Wainwright had told him it was a method he learned back at the bureau.

Louis stared at the cards. If there was a system to the color code, he couldn’t figure it out. He was reading a yellow card that detailed Anthony Quick’s job when Wainwright came in from the bathroom.

“What are the yellow ones for?” Louis asked, pointing.

“Background. Maybe we’ll find a thread,” Wainwright answered. “You want some coffee?”

Louis shook his head as he went back to reading the cards. Wainwright yelled out the door for Myrna the dispatcher to bring him a coffee.

“I got a call from the bureau yesterday,” Wainwright said. “We’re not getting Elliott.”

“Why not?” Louis asked, turning.

“They didn’t say. They’re sending someone else, though. Named Farentino. Out of the Miami office.”

Wainwright fell silent. His old chair squeaked as he rocked it back and forth. Louis took a chair opposite the desk and stared at the colored cards on the bulletin board.

“How you doing with those NAACP files?” Wainwright asked.

“I’ve gone through all hundred and five and pulled out about thirty that could be legitimate suspects,” Louis said.

“Christ, thirty?”

Louis nodded. “But of those, there are only five that I think we should really concentrate on.” He pulled his notebook out of his jeans pocket and flipped it open, slipping on his glasses.

“I’ve got a Fort Myers man who used to run a white supremacist group in Texas, but he’s fifty-seven with emphysema. Two other men who were arrested for starting a brawl at a Jessie Jackson speech. And there’s a twenty-two-year-old guy named Travis Durring suspected of a 1984 church burning in Immokolee. Where’s that?”

“Town southeast of here in Collier County. You check into him?”

“Yeah. The file says he is also suspected of spray-painting racial slurs on a synagogue in Naples.”

“Travis gets around. Coincidence?”

“The paint? I think so.”

“You sound like you don’t think this one is worth pursuing.”

“Churches, synagogues. . they’re vulnerable targets of white rage,” Louis said. “But the rage behind these murders is more focused. Like you said, they’re personal.”

“Is Van Slate in the files?” Wainwright asked.

Louis nodded, taking off his glasses. “He’s one of the five I pulled out. They’ve been keeping an eye on him since he was in high school. He’s got a mouth and he uses it.”

Wainwright sighed. “I got a call from Hugh Van Slate today,” Wainwright said.

“Matt’s father?” Louis asked.

Wainwright nodded. “Warned me to lay off his damn kid. Shit. . kid. The kid is thirty years old and still has to have his daddy clean up his messes.”

“Can he apply pressure?”

“He’s got the mayor’s ear, if that’s what you mean. And you can find three generations of Van Slate tombstones in the key’s cemetery. Hugh’s the biggest fish in our little pond here.”

Wainwright’s face creased in a deep frown. “Sereno used to be like Captiva, getting its police protection from the county. Five years ago, the council voted to start its own force. Hugh was the only dissenting vote. He’s never quite warmed up to me. It got worse after we arrested Matt for that beating.”

“How does everyone else here feel?” Louis asked.

“Crime is low, property values are high. Folk here like living in the Emerald City and are happy to let me stand behind the curtain and pull the switches. At least, they were.”

“I don’t think we should give up on Van Slate,” Louis said.

“Me either.” Wainwright let out a deep sigh. “God-damn it, where’s my coffee? Myrna!”

It was Officer Candy who appeared at the door a moment later. “Chief, someone here to see you,” he said.

“Who?”

“Agent Farentino.” Candy blinked rapidly several times. “FBI, Chief.”

“Well, get him in here,” Wainwright said, rising quickly and straightening his tie.

Candy disappeared and was back a second later. “Agent Farentino, sir,” he said.

Louis turned. It took every ounce of his self-control not to show his shock.

Agent Farentino was small, maybe five-three, with milky white skin, short curly hair the color of a bright copper penny, and large black-rimmed glasses perched on a small freckled nose. The black suit and white shirt showed the wear and tear of the drive from Miami, but there was no mistaking what it didn’t hide. Agent Farentino was a woman.

Louis rose slowly and glanced at Wainwright. Wainwright’s face was gray, his mouth slightly agape. Agent Farentino didn’t wait for things to get worse.