Midnight Rambler_ A Novel of Suspense - James Swain [34]
“How did the police confirm that the body found in Julie Lopez's backyard was her sister Carmella's?” a reporter asked.
“Dental records,” Russo said.
“How long was the body there?”
“There's no way for us to know. The rain washed away a great deal of evidence.”
“Have the police confirmed she was murdered?”
“Yes.”
“Do you know the cause of death?”
“Strangulation.”
“Do you have a suspect?” another reporter asked.
“We do,” Russo said. “Ernesto Sanchez.”
“Can you tell us what evidence you have against him?”
“Mr. Sanchez was an acquaintance of Carmella Lopez and lives in the same house with her sister,” Russo said. “We also found an item of Mr. Sanchez's clutched in the victim's hands.”
“Can you tell us what the item was?”
“A gold crucifix.”
“Has the suspect been charged?”
“The suspect has not been arraigned,” Russo said.
“When will that happen?”
“I can't comment at this time.”
The news conference ended. Russo was stalling Ernesto's arraignment to give his detectives more time to study the Skell file. It was a smart tactic, but he was only delaying the inevitable. I finished my coffee and told myself that I had done everything I could. I'd fought the good fight, and tomorrow would be another day. The words were hollow, but they were all I had left.
A perky female newscaster came on the screen. Imposed on a screen behind her was a photo of Simon Skell with a banner that read Hollywood Calling?
“The Simon Skell case is attracting attention in Hollywood,” she said cheerfully. “According to Variety, Paramount Studios is purchasing the rights to Skell's life story from Skell's wife, Lorna Sue Mutter. Possible stars being considered to play Skell are Brad Pitt, Tom Cruise, and Russell Crowe. No word on who might play Jack Carpenter, the Broward County detective who Lorna Sue claims tortured and framed her husband.”
I cursed like someone with Tourette's syndrome. On the TV, a blow-dried male newscaster appeared beside his perky colleague.
“How about Vince Vaughn?” the male newscaster suggested.
“You mean to play Jack Carpenter?” the female newscaster said.
“Absolutely. I saw him play a sociopathic killer in a movie called Domestic Disturbance with John Travolta,” the male newscaster said. “He was terrific.”
“I saw that movie, too. Good choice!”
I picked up the napkin dispenser on the bar. Sonny yelled “No!” but it was too late. The dispenser left my hand and shattered the TV screen. Glass rained down on the bar. Sonny said something about history, then got a broom and started cleaning up.
“What did you say?” I asked.
“You're history if you don't replace the TV.”
“You're going to throw me out?”
“I will if you don't replace the TV.”
“Can you lend me the money?”
He swept around my chair. “No.”
“Come on, just for a couple of days,” I said. “I'll pay you back. You know I'm good for it.”
Going behind the bar, Sonny removed a black box from behind the register, pulled out a card, and showed it to me. It contained my two tabs. The little tab had caught up to the big tab, and I owed the bar nearly five hundred bucks.
“Replace the TV and pay your tabs and your rent, or you're history.”
“You're serious.”
“Damn straight.”
He retrieved the napkin dispenser and replaced it on the bar, then resumed his sweeping. I felt as if I'd lost my last friend in the world.
I turned on my stool and looked out the window at the bright blue ocean. Should I just go take a swim and not come back?
The thought had crossed my mind before, but never seriously. This time, it was serious.
The bar phone rang. Sonny answered it, then handed me the receiver.
“It's your girlfriend.”
I figured it was Melinda accepting my offer from last night, but I was wrong. It was Julie Lopez.
“I know who put my sister's body in my