The Breeze

"Okay, but let me know when the two hundred runs out because that will probably be all I can afford." I replied.

"You are a pretty good liar, but you are still a liar. I happen to know what you can afford. I did a little checking on you." she admitted.

"Why in the world would you bother doing that?" I asked.

"I always check out men I intend to go out with," she said before quickly turning to walk away.

"You should wait to be asked," I shouted at her.

"You are going to ask, so why should I have to rush the checks," she said it with a wide but sleepy smile.

I watched her clear the parking lot before I fired up the Jap Jeep. I drove the short distance to the motel yawning all the way. I was tired and thankful that Lori would be working the day shift so that I could get some sleep. When I arrived I packed Bobby off for home, then waited for Lori. Once she arrived, I locked myself into my small apartment, and slept. I probably would have slept longer had not the pounding on my door woke me.

"Open up Johnny we have to talk," Ruth said through the door..

I pulled on last nights pants, then staggered to the door. "Take it easy Ruth,' I said. "What the hell is so important you have to wake me?" I asked.

"God damned Feds, that's what's the matter. They came rolling in right after lunch today. Just to fuck over my case. They pretty much told me to go play in the traffic." she screamed.

"Why are you shouting at me? I had nothing to do with it," I asked.

"Sure you did, you and them god damned computer disks. I sent them to the regional office one day and the next the FBI is taking over my case." she snapped.

"So what was on the tapes?' I asked.

"You don't think the FBI would tell a peon like me do you?" she asked angrily.

"So what's the big deal?" I asked. "Are they looking into the tapes or the murder,"

"Both, they are looking into the murder, but they are also playing some kind of game with the disks." she informed me.

"So they are going after Peterson," I guessed. I would have been very pleased to have him as suspect number one, though I doubted him guilty of his wife's murder.

I don't know what they think. All I know is they have taken over the murder investigation, and I am not going to have it. God damn it I am the investigating officer not some FBI clown." Ruth ranted.

"What can you do?" I asked.

"I can take a leave of absence for thirty days. I have the time accumulated and I am going to ask for a stress leave. The chief will be happy to have me gone. Especially after the scene I made at the station." she answered.

"So what are you going to do while on your leave?' I asked not wanting to know the answer.

"Not me but rather we," she said with her first smile of the day. "We are going to find the murderer."

"You obviously have me mistaken for a cop," I said seriously.

"Come on you were one of the best homicide investigators in the state. Let's get this prick," she begged.

"I think I would just as soon see them nail the husband. All I want is to have him drop his lawsuit against me." I admitted.

"Come on Johnny you and I both know it wasn't the hubby. While they try to tie a can to his ass, we can find the real killer," she begged again.

"Why should I waste my time on an investigation we can't finish. The cops have all the manpower and equipment. We would just be running around chasing our own asses." I explained.

"Maybe, but they don't have your twisted mind," Ruth said.

"And exactly what is that supposed to mean?" I asked.

"Maude and I got drunk together just before I got married. She told me about you. How you know things," Ruth said.

"I don't know things, that was Maude's fantasy." I explained.

"How many homicides did you investigate in Greenpoint?" she asked.

"I have no idea?" I replied.

"Well I called personnel up there before I walked out of the station. You did twenty one who-dun-its. You solved all of them. Nobody goes twenty one for twenty one, not unless they know things the rest of us don't." Ruth exclaimed.

"Not true, look how many blind ends I have sent you down so far." I said.

"No you haven't each one of those things we did moved us along to a point where we were headed in the right direction." Ruth stated.

"Well the fibies will come to the same conclusion," I pointed out.

"No they won't. They want it to be Sims. They want to use it as leverage for some reason of their own." she said.

"So you want to solve this one all by yourself, so you can shove it up their collectives asses," I stated the obvious.

"Exactly, so how about it?" she asked.

"I am a little nuts. I mean if they pin it on Edward, I get to keep the motel. Okay, you got yourself a deal. But we still need help inside the department. Will Eddie help us from the inside?" I asked.

"Not a chance, he is going to be too busy sucking up to the big shots from the FBI." she said. "I do however have a plan."

I liked the smug smile on her face. "Is it one that will get us jailed?" I asked.

"Only if we get caught." she replied with a smile. "You wait right here. I will be back.'

When she returned she was carrying a brief case. She put it on my metal kitchen table, then removed a laptop computer. It was larger than most of the laptops I had seen. "This mother has everything," she informed me. "Plus I have all the codes and phone numbers to the police and NCIC computers. We can run anything we want to run."

"Do you have copies of those Polaroids, the ones of Kate's paintings?" I asked.

"As a matter of fact I do. So who do we talk to first?" she asked.

"No one, we go get a bite to eat, then we come back and open the game. While the game runs we try to think." I said. "First lesson, always think at least two moves ahead."

We spent the next two hours at Poppa's eating and talking. The conversation centered around Kate and her paintings. I wanted to know who the artists were. We had the names of two of them but not the others. I also wanted to know, from the artist, if they all slept with Kate. If so how many times. It was important information. I hoped to get it easily but I wasn't expecting it to happen that way.

When we returned to the motel Bobby was waiting. I showed him the Polaroids. He recognized Michael Thomas and George Weaver right off. It would have been hard not to recognize those two pictures. They were absolute horrors at least in my opinion. Of the other three he recognized only one. He had seen it hanging in the Surf side Gallery on the strand. It had been painted by a black artist name Jerome Edwards. Ruth wrote the name in her book.

"How about the other two bobby?" I asked.

"I don't recognize them. I have no idea who painted them. I sure haven't seen them in any of the local shows. They could be from a gallery. If not the Surf side then maybe one of the others." he admitted.

"So give us the Gallery names, all the names," I insisted. He kept Ruth busy writing for another few minutes.

Ruth and I walked toward room thirty one. "Ruth, those galleries should be open until nine. You have two more hours, why don't you go ask some questions." I suggested.

"You are going to play poker while I bust my ass?" she asked indignantly.

"Exactly, I personally have nothing to gain in this. You are going to have to do most of the leg work." I stated emphatically.

She turned without a word and stormed away. It the breeze had a clean concrete drive, she would have laid tire prints she left so fast. As it was she threw up a plume of fine sand as she pulled from the lot.

I opened the room and waited for my customers to appear. They wandered in over the next three hours. When we finally had enough for a game, we began. I was into the game when Ruth arrived. She sat at the small bar drinking a beer while I played. She was waiting for me to ask and I was waiting for her to demand that I leave the game to listen to her. I outlasted her.

"Would you please take a break, so that we can talk," she whispered in my ear.

"Sure," I said aloud. "Gentlemen, I am going to take a walk with this lovely lady. Please continue without me." Since there was no one waiting for a seat,. I left my chips on the table. On the landing over the office Ruth filled me in. She had visiting all the galleries and found only one more artist's name. Timmy Carter, he had painted the sunflower picture.

"Good work," why don't you go down to the apartment and fire up that handy dandy computer of yours. We need the address on all those people. If we aren't too far behind the FBI maybe we can rattle some cages tomorrow." I suggested. "When you get the information, why don't you go home and get some rest. Tomorrow may be a long day for you."

"How about you? Are you going to play all night then try to help me tomorrow?" she asked.

"Yes and no, I am going to play all night and help you some tomorrow. Some of the time you are going to be on your own." I admitted.

"Okay, but just don't leave me hanging out to dry." she pleaded.

"Not a chance, I still have to take you to dinner." I said with a smile.

After the game, poppa and I sat alone at the bar. "So Johnny, who are you going to be looking at for the woman in your room." he asked.

"I haven't told Ruth this, but I don't really have any idea who it might be. The real problem is we haven't been able to find anyone who knew what she was like down here. I know for a fact that she let her killer into that room. I am pretty sure it was the first time she had been with him. The problem is that, if it was a tourist, he is long gone. Nobody would know they ever met." I said.

"So it's fifty fifty?" he asked.

"Best I can figure," I said.

"So who you going to look at around here?" he asked.

"Some local artist. I think Kate was an artist groupie." I admitted.

"So you do have an idea?" he asked.

"Just barely," I said honestly.

"You'll get him. Maude said you could see things no one else could see."

"That's twice I have heard that today. Maude had an active imagination." I said.

"Maude had no imagination," Poppa replied seriously. "Come with me. We go check the sorry help I have at the restaurant. Then we have a good breakfast and go to bed." He paused then added, "But not together." We both laughed.

I got exactly three hours sleep when Ruth barged into the apartment. I hadn't bothered to lock the door. There would be no reason to do so. Ruth would have either picked the lock or banged until I opened it.

She threw open the drapes and shouted, "Get your ass out of bed. We have things to do and people to screw,"

"God you are too damned cheerful,' I said as I staggered to the shower. I didn't even bother to put on my pants. Ruth had seen me naked before. The hot and then cold shower helped me get moving again. The coffee Ruth reheated for me did even more for me.

"Okay, so who do we see first?" I asked.

"How about Jerome Edwards, he has a rap sheet. Nothing violent but he still has a record." Ruth said.

"Anything worth mentioning?' I asked.

"Grand theft auto was the largest and that was ten years ago," she admitted.

"The others must really be clean, if he is the worst of the lot," I said.

"Yeah well most 'who dun it' murders are committed by squeaky clean guys," she said.

"So let's go talk to our not so squeaky clean suspect," I suggested.

"You still got that little stainless steel derringer?' she asked.

"Sure," I said.

"Then bring it along. You can never have too many toys or guns," she said with a grin.

I rode with Ruth, in her jap econo box, to the house of Jerome Edwards. His house was in a little community called Monkey Junction. Why I had no idea. The house was no more than a run down shack. Jerome was outside working on his old ford when we drove into the drive.

"Jerome Edwards. I am lieutenant Miller and this is my partner," I noticed she didn't give him my name. "We have a few questions to ask you about Katherine Peterson."

"I figured you would be around. I guess I expected it when I heard she got iced. I mean I am a black man and she was a white woman. I would naturally be a suspect." he snarled at Ruth.

"Actually, you aren't really a suspect," I countered in a sweet voice. "If we put every artist she slept with on the list of suspects we wouldn't have room for the others." I said. "What we are looking for is information about her life style."

"What life, all that bitch did was shop and fuck," he said.

"Anybody in particular?' Ruth asked.

"If you mean steady, I wouldn't know. She came to my exhibit about ten times before she finally bought anything. When she did buy a painting, she came on to me. She was pretty good looking old broad, so I made it with her once. She was so good, I tried to tap her again but she told me she only screwed men once. After all she was a married woman." He laughed nastily.

"I hate to do this, but I need the details." I said.

"You want a blow by blow?" he asked with a grin.

"No just how you two set up the date and where you went?" I clarified.

"Weren't no date man, she called me from a Motel when she was ready. Told me where to meet her. I went, we did our thing and she left me there. Just got up and walked away." He said.

"When was this?" Ruth asked.

"Couple of months ago, I saw her a few times at the sidewalk shows a few times since, but she ignored me. Wouldn't even come in the booth." he said bitterly.

"Show him the last picture," I said to Ruth.

Ruth opened her purse took out the Polaroid and asked, "Do you know who painted this picture.

"Don't know the dude, but I seen the picture," he said.

"Where did you see it?' I asked.

"At some show or other. It was over in Wilmington, that much I remember. It will come back to me." he said confidently.

Ruth gave him a card. If you remember, call me. Both my numbers are on the card. Don't talk to anyone but me." Ruth admonished him.

"Well the details are right," Ruth said as we walked away.

"Yep, but it still doesn't tell us who the last one was." I commented.

"It could have been Jerome. He might have gotten pissed because she wouldn't see him again." Ruth said.

"Maybe," I said skeptically.

"I know Kate was all excited about this one. Hardly the actions of a woman frightened." Ruth said.

"My thinking exactly. What we need to do is find the last one," I said. "How about we see another one?"

"Timmy Carter lives pretty close, let's give him a try." Ruth suggested.

Timmy lived in an upscale house owned by his parents. When we arrived his mother was the only one home. She didn't seem too happy to see us.

"Why do you want to talk to my son?" she asked.

"One of his painting was found in the house of a murder victim. We would like to get some information about the victim. from Timmy. He is not a suspect, we just need to talk to him." Ruth confided woman to woman.

"Then he isn't in any trouble?" the mother asked.

"Of course not, we just need to see if he can point us in the right direction," Ruth said in a soothing voice.

"In that case, he is painting down at the Carolina Beach Marina," she said. "The tourist like boat pictures."

"That seems pretty reasonable to me." Ruth admitted. "So I guess I will just run down there."

"If you miss him, I will have him call you," his mother said.

We were about to leave when I asked, "Does Timmy have a cell phone?"

"Yes he does," the mother answered.

"Could you call, just to get his exact location for us?" I asked.

"Sure" she said returning to the house but pointedly not inviting us in.

"What are you thinking?" Ruth asked in a whisper.

"That mama is going to call him anyway. We might as well find out what the story is before we drive all the way down there."

"Timmy didn't answer, he must have it turned off. I'm sure you will be able to find him without any trouble." the mother said.

"Then we will be running along," I said.

When we cleared the driveway headed toward the beach, I said. "Turn around and go back. Stop where we can see the entrance to the driveway."

"You think the mother lied?" Ruth asked.

"I have a feeling that she did. Unless I miss my guess, Timmy is on his way home to pick up some clothes and money. Then he is going to be making tracks." I said.

"Then he is our man?" she asked.

"Hell, I don't know." I answered honestly.

Twenty minutes passed. Ruth was beginning to doubt me when the small white pickup pulled into the drive. The boy driving couldn't have been much older than Bobby. Ruth allowed him into the drive before she pulled in behind blocking him. The kid was trying to unload his paint kit or Ruth would never have caught him. There was absolutely no chance that I could have caught up to him. Not on my gimpy knee.

"What are you doing," Mama shouted from the door.

"I am about to arrest your son." Ruth said.

"Why he hasn't done anything?" she said.

"He just assaulted a police officer." Ruth said turning to me for verification.

"I'm afraid she is right Mrs. Carter. We came to ask Timmy for help and it appears now that he may be a suspect in the Peterson woman's death." I said.

"No," Timmy said. "I don't know anything about that."

"Then why did you run from me?" Ruth asked.

"You scared me that's all." he said.

"Now why would a woman scare you?" Ruth asked.

"Because I," he gave up then.

"Look Timmy, we are homicide cops, we don't care if you have a car full of grass. All we want to know is when you last saw Katherine Peterson." she said.

"Mom go on back in the house, I can handle this." he said.

"Timmy maybe I should call uncle Jim." she said.

"I don't need Uncle Jim. I can handle this, just go on back into the house." he said exasperated. When she had gone Timmy said, "Look I slept with the old lady one time. She bought one of my painting. She said she wanted to talk about it, but I knew what she wanted. I didn't mind, I mean she was old but she was rich."

"Where did you meet her for this date," I asked.

"Some Motel in Holden Beach. I was with her about two hours then I left. So help me it is the truth." he said.

"How long ago was that?" Ruth continued.

"A month or six weeks maybe." he answered.

Ruth reached into her purse to removed the Polaroid. "You ever see this picture before?" she asked.

"No never," he said giving it a good look.

"Whatever you got in that car, get rid of it." Ruth suggested.

When we were again on the road, Ruth asked. "Why do you think he was about to run?"

"The kids a junkie, he was afraid you were going to bust him for dope." I said with a sigh.

"How do you know that?" she asked.

"It's in the eyes." I answered simply.

"But you never saw his eyes before he ran." she stated. Then added, "never mind Let's just try to get through all the known painters today."

Mike Thomas lived in an apartment over a garage downtown. It was a ratty little place and he was a ratty little man. He told the same story as the others. He must have fit somewhere between the two we already knew about. Kate had bought a painting from him in the park. She had explained she wanted to talk about it, but he knew better. He also had never seen the painting by the unknown artist.

Since neither Ruth not I knew anything about the art world, or Wrightsville Island addresses, it was purely by accident that we had saved George Weaver for last. George was by far the most prosperous of the artist. He lived alone in a condo high above the beach. Unfortunately his view was on the inland waterway. That had to take a minimum of twenty grand off the value of his condo.

He was a much better conversationalist than any of the others. He went into great detail about Kate. Actually a lot more than either Ruth and I wanted to know. After boiling down the story it amounted to the same as the others. He had been with Kate only two weeks before her death. She had bought his painting from the Odessa Gallery in Wilmington. She called him on the phone before she purchased it. After she met and slept with him, she returned to the gallery to buy the painting. That appeared to be the only thing different about her encounter. Even though he had a perfectly good condo, she had insisted they meet at a motel in Holden Beach. The Holden beach connection kept popping up. I don't know if it nagged at Ruth but it did me. Here were two people who lived no more than two miles apart, but who went to Holden Beach for their tryst. It was at least something for me to consider.