Free Paint It Black by P.J. Parrish Page A

suit, and Wainwright knew instantly he was a cop.
    Officer Candy started to rise, but Wain wright waved his man back into his seat.
    â€œCan I help you?” Wainwright asked.
    â€œSergeant Driggs,” the man said. He flipped open his badge and slapped it shut in one flick of his wrist. But not before Wainwright saw the Lee County Sheriff’s emblem.
    Wainwright looked at Candy over the desk and smiled. “I’ve always wanted to learn how to do that.” He looked back at Driggs. “Can you do that again?”
    Driggs sneered at him. He was short and balding and looked stretched too tight, as if he felt the need to constantly overcompensate for both his lack of height and hair.
    â€œI’m here on behalf of Sheriff Mobley,” Driggs said.
    â€œAnd what business does Mobley have with me?” Wainwright said.
    â€œHomicide,” Driggs said.
    Wainwright looked at Driggs and calmly gathered the photos and slipped them back into the manila file. “Really. Who died?”
    â€œYou know what I’m talking about. Two dead men in less than three weeks.”
    â€œTrue enough, true enough. But I don’t see why you’re interested, Driggs. Both bodies were dumped here on Sereno Key. There’s a whole lot of water and a big-ass causeway between Sereno Key and your turf, isn’t there?”
    â€œAnthony Quick’s car was found at the Holiday Inn on Fort Myers Beach,” Driggs said. “That’s unincorporated, so he was abducted from our turf .”
    â€œWho’s to say Mr. Quick didn’t go voluntarily?” Wainwright said.
    â€œYou and I both know the odds are against that.”
    â€œRight now, we have no reason to believe he didn’t. Therefore, I don’t think you have any jurisdiction here, Sergeant Driggs.”
    The top of Driggs’s head was red. “Look, Chief Wainwright. You don’t have the resources to work this alone.”
    Wainwright looked down at the manila folder. Part of him wanted to hand off the file and forget about it. Let the jokers have it. He knew Mobley. He was an ambitious son of a bitch who was probably looking to use the murders as a springboard for reelection or even DA. The county did have the technology, the money, and the manpower. What did it matter who caught the bastard?
    â€œDon’t make me embarrass you here, Chief,” Driggs said softly.
    Wainwright’s eyes shot up. “Excuse me?”
    Driggs glanced at Candy, who was sitting off to one side, failing miserably at looking disinterested. “Chief,” Driggs said calmly, “you have three men on your force here, one who’s near retirement and two who never wore a badge before you took them on.” He paused just a beat. “And you are retired from the FBI, the OPR, to be exact. Why don’t you just give us what you’ve got and let us do our job?”
    Wainwright took a breath. “You mean let you do my job. They’re my bodies on my island. Now why don’t you see if you can get yourself safely back across the bridge without driving into the goddamn bay?”
    Driggs pulled a folded newspaper from under his arm and slapped it down on the desk. “Okay, Chief. Have it your way. But when this case blows up in your face, you’ll reconsider.”
    Wainwright looked down at it. It was that morning’s News-Press with a headline big enough to be read from a car speeding by a newsstand box: NAACP: MURDERS ARE HATE CRIMES
    Wainwright had already read the story. An anonymous source in the sheriff’s office was quoted as saying they were looking at a racially motivated crime. The Southwest Florida NAACP was demanding swift investigation.
    Driggs held out a card. “When you change your mind, give me a call.”
    When Wainwright didn’t take it, Driggs slipped the card back in his pocket. He left, leaving the door open. The office was quiet. Wainwright could hear his own breathing.