“We’re going to be a while. You’ll be more comfortable waiting in the lobby. There’s coffee.”
“Why can’t we leave?” I asked, getting to my feet. My knees creaked, another birthday reminder. “We’ll let you know where to find us.”
“Detective Sergeant Barwell will need to talk to you,” he said. “He’s the commander of the case squad.”
“Who are all those people?” I asked.
“Just investigators, ma’am.”
“There are so many of them.”
“Some are from the Sunland Police Department. Some are crime technicians from the county sheriff’s office. The lady is Doc Wilson. She’s the medical examiner. She’s got a crew with her. Then there’s the state attorney. He’s the guy in the suit.”
“And who are you?”
“Detective Sargent,” he said.
“I thought the detective sergeant was the other guy.”
“No, ma’am, sorry. Sargent’s my name. Jim Sargent. S-a-r-g-e-n-t.”
“So when you get promoted, you’ll be Detective Sergeant Sargent?’
“Yes ma’ am.”
I giggled. He didn’t.
“Sorry,” I said.
“You’re not the first,” he said, wearily.
“I’m sure.”
“Let’s go inside, Kate,” Jeff said. “I’m freezing.”
“I’ll come with you,” Sargent said. “I have a couple of questions.”
There was a shout down on the beach. One of the uniforms had found something, by a palm tree. Sargent watched with interest. I recognized the tree. So did Jeff.
“Excuse me, detective.” he said. “I guess I’d better tell you something.”
He explained his responsibility for the mess under that particular palm. Sargent, straight-faced, thanked him.
“I’ll just go get that straightened out,” he said. “I’ll catch up with you inside.”
Chapter 9
It was warmer inside, and there was a coffee urn set up on a table next to the entrance to the bar. Barry had given up on scripture for the night, and was sitting at the desk, all ears—to no avail at that particular moment, because the four men standing around fell silent when we came into the lobby. They were dressed in jeans, plaid shirts, and down vests, and were either plain-clothes cops or alligator hunters getting an early start on the day. Very macho. They watched suspiciously as we filled Styrofoam cups and did the sugar and cream thing. We took our coffee back to the chairs under the sandpipers and waited.
The phone rang. Barry picked it up, then motioned to one of the men, who picked up the house phone.
“Where the fuck are you?” he asked. Barry cringed and glanced my way, perhaps concerned about the sullying of my ladylike ears. “Well, I’m sorry about that, but you better get your ass over to the Gulf Vistas, pronto. We got a cold one.”
He listened for a moment, then laughed.
“Well, that’s just tough, buddy. The dragon lady needs her splatter guy. . . . Okay, buddy. See you in five. . . . All right. Ten. Sure that’s all you need?”
He laughed again, then hung up.
“Says he’s just about done,” he explained to his buddies.
“Speedy Gonzales strikes again,” said one of the guys.
“Wonder who the chick is,” said another.
“Guy probably does, too,” said the third. Guffaws all around.
“Better get back to work,” said the one who had talked on the phone.
There was grumbling agreement, and they drained their cups and left them sitting on the counter. The smoker in the group took a couple of greedy last drags on his cigarette before stubbing it out and following the rest out the door. Barry went back to his Bible.
“What do you think a splatter guy is?” I asked.
“I don’t think I want to know,” Jeff said, then got up and began to pace the lobby.
“Quit with the tiger imitation,” I said. “You’re making me dizzy.”
“I just want to get out of here,” he said. “How long are they going to keep us?”
“Longer than we want, that’s for sure. Don’t sweat it. It will just make it worse.”
Jeff paced back, and threw his lanky frame into
“Why can’t we leave?” I asked, getting to my feet. My knees creaked, another birthday reminder. “We’ll let you know where to find us.”
“Detective Sergeant Barwell will need to talk to you,” he said. “He’s the commander of the case squad.”
“Who are all those people?” I asked.
“Just investigators, ma’am.”
“There are so many of them.”
“Some are from the Sunland Police Department. Some are crime technicians from the county sheriff’s office. The lady is Doc Wilson. She’s the medical examiner. She’s got a crew with her. Then there’s the state attorney. He’s the guy in the suit.”
“And who are you?”
“Detective Sargent,” he said.
“I thought the detective sergeant was the other guy.”
“No, ma’am, sorry. Sargent’s my name. Jim Sargent. S-a-r-g-e-n-t.”
“So when you get promoted, you’ll be Detective Sergeant Sargent?’
“Yes ma’ am.”
I giggled. He didn’t.
“Sorry,” I said.
“You’re not the first,” he said, wearily.
“I’m sure.”
“Let’s go inside, Kate,” Jeff said. “I’m freezing.”
“I’ll come with you,” Sargent said. “I have a couple of questions.”
There was a shout down on the beach. One of the uniforms had found something, by a palm tree. Sargent watched with interest. I recognized the tree. So did Jeff.
“Excuse me, detective.” he said. “I guess I’d better tell you something.”
He explained his responsibility for the mess under that particular palm. Sargent, straight-faced, thanked him.
“I’ll just go get that straightened out,” he said. “I’ll catch up with you inside.”
Chapter 9
It was warmer inside, and there was a coffee urn set up on a table next to the entrance to the bar. Barry had given up on scripture for the night, and was sitting at the desk, all ears—to no avail at that particular moment, because the four men standing around fell silent when we came into the lobby. They were dressed in jeans, plaid shirts, and down vests, and were either plain-clothes cops or alligator hunters getting an early start on the day. Very macho. They watched suspiciously as we filled Styrofoam cups and did the sugar and cream thing. We took our coffee back to the chairs under the sandpipers and waited.
The phone rang. Barry picked it up, then motioned to one of the men, who picked up the house phone.
“Where the fuck are you?” he asked. Barry cringed and glanced my way, perhaps concerned about the sullying of my ladylike ears. “Well, I’m sorry about that, but you better get your ass over to the Gulf Vistas, pronto. We got a cold one.”
He listened for a moment, then laughed.
“Well, that’s just tough, buddy. The dragon lady needs her splatter guy. . . . Okay, buddy. See you in five. . . . All right. Ten. Sure that’s all you need?”
He laughed again, then hung up.
“Says he’s just about done,” he explained to his buddies.
“Speedy Gonzales strikes again,” said one of the guys.
“Wonder who the chick is,” said another.
“Guy probably does, too,” said the third. Guffaws all around.
“Better get back to work,” said the one who had talked on the phone.
There was grumbling agreement, and they drained their cups and left them sitting on the counter. The smoker in the group took a couple of greedy last drags on his cigarette before stubbing it out and following the rest out the door. Barry went back to his Bible.
“What do you think a splatter guy is?” I asked.
“I don’t think I want to know,” Jeff said, then got up and began to pace the lobby.
“Quit with the tiger imitation,” I said. “You’re making me dizzy.”
“I just want to get out of here,” he said. “How long are they going to keep us?”
“Longer than we want, that’s for sure. Don’t sweat it. It will just make it worse.”
Jeff paced back, and threw his lanky frame into
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