Paint It Black by P.J. Parrish Page B

picked up the bag of shrimp. At least he’d have something to take back to Margaret for dinner. He started to the door.
    â€œYou’re the first, you know,” she said.
    â€œThe first what?”
    â€œThe first cop I told this to.”
    Louis stepped back toward the woman. “Did the sheriff’s deputies come talk to you?”
    â€œThey talked to me. But I didn’t talk to them.”
    â€œWhy not?”
    She smiled. “They didn’t buy my jumbos.”

Chapter Fourteen
    Louis walked in the door to the Sereno Key station and paused, looking around for somewhere to put the shrimp. Greg Candy looked up from his desk, spotting the bag in Louis’s hand.
    â€œThose look good. Where’d you get them?” he asked.
    â€œFrom the shrimp woman at the wharf. Cost me forty-five bucks to find out Quick stopped there after his fishing trip. You guys got a fridge?” Louis asked.
    â€œYeah.” Candy came forward and took them from Louis.
    Louis headed toward the bathroom to wash his hands. He walked into Wainwright’s office, still drying them. He stopped short at the door. Wainwright was seated at his desk and two black men stood in front of him, both in dark suits and ties. The taller of the two was slender and bald, with an earring in his right ear. The other one was built like a wrestler.
    Wainwright caught Louis’s eye and waved him in.
    â€œKincaid, this is Oscar Mills,” Wainwright said, motioning toward the taller one. “And Wallace Seaver. Southwest Florida NAACP. Gentlemen, Louis Kincaid.”
    Mills looked back at Wainwright. “And his position is?”
    â€œConsultant.”
    Seaver and Mills gave Louis the once-over as he came farther into the room.
    Wainwright handed Louis a newspaper, folded to an inside page. Louis scanned it quickly. It was an editorial that took all the local law enforcement agencies to task for their failure to officially acknowledge the two murders as hate crimes.
    Louis looked back at Seaver and Mills. “I see their point,” he said. “But right now, we’re not sure what we’re looking at.”
    â€œThe chief already made that point,” Mills said. “We disagree.”
    Louis glanced at Wainwright.
    â€œWe’re doing all we can,” Wainwright said. “We’ve committed as much manpower as we can to the case, and we’ve got a couple of solid leads we’re pursuing.”
    It wasn’t true. They didn’t have anything really, and Louis resisted the urge to look at Wainwright again.
    â€œWe’re not here to bust your chops, Chief,” Mills said. “We’re here to offer our help.”
    â€œHow?” Wainwright asked.
    Mills set his briefcase on the desk and withdrew a file. He held it out to Louis, who stepped forward to take it. It was filled with computer sheets, mailing lists, bad copies of white supremacist literature, and photos of white men.
    â€œWe’ve compiled this over the last few years,” Mills said. “We like to know who’s hiding under the proverbial rocks, if you get my meaning. There are a hundred and five names there, all confirmed to be members of various white power organizations or convicted of race-related crimes.”
    Louis looked up from the file, glancing at Wainwright. He looked mildly annoyed.
    â€œHave you shown this file to anyone else?” Louis asked Mills.
    â€œNo. We hoped you would act on it first. We don’t want to have to release these men’s names to the media. But we will if we have to.”
    Louis stared at Mills. “They’re not suspects yet, Mr. Mills,” he said. “At least not in these murders.”
    â€œWe just want you to do your job.”
    Louis glanced at Wainwright. It was obvious Wainwright was going to let him take the lead on this.
    â€œWe’ll check into all of them. You have our word,” Louis said.
    Mills nodded and snapped his briefcase