“Milt, if I had ten dollars for every maybe in that speech, I’d buy myself a steak dinner tonight at Malone’s,” Eric said. “It will take some serious evidence before I’m convinced Stone killed those two guys twenty-nine years ago. And I doubt we’ll find it.”
“Know what’s missing from your scenario, Milt?” Dantzler said. “Eli Whitehouse. How does Rocky Stone fit in with Eli? Why would Eli go to prison for a nobody like Stone? Give up his freedom, his family, his congregation? It makes no sense.”
“Like you said from the start, Eli did it because he’s afraid. Not for himself, but for his family. Rocky Stone is, as we all know, a scary dude.”
“But why did Stone kill those two kids?”
“Hell, Jack, I don’t know. That’s what we’ve got to find out. We need to make the connection.”
“There is no connection, Milt,” Eric said.
Milt ripped a piece of paper from a legal pad and stood. “Let me call Stone’s parole officer, see if I can come up with an address. That will at least answer the question regarding his whereabouts.”
“Why didn’t the guy use his cell phone?” Scott asked, after Milt left the room.
“A dinosaur like Milt never thinks cell phone first,” Eric said.
“Can’t imagine thinking otherwise,” Scott said, shaking his head.
Ten minutes later, Milt came back into the room, waving the paper like a flag. “Stone lives on Alexandria. Let’s go pay him a visit, Ace.”
“We’re all going,” Dantzler said. “Everybody wears a vest. Stone is obviously a force to be reckoned with, so we’re taking no chances.”
“I’ve never worn a vest,” Scott said.
“Get used to it, Rookie,” Milt said. “You’re not writing parking tickets anymore.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
“What else did Stone’s PO tell you?” Dantzler said to Milt as they turned onto Alexandria Drive. They were in Dantzler’s Forester, followed by Eric and Scott in an unmarked police cruiser. “Anything I need to know before we talk to him?”
“Stone is unemployed-surprise, surprise-drives a red Ford pick-up, has three ex-wives, a couple of grown kids he never sees, and has been good about meeting with his parole officer. He belongs to a once-a-week prison support group but rarely attends. He’s come up clean on all his drug and alcohol tests. According to the PO, Stone has been minding his manners and staying out of trouble.”
“Sounds like a real prince,” Dantzler said, adding, “how does he get by financially? He has to have income from somewhere.”
“He lives with a woman named Consuela Lopez. She has her own business-cleans houses, office buildings, condos… that sort of thing. Has three full-time employees and a legion of part-timers. Her financial records indicate she makes pretty good money, more than two-hundred K per year, which is sufficient enough to support Stone and her two kids. Stone may be an ex-con and a brain-dead former boxer, but he’s no dummy. He was smart enough to reel in a fish with money.”
“Nice setup. Wouldn’t mind landing a deal like that myself.”
“Bring it up with Dunn,” Milt said. “She’ll support you.”
“Right. And I’ll win Wimbledon this year.”
“How’s that working out for you guys, anyway? Everything cool?”
“Jury’s still out.”
“Is Rich the problem?”
“One of them.”
“Tell you what, Ace. I wouldn’t worry too much about what Rich thinks. If things do work out between you and Dunn, Rich will have to accept it and deal with it. In the final analysis, it’s really none of his business.”
“I doubt he would agree with you.”
“What’s he going to do? He’s not going to fire you, the best homicide investigator the department has ever had. And Dunn’s a rising star. He’s doesn’t want to lose her. I say go for it and let the chips fall where they may.”
Dantzler was in no mood to discuss his private life. “Let’s worry about Stone today. Okay? We need to stay focused on him, not on my relationship with Laurie. That can wait.”
“How do you want to handle it?” Milt asked.
“Straightforward. We’ll go up on the porch, announce our presence, and tell Stone we only want to talk. Eric and Scott will cover the back, in case he decides to rabbit. Did his PO say whether or not Stone has any weapons?”
“He didn’t say, but, hell, he wouldn’t know if Stone is armed or not. Stone’s an ex-con, he’s not supposed to own weapons, but… we all know about ninety-nine percent probably do. If he has one gun or ten he’s not about to tell his parole officer. We definitely need to be cautious.”
“Which house is it?” Dantzler said, slowing the car to a crawl.
“That one,” Milt said, pointing to his left.
The red brick house, which sat on the corner of Alexandria and Palms Drive, was virtually identical to other houses along the street. It was small and neat, probably three bedrooms and two baths, with a two-car garage and a perfectly manicured front lawn. A flowerbed consisting of a rose bush and azaleas surrounded by Creeping phlox ran parallel beneath a front window. Two wicker chairs and a swing sat idly on the concrete porch, adding to the cozy quotient.
Dantzler studied the house while waiting for Eric and Scott to join them. Although the layout seemed simple enough, one aspect troubled him-a five-foot high wooden fence that enclosed the back yard. Not being able to see what might be happening behind the house was cause for concern. If the fence was locked from the inside it could spell trouble. His plan was to have Eric and Scott cover the back, and if Stone did decide to bolt, and if he did come out firing a weapon, the two detectives might not know what was happening until it was too late. They would definitely need to be alert.
“That damn fence could pose a problem,” Milt pointed out.
“Precisely what I was thinking,” Dantzler said. He turned to Eric. “Eric, you and Scott circle around to the back of the house. Check out the fence, see if it has a door or gate. Make sure you know if it’s locked, or if it opens from the inside or outside. Either way, stay on your toes. Don’t get caught by surprise.”
While Eric and Scott were making their way around back, Dantzler and Milt walked up the sidewalk toward the house. Halfway there, they noticed a man peeking out from behind a curtain. He watched the detectives for several seconds, let the curtain drop, and disappeared.
“Was that Stone?” Dantzler asked.
“Couldn’t tell.”
As they stepped onto the porch, the front door opened just enough for them to see the side of a man’s beefy face. He had a patchy beard, a deep scar above his upper lip, and dark blue eyes.
“I know you guys are cops,” the man said, his voice gruff and scratchy. “I’ve been told you were coming, and I ain’t got nothin’ to say to you.”
“Are you Kevin Stone?” Dantzler said.
“Rocky Stone.”
“Rocky, I’m Detective Jack Dantzler and this is Detective Milt Brewer. We’re with Homicide. We would like to ask you a few questions, if you don’t mind.”
“You can’t come charging in here like this,” Stone said, angrily. “This ain’t Russia.”
“We’re not charging in, Rocky. We only want to talk, that’s all.”