Play it down, p.10
Play It Down, page 10
The nurse shook her head. “They’d answer questions down in the surgical unit. But only if you’re immediate family.”
“But I’m the only one here. I’m the only one who knows he’s here.”
The woman shrugged with a slight smirk on her face. “I’m sorry.” She pointed down the hall. “The waiting area’s down there, past the elevators. As soon as we know something, we’ll send someone down to get you.”
Joe took a deep breath and exhaled with a loud huff of air, then walked toward the elevators. He stopped in front of the elevator and looked back at the nurses behind the desk, all three back to doing whatever they were doing. Pressing the button, he waited until the door opened and took it down to the main lobby.
He stepped off but wasn’t sure what to do or where to go. He wished hospitals had bars, or at least served alcohol. He was sure most people waiting around, anxious and scared, would be up for a drink or two most of the time.
Joe walked past a small seating area with most of the seats full, people watching the TV or looking at their phones. He continued toward the sliding doors and walked outside, standing on the sidewalk, unsure which direction he’d parked.
He looked at his phone again and, without much thought at all, dialed Lauren’s number. It rang three times before he looked out toward the street, saw two Miami police cruisers park in the no-parking area.
Two officers stepped out from one, and Sgt. Woody Thomas got out from the other.
Lauren was on the other line. “Joe? Are you there?”
Joe wasn’t paying enough attention to the call to notice when Lauren had answered. He kept his head down and hurried away from the hospital’s entrance and slipped around the corner of the building and out of sight from Sergeant Thomas. He said into the phone, “Hey, yeah. I’m here. Sorry, I…” He kept walking, making sure he was far enough away.
It wasn’t that he needed to hide from the cops. But he didn’t want to have to answer any questions. Not right then. He wasn’t exactly sure what he’d tell Sergeant Thomas had happened, then wondered what Bart would tell him, and if they’d have their stories straight.
The truth was, Joe was lucky to get away from his own apartment without answering too many questions when the police showed up in the first place. He insisted on getting to the hospital to make sure his friend was okay, and the young officer at the scene didn’t quite know how to stop him.
A rescue vehicle pulled into the parking lot with sirens blaring and drove past Joe toward the ambulatory entrance.
“Is that a siren?” Lauren said. “Where are you?”
“I’m at the hospital,” he said. “With Bart. He’s been shot.”
She gasped into the phone. “Is he okay? What… what happened? Who shot him?”
“He’s in surgery. At least that’s what they’re telling me.” He looked at his own hand. He’d removed the bandage but stuck a jumbo sized Band-Aid on it to cover the wound. He leaned against the building with one foot up against the concrete exterior behind him. “Listen, I know you’re busy with your new position and everything, but I was hoping you could help me with some digging.”
“Digging?” she said, a light chuckle in her voice. “I thought maybe you were calling to say hello.”
“I’m sorry. I was, I mean… this thing with Bart. It’s kind of, well, I’m caught up in something I wish I wasn’t, and…” He was hesitant. He knew he should just come right out and tell her everything. But on the other hand, there were details he wanted to keep to himself.
“Are you in trouble?” Lauren said. “Does this have something to do with this so-called work you’re doing for Dickie?”
“What? No. No, it’s not… I mean, it sort of is, but… I’ll explain more later.”
“So it has nothing to do with Dickie? But it does?”
“I can’t tell you everything right now,” he said. “I was just… Can you help me? Can you see what you can dig up on Nick Juliano?”
“Isn’t he dead?”
“No. You may be thinking of his grandfather, Michael. They used to call him Mick.”
Lauren said, “But this one’s name is Nick? With an N?”
“Listen. Someone else was shot and killed. A woman.”
“Oh.” Lauren was quiet. “Who?”
Joe was thinking. “Her husband is the one who showed up at my apartment. He’s the one who shot Bart.”
“Is that why he was at your apartment?”
“Uh, well, technically… yes. But, I don’t know if—”
“Oh, Joe,” she said. “I hope you weren’t messing around with someone else’s wife, were you?”
“Me? No. It’s… well… Like I said, I’ll explain more later. Just see what you can find, then maybe you can call me later tonight?”
“I can’t promise I can get right to this, Joe. If you could see my desk…”
“Okay. I know. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be pushy. But, whenever you can get to it. Just give me a call when you do. Or, call me whenever you want.”
The line went quiet.
Lauren said, “Am I looking at criminal records? Is that what you’re asking me to do?”
“Sure. Or, really, whatever you can find.”
Chapter 13
Joe was in the visitors’ waiting area on the third floor and within view of the elevators when Sergeant Thomas stepped off and turned toward him, as if he already knew he was there.
It was too late for Joe to slip away, knowing avoiding the sergeant was a short game he would eventually lose. And as Woody Thomas continued toward him, holding a large take-out coffee in his hand, Joe stood and gave him a nod.
Sergeant Thomas said, “I guess you heard what’s going on?”
Joe shook his head, feeling a lump in his throat and his heart pounding hard in his chest. “Nobody’s telling me a thing.”
“You saved Bart’s life.”
Joe had a twisted look to his face, pointing to himself. “I saved his life? Who told you that?”
Woody nodded. “I understand you’re the one who tied that tourniquet?”
“Yeah, but… there was a lot of blood.”
Woody said, “Doctor I just spoke with said if you hadn’t done that, Bart wouldn’t have survived.”
Joe and Woody stood just a few feet apart, Joe looking past him down the hall toward the nurses’ station. The three nurses he’d spoken to earlier were gone. “Where is he now?”
“He’s in the ICU. Spending the night.”
“But he’ll be… Is he all right?”
Woody took his time giving an answer, his eyes toward the floor for a couple of seconds. “There’s a chance he could lose his leg, but they won’t know for a few more hours.”
Joe felt the blood rush from his face, the pounding of his heart loud enough he could feel it in his ears. He didn’t know what to say.
Woody continued, “He may need another surgery.”
Joe let out a sigh and looked toward the big window and the darkness outside. He could just about see his own reflection in the glass. “Jesus, I…”
“You saved his life, Joe.”
Joe felt his eyes gloss over, but part of what he felt was rage. He knew, right then, he wouldn’t rest until he tracked down Craig Peters.
The sergeant finished what was in his cup and tossed it in a trash can a few feet away, then crossed his arms. He widened his stance and gazed into Joe’s eyes. “The officer on the scene at your apartment said you wouldn’t talk, tell him what happened. But I assume you’re going to tell me what happened?”
Joe had cottonmouth, and his throat was sore, like it could crack if he swallowed. “It was Craig Peters.”
Woody’s eyes opened wide. “Peters? Are you sure?”
“Of course I am. He showed up at my apartment, trying to say I killed his wife.”
Woody ran his big hand over his buzzed white hair, then slid it back to his neck, holding it there. “He’s the main suspect in his wife’s murder investigation. We’ve been looking for him, and you’re trying to tell me he was in your apartment?”
Joe nodded, hesitant at first to tell the sergeant how much he knew. “I’m sure he had something to do with it,” he said. “But, the way he was blaming me, I’m not sure he’s the killer.”
Woody had a surprised look on his face, his eyebrows raised. “We have a witness who placed him at that apartment,” he said. “You told the officer the door was open when you arrived; isn’t that right?”
“It was, yes.”
“And we found no evidence of forced entry, meaning she either let the suspect enter on her own or potentially he used a key.”
Joe said, “And who’s the witness?”
“Young man, lives across the way,” Woody said.
Joe thought about the kid he saw outside Suzanne’s apartment the first time he was there: young man looked like a Harvard grad the way he was dressed in his khakis and a blue blazer.
Joe brushed his hair back. “That’s the only witness? The young man across the hall?”
Woody gave Joe a look, like he didn’t like the tone of his question. “I’m not going to share all the details of this crime with you, Joe. But, if we’re both being honest with each other, a couple of the officers who were at the scene think I’m being too easy on you.”
Joe said, “What the hell’s that supposed to mean?”
“Well, you didn’t try to hide the fact you were involved in some kind of relationship with Mrs. Peters. It goes without saying, normally someone in your position might be looked at as a possible suspect.”
“Jesus Christ,” Joe said. “I’m the one who called it in when I found her in that closet. You think I’d kill her, then call the police on myself?”
Woody shook his head, put his hand up with his palm toward Joe. “I just told you, it’s not me who’s asking. And I’m not saying you are a suspect. But, I just want you to be aware of where things stand. And now we have Bart in surgery, shot by the victim’s husband. There’s a lot to unravel here.”
“Well, I didn’t do it. I showed you the text she sent me. She was clearly in trouble.” He looked past Woody at the nurses’ station at the end of the hall. “And I hope you don’t think this is all just about me and Suzanne Peters. I’m not sure our night together has much to do with what happened to her.”
The sergeant shifted his stance. “The husband came after you. Bart wouldn’t be in here if that were the case.”
Joe shook his head. “I told you already, he showed up trying to say I killed Suzanne. That’s why… my point about him, I guess—why would he show up to kill me for killing his wife if he’s the one who killed her in the first place?”
Woody had a confused look on his face. “You just said you weren’t sure it had much to do with what happened to her. But now you’re saying—”
“Craig Peters may believe that I killed her. Although I thought I’d convinced him I had nothing to do with it before he ran off and fired his gun on his way out the door. But, what I’m saying is, if I didn’t kill her, and Craig came after me because he thought I did… then doesn’t that mean there’s a good chance someone else did it? Someone besides me or Craig Peters?”
Woody took a look at the screen on his phone. “Were you aware he wasn’t living there? Because the two were legally separated,” Woody said.
“Yeah, I know that. And I don’t know what ‘legally’ separated means. Can you be illegally separated?” He cracked a small grin. “I wouldn’t have gotten involved with her otherwise,” Joe said. “I mean, I wish I hadn’t in the first place. For obvious reasons. But shit happens, you know what I mean? She made it clear their marriage was over, that he hadn’t been living there for weeks. At least that’s what she told me.”
The sergeant said, “Then the husband shows up at your door with a weapon? Doesn’t sound to me like a man who’d moved on from their marriage, does it?”
“Not at all,” Joe said. “But I don’t think it changes my point: there’s a good chance someone else killed her.”
The sergeant had a crooked grin on his face. “I know how you like to get involved in crime, in ways you maybe shouldn’t, with your background and all… but I’m going to have to ask you to stick to answering the questions. The last thing we need right now is another amateur sleuth in the way. Christ, you know how many calls we get now from these true-crime podcasters?”
Joe stared back at Sergeant Thomas, feeling a bit insulted being compared to a podcaster. Joe had been involved in crimes and digging into investigations for almost twenty years as a journalist. He had more experience than half the Miami Police force. But he’d decided right then he was going to keep his mouth shut, let the police do what they were going to do without offering the sergeant, or anyone else, any more information than he had to.
Woody turned and started for the elevator, but stopped and looked back at Joe. “Do me a favor,” Woody said. “You hear a word from Mr. Peters, give me a call ASAP.”
Joe cracked a grin. “Didn’t you just tell me you didn’t want my help?”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“So you didn’t mean to compare me to a podcaster?”
Woody cleared his throat. “You’re not a cop, Joe. I’ve seen how you’ve gotten involved in the past. It can be dangerous. And now you’re pulling Bart in, and—”
“I didn’t pull him into anything,” Joe said. “And, in case you haven’t noticed, I am already involved. It sounds to me you haven’t even crossed me off your suspect list. Isn’t that right?”
Woody didn’t answer right away, turning to look toward the elevators. “Once we’ve apprehended Craig Peters, we’ll have some answers.” He turned and started again for the elevator.
Joe said, “What makes you so sure you’re going to find him?”
Woody Thomas turned again to Joe. “We’ll find him. Don’t worry.” He continued toward the elevator and pressed the button, waiting but not saying anything else to Joe.
Joe watched him, wondering if he should throw Nick Juliano’s name out there and see what Woody would say. But he knew once he did that, it’d open up a can of worms. And Woody would want to know where he got the name. It wasn’t like he could tell him it was Dickie.
Joe pulled into Dickie’s driveway, hungry and tired and wearing the same clothes he’d had on all day, stains of blood from Bart’s leg dried into the fabric.
He knew it was past Dickie’s bedtime, but they needed to talk. He stepped out from his car and looked at his phone, hoping Lauren would call with some background on Nick Juliano.
Joe rang the doorbell and waited.
Dickie opened it within a minute, wearing a blue robe over his shorts and a white V-neck T-shirt, showing off his white chest hairs. His hair was wet, like he’d just gotten out of the shower. “This couldn’t wait until morning?”
Joe stepped inside without answering, getting a whiff of Dickie’s aftershave.
“Bart could lose his leg,” he said, following Dickie into the kitchen. “If Craig Peters doesn’t go down for murdering his wife, he’ll go down for shooting an ex-cop.”
“I thought you said he didn’t kill his wife?” Dickie said.
“He denied he did it.”
“He denied it?” Dickie laughed. “What’d you expect? He’d confess to you?” He reached into the refrigerator and pulled out two bottles of Corona beer.
Joe said, “He wouldn’t have come looking for me if he killed her.”
Dickie nodded, like he agreed, taking the top off his bottle and taking a sip. He handed Joe the opener with the bottle of Corona.
Joe glanced at the label and popped off the cap. “So, what else can you tell me about Nick Juliano? You think he has it in him to kill a woman because her husband’s a piece of shit?”
Dickie shrugged, taking a good swig from his bottle. “From what I know, he plays hardball. He doesn’t get his way, or someone crosses him, he’s just like the grandfather was. He’ll take down whoever he feels he needs to.” He looked at the clear bottle from the side and put it down on the counter. “You know, Joey, what do you even know about this woman? Just because you banged her doesn’t mean—”
“I don’t know anything about her. But she didn’t deserve to be killed.”
“How do you know that?”
“How do I know what?”
“How do you know she didn’t deserve it? How do you know she wasn’t fooling around with you for some other reason? Or, I don’t know… what if her being killed didn’t have as much to do with her loser husband as you think?”
Chapter 14
Joe walked into hospital room 309 where Bart was sitting up in bed, covers pulled up to his chest and the TV remote in his hand, clicking through the channels.
“Hey,” Joe said, stepping up to the side of the bed, his eyes on Bart’s legs tucked under the covers. “I hear they’re letting you keep both legs?” He felt guilty about what Bart had gone through.
Bart rolled his eyes, nodding with a slight sigh. “Guess it was close, the way the bullet nicked the artery. Doctor said if you hadn’t gotten that tourniquet around my leg, I might’ve bled to death, right there on your hardwoods.”
“I was mostly just worried about the stain,” Joe said, finally cracking a smile. “Management’d charge an arm and a leg for a mess like that.”
Bart laughed, nodding. But then his expression turned serious. “Why didn’t you just go after him?”
“Seriously? Because you’d be dead.”
Bart looked over at the TV up on the wall, quiet for a moment. “Well, I can’t wait to get my hands on him, break his goddamn neck.”
Joe looked up at the TV where Bart had stopped on a black-and-white movie. Some kind of Western, with the sound down. “I spoke to Woody. They’re looking for him. Not only for shooting you, but he’s the prime suspect. Woody seems certain he killed Suzanne.”
Bart coughed into the back of his hand. “Maybe you should stop calling her by her first name like that. You knew her for, what, barely twenty-four hours?”
