Elmore Leonard - Maximum Bob

Bad. Much too confident, even brash. When he didn’t smile she wanted to take it back and was afraid now his tone would be condescending, putting her in her place. It wasn’t, it was polite. So she had to be polite and listen. He was methodical, maybe a little cool, telling her this is what you have and this is what you don’t.

“Assuming we’re able to lift prints that match Elvin’s, we’ll know he had the box in his hand at one time or another. But that doesn’t necessarily place him at the judge’s house last Thursday night. Let’s say we have evidence to show the box was there in the kitchen. We know the judge doesn’t eat pizza and the evidence techs didn’t bring it. That still doesn’t mean Elvin did. Even if you could somehow place him at the house,” Mr. Methodical went on, “there’s no way you can prove criminal intent. What did he do? Did he break in, take anything? Not that we know of.”

“He was there,” Kathy said. “I saw him.”

“You maintain you saw something , or someone.”

“Yeah, that’s what I do, I maintain.”

“Isn’t that what you told me?”

“Gary, we know he wants to kill the judge.”

“Or someone. And we have that on hearsay from a not too reliable witness who claims he owes her money for engaging in unlawful sexual congress.”

“You make it sound political.”

“I’ll run Dr. Tommy through Motor Vehicles. If he owns a Cadillac, it’ll be put on the list to watch for. And we’ll locate Elvin and keep an eye on him. What else do you want?”

“Get hold of the pizza box,” Kathy said. “It connects him to the judge and you might need it.”

She watched him shrug, take a sip of beer and pick up his fork. She didn’t want to argue, feel that knot in her stomach. “There’s another piece,” Kathy said. “Would you like it?”

He was chewing and shook his head.

“Would you like to go to bed?”

He swallowed and said, “Get political?”

She felt better already. “Engage in a little congress.”

It was nice. Maybe even nicer than the first time. They were getting to know each other. His beeper went off in the silence. He said, “Work work work,” slipped his shorts on and went out to the phone in the living room.

Light from the window lay across the sheet pulled over her. She listened for the sound of his voice, but heard nothing. He was quiet. She liked that. She wondered if he thought she was too emotional. He worked criminal investigations and was methodical. He’d better be. There was nothing wrong with eating pizza with a fork or arranging magazines in chronological order. He had a new album by one of the Dire Straits guys, The Notting Hillbillies , she should’ve mentioned to Michelle, who liked his hair but didn’t know him at all. He had a nice body too. She saw it in the living room light, coming to the bed now in his white shorts.

“Dicky Campau signed a statement. He did the shooting.”

She said, “Now what?”

“That’s it, the case is closed.”

Kathy’s friend Marialena Reyes, the assistant state attorney, said, “His bond was set at fifty thousand, so Dicky will be in at least another six to eight weeks, till the arraignment.”

“His lawyer accepted that?”

“He didn’t want to. But I told him before the hearing, try to live with whatever the judge comes up with and we’ll talk about it after. That’s what took me so long.”

It was Tuesday morning. They were in the snack bar on the first floor of the Palm Beach County courthouse, standing at a counter against the wall with their coffee, Marialena telling Kathy about Dicky Campau’s probable cause hearing.

“The lawyer looks at all this stuff Dicky told the sheriff’s people and sees it as unusual and mitigating circumstances, enough to get Dicky released on his own recognizance. And he has a point, there’s considerably more to this than meets the eye. But I’ve already been prepped, in fact told what to do.” Marialena took a sip of coffee. “I’m referring not to the shooting, but the business with the alligator.”

Kathy said, “Gary filled me in on some of it. That’s not in Dicky’s statement, is it?”

“No, of course not. Just the shooting.”

“But he claims Gibbs ordered him to bring the alligator to his house. Isn’t that it?”

“His story is he was given a choice. Bring the alligator or do time on a poaching charge hanging over him. Dicky says if the alligator had been dead-he thought it was-none of this would have happened. He says he doesn’t know why Gibbs wanted a dead alligator, but was in no position to refuse. Our office talked to Gibbs this morning, he flatly denies having anything to do with it. So we have to assume Dicky’s lying.” Marialena shrugged inside the wide shoulders of her brown linen suit. “Why would Gibbs want an alligator delivered to his house? It doesn’t make sense.”

It wasn’t asked as a question, so Kathy didn’t tell her. She said, “But the alligator business will come up at the arraignment, won’t it?”

“That’s what I spoke to Dicky’s lawyer about,” Marialena said. “I told him we don’t see any merit in getting Judge Gibbs involved, since Dicky’s story won’t hold up anyway. If he’ll plead to shooting into a dwelling, a second-degree fifteen-year felony, we’ll offer six months county time and probation. But if Dicky insists on talking about alligators, then we’ll offer him the whole fifteen years.”

“What’d the lawyer say?”

“Nothing, but he’ll take it. He doesn’t have a choice. I came out of the hearing, I thought Dicky’s wife was going to take a swing at me. You ever see her, Inez Campau?”

Kathy shook her head. “I don’t think so.”

“We’re accepting as mitigating circumstances Dicky was drunk,” Marialena said. “TAC did find an empty pint bottle with his prints and there wasn’t anyone in the house he could have been shooting at, so… By the end of the year Dicky could be one of your cases. No, that’s right, he lives in Belle Glade. Thank God for small favors, uh? You won’t have to meet his wife.”

“He did say he was shooting at the house?”

“At the kitchen window. His explanation, because he was mad at the judge. And, of course, drunk.”

“He didn’t see anyone.”

“If you were both outside, how could he?”

“I mean, I wonder if he thought he was shooting at someone, in the window.”

“He ever admits that, we’re talking about attempted murder,” Marialena said. “Let’s keep it simple.”

Kathy said, “Oh shit,” and Marialena looked around.

Bob Gibbs was already in the snack bar, the judge in shirtsleeves, grinning, raising his hand to people, Kathy thought like he was giving them his blessing. He came over to where they stood at the counter against the wall, saying, “Well, they’ve called off the dogs, I’m a free man again. Marialena, honey, would you excuse us? I have something to say to this little girl.”

Marialena stooped to get her briefcase. “I was leaving anyway, Judge.”

“I have to go too,” Kathy said. “I have appointments at the office.” She picked up her purse from the counter and Gibbs put his hand on her arm.

“Offenders are used to waiting,” Gibbs said. “They spend their life waiting for trial, waiting to get out of jail… Listen, I’m free of those TAC boys, there’s nobody shooting at me, so I’m safe to be with. I’m thinking, why don’t you and I go out and have some din-din this evening?”

“No more protection around you?” Kathy said.

“Don’t need it.”

“You know that man wasn’t shooting at you.”

“He claims he wasn’t and I’ll accept that. I’m just glad to get those strangers out of my house.”