smiled and leaned back in his chair, placing his feet on the desk, and clasped his hands across his stomach, twiddling his thumbs.
I said nothing.
“So, have y'all had any great revelations since our get-together last night?” he asked.
“I found out Camille's new boyfriend is about as talkative as a Sphinx, which concerns me.”
He grunted in disgust. “Really? Well maybe we'll just have to check that boy out.”
“I also bumped into the prosecutor just now out on the sidewalk. She told me you were going to be taking a statement from Nicole later and she gave the okay for me to sit in.”
“S'that a fact?”
He stared at me. Then he lifted his big feet down from the desk. “She's the boss. But just remember when it comes to most other things around here, I am.”
“Look, sheriff. I'm not the enemy, okay? You say you and your men had nothing to do with Dewayne Turner's murder and I say I believe my daughter when she says she knew nothing about the drugs found on her car. Let's just take each other at face value for the moment.”
“All right. But that won't stop you nosing around to see if there's any evidence of Turner being beaten ‘fore he was killed, will it?”
I shook my head.
“And don't expect me to stop putting the microscope on who you are and where you come from, Mr. Pavlicek. And that includes your buddies Toronto and Cahill. I know what you boys testified about that night up in New York. I also know the trial went nowhere and a lot of cops still believe you and think you and your partner didn't get a square deal.
“But I'm here to tell you, I ain't one of them. You and your partner fucked up, that's all. Fucked up good. Far as I'm concerned, you both got what's coming to you. Just thought you ought to know that.”
I guess the thing about genuine prejudice is, it cuts all ways.
“By the way, your friend Special Agent Ferrier called me again this morning. Seems they found some residue on Dewayne Turner's clothing. Traces of coke in both pockets. Ferrier wants a sample of the powder we took off of your daughter to test for a match. …”
Could this get any worse?
“You think I'm riding a loser here, don't you?”
A painful look crossed his face. “If you're really asking, yeah, I do. Ferrier also says he's waiting for you to call him. Said you'd know the number.”
“Okay.”
“You going to?”
“Call him? Yeah, I will. They figure out what kind of gun was used on Turner?”
He smiled. “You don't give up, do you? It was a nine-millimeter. Which fits my theory,” he said.
“Which is?”
“Like I said before. Killed by his own kind. Gang-related.”
“You see the paper this morning?”
He nodded and looked toward the ceiling then back at me. “They don't do me no favors,” he said. “This department's got three black deputies now. You'd think that'd be enough to satisfy somebody. …”
He paused as if he were weighing his words. “We got a few minutes until your daughter's statement. Let me ask you something. I probably shouldn't, but I'm goin’ to anyway. The name Boog Morelli mean anythin’ to you?”
I sat up in my chair. Fuad said there was an old link to Morelli. But how could Cowan know anything about that?
“I doubt there's a cop in New York doesn't know that name,” I said. “He's one of the biggest drug kingpins around, or at least he was, last I heard. Why?”
“His name has come up in relation to Dewayne Turner.”
“Ferrier know about it?”
“I haven't discussed it with him yet.”
I suddenly remembered the man in the rental car with Maryland plates in the parking lot outside Cahill's the other night. “Listen to me, sheriff. I know you may not think much of me, but if Boog Morelli or any of his people are involved, you should watch very carefully where you step.”
For a moment Cowan and I shared something in common. I saw it in his eyes. I remembered seeing it in Toronto's eyes the night we'd faced the shooters in the dark.
But it
I said nothing.
“So, have y'all had any great revelations since our get-together last night?” he asked.
“I found out Camille's new boyfriend is about as talkative as a Sphinx, which concerns me.”
He grunted in disgust. “Really? Well maybe we'll just have to check that boy out.”
“I also bumped into the prosecutor just now out on the sidewalk. She told me you were going to be taking a statement from Nicole later and she gave the okay for me to sit in.”
“S'that a fact?”
He stared at me. Then he lifted his big feet down from the desk. “She's the boss. But just remember when it comes to most other things around here, I am.”
“Look, sheriff. I'm not the enemy, okay? You say you and your men had nothing to do with Dewayne Turner's murder and I say I believe my daughter when she says she knew nothing about the drugs found on her car. Let's just take each other at face value for the moment.”
“All right. But that won't stop you nosing around to see if there's any evidence of Turner being beaten ‘fore he was killed, will it?”
I shook my head.
“And don't expect me to stop putting the microscope on who you are and where you come from, Mr. Pavlicek. And that includes your buddies Toronto and Cahill. I know what you boys testified about that night up in New York. I also know the trial went nowhere and a lot of cops still believe you and think you and your partner didn't get a square deal.
“But I'm here to tell you, I ain't one of them. You and your partner fucked up, that's all. Fucked up good. Far as I'm concerned, you both got what's coming to you. Just thought you ought to know that.”
I guess the thing about genuine prejudice is, it cuts all ways.
“By the way, your friend Special Agent Ferrier called me again this morning. Seems they found some residue on Dewayne Turner's clothing. Traces of coke in both pockets. Ferrier wants a sample of the powder we took off of your daughter to test for a match. …”
Could this get any worse?
“You think I'm riding a loser here, don't you?”
A painful look crossed his face. “If you're really asking, yeah, I do. Ferrier also says he's waiting for you to call him. Said you'd know the number.”
“Okay.”
“You going to?”
“Call him? Yeah, I will. They figure out what kind of gun was used on Turner?”
He smiled. “You don't give up, do you? It was a nine-millimeter. Which fits my theory,” he said.
“Which is?”
“Like I said before. Killed by his own kind. Gang-related.”
“You see the paper this morning?”
He nodded and looked toward the ceiling then back at me. “They don't do me no favors,” he said. “This department's got three black deputies now. You'd think that'd be enough to satisfy somebody. …”
He paused as if he were weighing his words. “We got a few minutes until your daughter's statement. Let me ask you something. I probably shouldn't, but I'm goin’ to anyway. The name Boog Morelli mean anythin’ to you?”
I sat up in my chair. Fuad said there was an old link to Morelli. But how could Cowan know anything about that?
“I doubt there's a cop in New York doesn't know that name,” I said. “He's one of the biggest drug kingpins around, or at least he was, last I heard. Why?”
“His name has come up in relation to Dewayne Turner.”
“Ferrier know about it?”
“I haven't discussed it with him yet.”
I suddenly remembered the man in the rental car with Maryland plates in the parking lot outside Cahill's the other night. “Listen to me, sheriff. I know you may not think much of me, but if Boog Morelli or any of his people are involved, you should watch very carefully where you step.”
For a moment Cowan and I shared something in common. I saw it in his eyes. I remembered seeing it in Toronto's eyes the night we'd faced the shooters in the dark.
But it
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