P. Parrish - Paint It Black

Damn. He knew what he had to do. The only problem was getting up the guts to do it. He glanced at his watch. With a sigh, he hoisted himself up from the chair, went inside, and grabbed the car keys off the kitchen counter.

The porch light went on and the door opened.

“Kincaid, what are you doing here?” Wainwright asked.

“I’d like to talk, Dan. Can I come in?”

Wainwright swung the screen wide. “Sure, sure.”

Louis paused in the small foyer. The living room off to his right was small but comfortable looking. The worn furniture looked more suited to a northern colonial than a Florida bungalow. There were a few generic landscapes on the walls and a bookcase filled with books that looked untouched. On the mantel above the coral rock fireplace there were three framed photographs, a teenage boy and girl that looked like graduation pictures, and a formal portrait of a pretty brunette woman. A TV tray was set up in front of a battered Barcalounger. Cheers was on.

“Am I interrupting your dinner?” Louis asked.

“No, I’m finished,” Wainwright said, going to the tray and picking up his plate. He started to the kitchen. “You want anything? Beer? Soda?”

“No, nothing. Thanks.”

Wainwright reappeared. “Sit down, sit down,” he said, moving a stack of papers off a chair and turning the sound off on the TV.

Louis perched on the edge of the chair, his eyes wandering to the television screen. Carla was beating Cliff Clavin on the head with a dishrag.

“So?” Wainwright said.

“What do you think of the idea of forming a task force?” Louis asked.

Wainwright looked down at his beer, pursing his lips. “Okay,” he said quietly.

“I think we need to coordinate all the efforts, Dan,” Louis said. “We’re spinning our wheels here.”

Wainwright looked up at him. “Is that all?”

“What do you mean?” Louis asked.

“I mean, is that your only reason?”

“We need-” Louis looked over at the television for a moment, then came back to Wainwright. “We need all the help we can get on this.”

“And who do you see heading this task force?” Wainwright asked.

Louis forced himself to meet Wainwright’s eyes. “Someone neutral,” he said.

“Horton,” Wainwright said.

“I think that would be best,” Louis said.

Wainwright’s blue eyes didn’t blink. But he gave an almost imperceivable nod of his head. “You sure you don’t want a beer?” he asked.

Louis shook his head.

“Well, I do.” He rose slowly and went to the kitchen. Louis heard the refrigerator opening. He glanced down and saw a stack of case files on the floor next to the lounger. They looked untouched.

Wainwright came back, holding the can of beer. He didn’t sit down.

“We’ll call Horton in the morning.” He paused. “Thanks for coming by.”

Louis hesitated. Wainwright’s voice had a slightly clipped sound to it. Louis was being dismissed. He started to say something, but changed his mind. He rose and went to the door. Wainwright followed him.

As he stepped outside, Louis turned. “Dan-”

“Good night, Louis.”

Wainwright closed the door.

The cruiser crested the top of the causeway and Louis looked over at Wainwright. His eyes were focused straight ahead and his hands were loose on the wheel. If he was still pissed about last night, at least he was being enough of a pro not to show it. Louis hadn’t been in the office when Wainwright made the call to Al Horton. But later, Wainwright had come out and announced simply, “Let’s go, Al’s waiting.”

Still, the ride across the causeway had been silent.

There was a flutter of papers in the backseat. “Damn it, can you please close your window, Kincaid?” Emily said.

Louis rolled up the window, glancing back at her. She had her briefcase open at her feet, and a lap full of faxes and files.

“Here it is,” she said, shaking a paper at him. “I knew it was in here.”

“What is it?” Louis asked.

“Gunther Mayo’s sheet. It came in just as we were leaving.”

“Read it,” Wainwright said.

“Burglary in seventy-eight, assault in eighty, possession in eighty-one, and indecent exposure in eighty-two. I’ve dug up some personal stuff-”

Louis looked at her. “Can I see that?”

She handed him the papers. Louis flipped through them. “Dan, listen. Gunther joined up with a boat called the Liberty Belle in eighty-two, then boat-hopped for four years, working up and down the coast. He hooked up with Lynch in Barnegat Light last April.”

“Was he ever questioned in any of the murders up North?” Wainwright asked.

“I’ve been through those files and I never saw his name,” Emily said.

Wainwright stopped at a traffic light. “Where’s this creep from?”

Emily stuck her head in between them. “He was born in Camden, New Jersey.”

Louis looked up from reading Mayo’s dossier. “Dan, this guy was a member of a gang called The Brotherhood. Ever heard of it?”

Wainwright shook his head.

“It was a teenage white supremacist gang from South Philly,” Emily said from the back.

“No shit?” Louis said.

“It was a short-lived venture,” Emily said. “They were busted by the local cops for spray-painting racial slurs on churches. Mayo was fifteen.”

Louis glanced back at her. “Farentino, this guy fits your profile, doesn’t he?”

She looked at him over her glasses, arms crossed. “He’s a white male, age twenty-eight, low achiever, unskilled laborer, seventh of eight kids, father a drunk and felon. What do you think?”

Louis pointed to a date in June of last year. “Why is this underlined?”

Emily came forward. “It’s when his grandmother died.”

“So?”

“Mayo was thirteen when his father went to prison and he was shipped off to live with his grandmother. They were close.”

“His stressor?” Louis said.

“That’s what I think,” Farentino said, falling back into the seat.

“Farentino, what’s your guess on where he lives?” Wainwright asked.

Emily hesitated. Louis knew it was because she was surprised Wainwright was asking her for an opinion.

“I’m convinced it’s Fort Myers Beach, Chief,” she said. “It’s in his comfort zone. Even if it’s not out in the beach area itself, it’ll be close by.”

Wainwright was nodding thoughtfully.

“Lynch told me there are a lot of seasonal rentals near the wharf,” Louis said. “I sent Candy over to Buttonwood Street to show Mayo’s picture around.” He paused. “I hope we don’t scare the bastard away.”

Farentino leaned forward again. “We may do just that if you swarm the neighborhood or wharf with uniforms. I think a more subtle approach is necessary.”

“It ain’t gonna look like a military parade, Farentino,” Wainwright said.

Wainwright pulled into the parking lot of the Fort Myers PD and jerked the car to a stop. “Okay, first and ten,” Wainwright said without looking at either of them. “Let’s go see if we can turn this game around.”

Inside the lobby of the station, the receptionist behind the glass recognized Wainwright and buzzed them through. Al Horton was waiting for them at his open door. “Come on in, Dan. Mobley’s not here yet.”

“But he agreed to come?” Louis asked.

“I told him you and I were thinking about working together on the case,” Horton said. “He’ll show.”

They all took chairs around Horton’s desk.

“Anything new on this Mayo character?” Horton asked.

Louis quickly filled him in. Emily was about to add something when there was a noise in the hallway. A moment later, Lance Mobley appeared at the door. Driggs was behind him.