as he was in me. He should have known me well enough to know I was innocent. Not just innocent of killing the guard but innocent, period. Sure, I might keep quiet about a few tidbits of information I’d overheard, and I might not tell him that Kurtz carried a gun under his bathrobe, but I was one of the world’s good people, and I expected him to know it. If he didn’t, maybe he wasn’t the man I’d thought he was.
I said, “Do you want to take my thirty-eight for ballistics?”
He sighed. “Dixie, I don’t think you killed the guard. I just wish you’d told me, that’s all.”
“But you want my gun.”
“I’m sorry.”
So furious I could hardly breathe, I left him sitting at the bar and went into my bedroom where the side of my single bed was pushed against the wall. Yanking the end of the bed away to get at its far side, I pulled out a drawer built into its base. The Sarasota Sheriff’s Department issues 9-millimeter SigSauers to all personnel, but every deputy also has personal backup guns for which they are qualified. When a deputy retires or dies, his department-issued gun has to be turned in, so I no longer had either Todd’s or my own, but I had all our
backups. Todd’s were a nine-millimeter Glock, his Colt .357, and his primary personal, a Smith & Wesson .40. My own were a Smith & Wesson .32 and a .38 that was my favorite. I kept them all in a specially built case in the drawer under my bed.
I lifted the .38 from its Styrofoam nesting place and laid it on the bed. I closed the case and slid the drawer back in. I pushed the bed back against the wall and stomped into the kitchen and put the gun on the bar in front of Guidry.
I said, “You’ll note that it’s clean and oiled. It hasn’t been fired.”
“I don’t want to press the point, Dixie, but the gun could have been cleaned and oiled since this morning.”
I slapped the counter and glared at him. “Guidry, this is nuts!”
“What was nuts was leaving the scene of a crime and pretending you didn’t know anything about it.”
I couldn’t argue about that. I said, “My grandmother always said that wisdom came from knowing that every decision we make carries a consequence. I made a bad decision.”
“That may be the understatement of the century.”
“Guidry, tell me the truth. Do you really think I could have killed that guard?”
“The truth? The truth is that I have a better chance of winning the lottery than I have of finding the shooter.”
The room seemed to grow dimmer for a second as it dawned on me that in the absence of an arrest of the real killer, I would look like a tasty suspect to a DA hungry to assure the public that all killers were speedily caught and executed.
When I was growing up, Sarasota was essentially lily white and essentially North American. Even Canadian snowbirds were considered foreigners. But as airfares from Europe got cheaper and European vacation spots more expensive, Florida became salted with temporary visitors from all over the world. Now criminal investigators have to think international. A serial rapist may follow an MO known to police in the Netherlands but not here. A burglar may leave a calling card familiar to French gendarmes but not to Sarasota law-enforcement officers. A tourist can commit a crime in Sarasota and be back home in Europe before the Forensics Department has had time to evaluate all their findings. Now when murders are committed, every homicide investigator has a secret fear that the perpetrator is halfway around the world laughing at him. The guard’s killer could be safely across the Atlantic while the DA focused on me.
I said, “Kurtz was carrying a gun when I got there this morning. He had it in a fanny holster under his bathrobe. Looked like a backup gun a law-enforcement officer might carry.”
“For Kurtz to kill that guard, somebody would have had to carry him out to the guardhouse.”
“He lied when he said nobody knew about the wine room. The nurse
I said, “Do you want to take my thirty-eight for ballistics?”
He sighed. “Dixie, I don’t think you killed the guard. I just wish you’d told me, that’s all.”
“But you want my gun.”
“I’m sorry.”
So furious I could hardly breathe, I left him sitting at the bar and went into my bedroom where the side of my single bed was pushed against the wall. Yanking the end of the bed away to get at its far side, I pulled out a drawer built into its base. The Sarasota Sheriff’s Department issues 9-millimeter SigSauers to all personnel, but every deputy also has personal backup guns for which they are qualified. When a deputy retires or dies, his department-issued gun has to be turned in, so I no longer had either Todd’s or my own, but I had all our
backups. Todd’s were a nine-millimeter Glock, his Colt .357, and his primary personal, a Smith & Wesson .40. My own were a Smith & Wesson .32 and a .38 that was my favorite. I kept them all in a specially built case in the drawer under my bed.
I lifted the .38 from its Styrofoam nesting place and laid it on the bed. I closed the case and slid the drawer back in. I pushed the bed back against the wall and stomped into the kitchen and put the gun on the bar in front of Guidry.
I said, “You’ll note that it’s clean and oiled. It hasn’t been fired.”
“I don’t want to press the point, Dixie, but the gun could have been cleaned and oiled since this morning.”
I slapped the counter and glared at him. “Guidry, this is nuts!”
“What was nuts was leaving the scene of a crime and pretending you didn’t know anything about it.”
I couldn’t argue about that. I said, “My grandmother always said that wisdom came from knowing that every decision we make carries a consequence. I made a bad decision.”
“That may be the understatement of the century.”
“Guidry, tell me the truth. Do you really think I could have killed that guard?”
“The truth? The truth is that I have a better chance of winning the lottery than I have of finding the shooter.”
The room seemed to grow dimmer for a second as it dawned on me that in the absence of an arrest of the real killer, I would look like a tasty suspect to a DA hungry to assure the public that all killers were speedily caught and executed.
When I was growing up, Sarasota was essentially lily white and essentially North American. Even Canadian snowbirds were considered foreigners. But as airfares from Europe got cheaper and European vacation spots more expensive, Florida became salted with temporary visitors from all over the world. Now criminal investigators have to think international. A serial rapist may follow an MO known to police in the Netherlands but not here. A burglar may leave a calling card familiar to French gendarmes but not to Sarasota law-enforcement officers. A tourist can commit a crime in Sarasota and be back home in Europe before the Forensics Department has had time to evaluate all their findings. Now when murders are committed, every homicide investigator has a secret fear that the perpetrator is halfway around the world laughing at him. The guard’s killer could be safely across the Atlantic while the DA focused on me.
I said, “Kurtz was carrying a gun when I got there this morning. He had it in a fanny holster under his bathrobe. Looked like a backup gun a law-enforcement officer might carry.”
“For Kurtz to kill that guard, somebody would have had to carry him out to the guardhouse.”
“He lied when he said nobody knew about the wine room. The nurse
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