“How is Kemp, Fred?” I asked as I settled into the passenger seat beside Cooper. “Did I jump through all the hoops that he laid out for me?”
“Kemp is Kemp. What can I tell you? But let me say this. The fact that you got Stu Langdon’s killer is a huge plus on your side. That hunting knife we found on Terry Bullock is going to pose one fuck of a hurdle for his defence counsel. And we’ve tied that little 22 peashooter of his to about three other local murders. Seems Terry has been fairly busy dishing out death. He better hire Morse for his lawyer. He needs him more than you do. The forensic boys found enough on that blade and gun to fry that big boy’s bacon four or five times over.”
“Thanks Coop. Langdon was a good guy.”
“He was that,” was all Fred Cooper could say.
“What about the rest of it Fred—how’s Kemp handling that?”
“I’ll let him tell you all about it. You’ve been a busy guy though Joe Holiday. No one would ever question that.”
The ride to the cop station and Chance Kemp was done at Cooper’s standard slow speed. I didn’t object at all today. He offered tidbits of information about the different buildings and streets. This is where the dumpster was when they found that dead three hundred pound professional wrestler wearing a black evening dress and high heels—that sort of thing.
We silently rode to Kemp’s office in an elevator designed for VIPs, the very wealthy and the mayor. How much had that particular perk cost the municipal taxpayers? I was certain that no real prisoner had ever ridden in it. We stepped off the elevator into a brightly illuminated, twelve by twenty foot, thickly carpeted foyer with oak doors leading off in different directions. This had to be the cop shop’s executive administrative suite. A tall, distinguished man holding an expensive brief case stood and approached me.
“Bob Morse,” he said. “It’s good to meet you Doc. Your brother, Frank, sends his regards. I have had a chance to talk with Chance and Cooper, so I am aware of their position. If you want to meet with them informally, that is your decision—one I generally would advise against—but yours is a very unusual circumstance. However, if you feel threatened or are uncertain about anything I am right here.”
“Thanks,” I said.
Cooper directed me towards the room closest on the left. If I had been going to meet the CEO of any major corporation, I would not have expected a more luxurious setting.
“Kemp knows how to work,” I said to Cooper making a general sweep of the large foyer with my right arm.
Fred Cooper just smiled and muttered, “He’s paid a price for it though.”
Just inside the door that Fred had directed me through, was an attractively dressed middle-aged secretary keyboarding report notes into an imposing modern computer. Fred just placed his hand into the small of my back and gently guided me through the interior door saying, “Hi Doreen, the boss is expecting us.”
Chance Kemp’s narrow muscular butt was leaning against the rounded front edge of a mahogany desk big enough to anchor an aircraft carrier. He was in the process of hanging up his land phone. There was an inquisitive look on his face as he looked up to greet us. He did not offer to shake my hand. I guess, at that moment, I knew that I wasn’t here to get another medal. He was dressed in a crisp cotton white button down collar shirt with a regimental tie, tailored navy blue slacks with a crease you could use to cut cheese, and highly polished black loafers. Very sartorial for a cop! Without his suit jacket on, it was even more evident that the guy pumped iron. By comparison, Cooper and I were dressed like third world peons.
The huge window behind the top cop looked out over the city and then, in the distance, the bay. Initially, Kemp said nothing. He simply gestured sharply with his right hand for me to sit on one of the two straight back wooden chairs he used for company. The chairs were neatly spaced on each side and two feet back of where Kemp had been leaning. After indicating in which chair I was to sit, Kemp wheeled quickly around his desk and plopped himself down into his black leather ergonomic executive armchair. I guess he was a guy who expected instant obedience. I remained standing. He looked blankly at the two vacant chairs and then shifted his hard eyes up to meet mine.
“I said sit,” he said fighting the impatience. He started to rise threateningly from his chair. Kemp was physically powerful man with a short fuse—a bully.
“Actually, you didn’t say a thing. I’d prefer to stand.”
I thought that Kemp was about to have an apoplectic meltdown. I noticed a little vein suddenly begin to throb at his temple. I smiled sweetly at him. As well as being a bully, the guy was a pretentious and arrogant prick. Then I felt Cooper at my side. “Cooperate—you may be surprised.”
“Sorry,” I said as I sat in my choice of the hard chairs.
Kemp eased himself back into his own luxurious chair as if he was suffering from hemorrhoids. Maybe that was one of the prices he had paid that Coop had mentioned.
Once I was sitting, Kemp gave me this piercing stare and pectoral flex that was supposed to intimidate me. “You’ve been busy Holiday. Let me ask you something? Do they often let you question suspects in Canada with a loaded gun pointed at their heads?”
“Is this a trick question Kemp?”
I heard Cooper try to stifle a short laugh.
“Very cute, Holiday. Well, do they?”
I tried to get more serious. Hell, I had to get more serious. My future with Mia was at stake. “Only if there are no witnesses—come on Kemp, you know they don’t—but guess what? I’m not a cop anymore. And I’m not in Canada.”
“Canada doesn’t have the death penalty: Florida does. Let’s just take a moment to reflect on the last few days in the life of Mr. Joseph Holiday. Shall we?”
“Whatever floats your boat Kemp,” I said trying to stay calm. Why was he talking about the death penalty with me for?
“You threaten Billy Ray Boyle in a public park. It has been reported to me that you had assaulted the same man a number of days ago in a Clearwater Beach bar. What do you have to say to that?”
“Not guilty; it was self-defence. And I was the one who told you about that altercation in the bar.”
Kemp ignored my response and pressed on.
“You then hold Terry Bullock captive at gunpoint, after you had already shot him twice. You tell him you won’t call 911 until he agrees to answer a series of questions—most of which will incriminate him. You shoot Ted Bullock and terrify his wife in your girlfriend’s apartment. You frighten Ted badly enough that the man thoroughly soils himself, and you then tell his wife that if she doesn’t tell us the truth about what happened to her daughters, you’ll come back and put her out of her misery. Is that about right?”
“Give or take on the wording, I think I said—punch your ticket—but Terry Bullock did break into my room with the intention of topping me. He also shot at me first. You’ve already checked the bullet holes in my room. And I think that maybe I was temporarily insane when I returned Ted’s three shots at me, but I think that’s still probably self defence. And Eliza Bullock should have been terrified and worse years ago for what she let that bastard and his son do to her kids. So maybe it was a crime of passion. I’ll have to ask my lawyer,” I replied. “He’s waiting outside.”
Kemp had used his fingers for emphasis as he listed the number of sins that I had committed. I thought I’d answered the first two points effectively. I continued to speak. “But then I guess you could also say that I found out who killed a retired Tampa Bay detective, Stuart Langdon, and left you the evidence to prove it. I also figured out who tortured and raped Mia Doulton. I will admit that I got in a little personal payback before I let you have him. And I have explained to you who it was that killed Vickie Doulton three years ago and why. As far as Eliza Bullock goes, well, I was just messin’ with her head when I told her I’d punch her ticket to hell. Fuck her if she can’t take a joke. Remember, she killed Vickie.”
“You’re a regular little clean up squad,” Kemp started.
“I hav
en’t finished. If you can get the Bullock family talking against each other, you should be able to lay different charges against each of them. Your own D.A. will almost certainly want to plea bargain rather than have me testify at any of those trials. As far as the media is concerned, each case was solved as a result of hard slogging police work. It’ll look good on you Kemp. It’s another victory for law, order and the American way. You’ll be a hero. And once all the stuff is in on Terry Bullock and his 22, and Ted Bullock and some of his businesses, you should be in a position to wipe a number of old and recent crimes off the slate. That should look very impressive on the quarterly reports. The mayor will be thrilled. Maybe you should think about giving me a medal.”
Kemp had been shaking his head in disbelief for the last piece of my dissertation. I was thinking it might be a good time to ask for my lawyer when Cooper surprised me. He stepped forward to stand beside my chair.
“Chance,” he said quietly, “you will be able to tell Babe and Paula that you brought the man who killed Stu to justice. That’s got to be worth something.”
Kemp shifted his hard stare onto Fred. Cooper just shrugged—like what are you going to do? Chance Kemp seemed to be thinking about what we had said. Fred Cooper and I were both quiet. Let the top cop work it out.
Finally, after almost a minute of total silence, Kemp made his decision, “Get him out of here Coop—now!”
“Let’s go,” Cooper said to me as he hooked my elbow with his meaty hand.
I rose to go with him.
Seconds later, after I thanked Bob Morse for being there for me, we were descending on the silent elevator. Cooper turned to me and handed me my backpack. “I think we’re done here Joe. Kemp doesn’t want to bring you into the light of day. The media might love you more than him. Try to stay out of trouble, but give me a call sometime. I’m retiring in five months. Maybe, we can get together and talk about going into business together.”
I was dumbfounded. I thought I was going to jail for a long time, and the guy is asking me to go into some kind of business deal with him. “Can’t do it Coop,” was all I could say. “I don’t have a green card. It wouldn’t be legal.”
“Marry Mia—and you’re good to go—something to think about, eh?”
When the elevator stopped, we stepped out into the underground parking area beneath the police building. There was a cruiser waiting.
“Thanks Coop. And what was Kemp’s little shot about Canada having no death penalty while Florida does. I mean I didn’t kill anyone. Did I?”
“Pretty touch and go with Ted Bullock, but it was just Kemp screwin’ with your head. Call it a sphincter test.”
Cooper extended his hand that I shook gratefully. “It’s been a pleasure getting to know a little about you Fred. Enjoy your retirement.”
“Take Mr. Holiday wherever he’d like to go—within the counties,” Cooper said to the young uniformed officer who held the rear door of his cruiser open for me.
“Tampa General,” I said wondering if this was a joke and someone was going to shoot me and dump me in the everglades. But Cooper had given me back my backpack. I took a quick glance inside. The Beretta and Sig smiled back at me.
An hour or two after I had settled in my chair beside Mia’s bed to tell her princess stories, a skinny guy wearing blue pants and jacket and a red and white striped shirt, stepped into the room.
“Excuse me. Are you Joe Holiday? You are one tough guy to find.”
“I guess so,” I replied hesitantly. What would a Purolator guy want with me?
“Sign here please,” he said as he handed me a white eleven by fourteen-inch air bubble package.
I scratched my signature.
“Have a nice day sir,” he said with a nod of his head. “I hope your friend is feeling better soon.”
I tore open the large envelope. A multi page sheaf of legal papers slipped out with another white business sized envelope tightly paper clipped to the front of them. I carefully separated the envelope from the bundle. I opened it. Inside was a single unlined sheet of paper with a printed message and a smaller envelope that fell and landed face on the floor. I read the note:
Hi Doc:
Go through the papers and sign wherever the lawyers have put and x, and return them to me as soon as you can. The sale of the house went through. I used the Power of Attorney you left with me to finish things up. The insurance claim was paid. It is included in the cheque for the attached. Give my regards to Max. Stay well.
F
Now there’s a statement of brotherly love I thought as I reached down to retrieve the smaller envelope that had fallen from the note. I ripped it open. Inside, was a cashier’s check made out to me for one million eight hundred and sixty four thousand two hundred and ninety seven dollars and fifteen cents.
“Mia—wake up. I’ve got something to tell you.”
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