Yeah, there's blood. See, on the cement there? Less he cut himself coming through the glass.
No we hit him a good twelve times.
More than that, boys. I put six in him before you got here.
This was the judge, in bedroom slippers and a sport shirt hanging out of his pants. Gary Hammond had appeared in his court to testify and have warrants signed, but had never been introduced to him.
I know a fella has a gator skull on his microwave, a deputy said. Looks like a hunk of rock.
We need something heavy, a high-powered rifle.
Hit him with an ax. That'll do him.
I think we better get Game and Fish out here.
Or some old boy from the Glades, Canal Point.
Gary Hammond said, One of you better bring a car around here.
That got them looking at him. The deputies knew he was a sergeant in the Detective Bureau, worked Crimes Against Persons and was maybe a homicide star. Check the suit. They might know he'd transferred from Palm Beach PD, where he'd kept the island safe for millionaires, but that was about all these deputies would know of Gary Hammond.
One of them said, Sir, what do we need a car for?
A mild kind of put-on, polite in front of the judge and his wife.
The gator walked in there, Gary said, it can walk out. What do you do then?
The deputy said, I guess run like hell. With a grin to show he was kidding.
I'd want a car to jump in, Gary said, even if we didn't have Mrs. Gibbs to think of. She looked as though she might be in shock or some kind of trance. He saw her eyes half close and the lids flutter as he said, You know an alligator can outrun a man?
Gary turned toward the porch, see what the gator was doing, and just then heard a voice that sounded like a young black girl.
You bes' hurry up get that car.
The one in Gone With the Wind, Butterfly McQueen.
That was who he thought of and turned back expecting to see the deputies grinning, one of them way out of line trying to be funny. But they seemed as surprised as he was, glancing at one another.
Now the judge said, You heard him. Get a car.
Him? Meaning you, Gary thought, not the voice. The judge ignoring the voice.
Gary said, Judge, and introduced himself. Bob Gibbs gave him sort of a nod, that's all. He seemed more concerned for his wife and took her aside now, whispering to her. One of the deputies walked off and then started to jog. The other three moved toward the porch, though didn't get too close, talking again, looking at the alligator.
Gary Hammond stood by himself in his neat navy-blue suit.
This morning a few minutes before seven Gary's boss, Colonel McKenna, had called him at home and said, You're not doing anything, are you? Gary's current assignment had him reviewing cold cases, homicides over a year old and still open. No, not something pressing, which McKenna knew. He told Gary about the alligator report and how to get to the judge's house, out Southern Boulevard about a mile this side of the Stockade, turn left. It might be the gator wandered in, McKenna said, a canal runs by his property. Or some idiot brought it as a joke. Or then again it wasn't meant to be funny. You understand? So look around good.
What do I do about the alligator?
Call Game and Fish if you have to. What I'm concerned with is finding out how it got there.
So now, the next step He could call Game and Freshwater Fish, wait around for somebody to come out and kill the alligator. That was a fact, they weren't going to dress its wounds. Gary watched a green-and-white creeping toward them from the far end of the house, coming past sabal palms, dipping over the uneven ground in low gear. The judge seemed to have a tropical garden out here, orchids hanging from trees He was taking his wife by the arm toward the squad car. The three deputies were looking that way now.
They could spend half the day waiting for a Game man to get here. Then stand around some more, watching. Gary thought about taking his suit coat off. No, he'd leave it on, he was comfortable in it. He drew the Beretta holstered on his right hip.
Walking past the deputies Gary racked the slide to put a nine-millimeter load in the chamber. They turned as one at the familiar sound it made. Gary kept going, his eyes holding on the gator as he opened the screen door, closed it quietly, walked up to stand over the gator and stare at its head. You could crouch low and shoot it through an eye or into its ear to find its tiny brain. Or you could stand close and aim at a spot directly behind the animal's skull, drive the bullet straight down to cut its spine. He had seen Game men and contract nuisance hunters kill this way. A shame even when it had to be done. Poachers hit them with an ax or a sledge looking at forty-seven dollars a foot for the hide to make belts and shoes for snappy dressers.
Someone, Gary believed, had brought this gator. It did not know where the hell it was or want to be here lying on a cement floor. There were nicks in its hide, a mark on its skull, a dent, it looked like, where someone had given it a good lick. He aimed the Beretta at the spot behind the skull, the muzzle a foot away, and fired one shot. The gator flattened and lay still.
The deputies waited for him to come out to the yard before they filed in, each one giving him a look before approaching the gator to poke it with a toe.
I think it was brought here, Gary said, standing with his back to the kitchen sink. It could be malicious mischief we're looking at, criminal negligence, or it could be more serious.
The judge had come into the kitchen dressed for business in a gray suit and maroon tie. He said, Wait, got a glass from one cupboard, a bottle of Jim Beam from another, and poured himself a good one, eight o'clock in the morning. He went to the refrigerator for ice, then moved Gary out of the way to add a splash of water. Now he took a couple of deep pulls on his highball, raised the glass and said, Ahhh, that's better. It's been quite a day. An alligator walks into my house and my wife walks out. She says, That's it, I'm leaving.'
I could see she was scared, Gary said. But she'll get over it. I mean, you don't think she'll actually move out, do you?
That's what she says.
Gary watched the judge sip his drink. He didn't seem too upset.
This is the second time it's happened to her. She isn't going for three, I know.
You had one here before?
No, it was up at Weeki Wachee, years ago. My wife was a mermaid at the time I met her. An alligator swam into her act one day and she hasn't been the same since. The judge paused to take a drink. It did something to her, I don't know what. See, then another one comes along, the poor woman can't handle it. I said, Well, hon, it's up to you.' At least she can go someplace there aren't any alligators. Maybe in time I don't know, people do have phobias. Some are scared to death of cats. A cat walks in the room, they're petrified.
There was something here Gary didn't understand. He said, Yeah, but everybody's afraid of alligators. You'd better be. I mean it's normal.
The judge had turned and was gazing out the window, at deputies appearing out of the trees, poking through his plants.
What're they looking for?
Gary edged up behind the judge to look over his shoulder. He said, I think the alligator was brought here. Then had to step back when the judge turned to face him.
Why?
Well, I did notice driving in, there's a canal over on the other side of your property where it might've come from
The judge said, I don't see there's any question about it. That canal hooks into a network of canals. One or the other will take you right up to Okeechobee.
I know, Gary said, but I can't see a gator that size climbing the spoil bank and coming all this distance through your orange grove away from water.
You're an alligator expert, the judge said. You didn't tell me that.
No sir, Gary said, but I do know they live in water and never go too far away from it. That's why I think it was brought here. And if it was, its mouth would've been taped shut and its legs bent up behind its back and taped together. The legs hinge
in a way you can do that. So I wondered, when they got here and pulled the tape off, if they might not've just thrown it aside.
The judge half turned toward the window again.
That's what they're looking for, tape?
Duct tape or electrical tape. Either one.
You find any?
Not yet.
The judge nodded and took a sip of his drink.
Gary said, You didn't hear anything last night?
Not a sound.
I was thinking if they drove in with it, came past the house Maybe your wife heard something.
No, she didn't either.
Could I speak to her?
You're asking me, can you have a conversation with her about alligators? In her condition?
I wondered if she might've heard a truck.
Jesus Christ, but you keep beating on it. I just told you she didn't hear a thing. Now we're through here. I'm going to work.
Gary said, Yes sir, and paused and said, Can I ask you something else? It's unrelated. Well, in a way it is. The judge, with the glass raised to finish his drink, didn't answer. When I first got here, Gary said, I told one of the deputies to go get a car. In case the gator came out after us. The judge lowered the glass and was looking directly at him now. Right after I said it, I heard a voice that sounded to me like a young black female, you know, kind of a high voice? Repeating pretty much what I said.
Gary waited.
The judge stared at him.
Gary didn't care for his expression. Ice-cold.
The judge said, What's your name again?
It's Sergeant Gary Hammond.
You like detective work?
Yes sir, very much.
Better than driving a squad car.
Yes sir.
Did you know Colonel McKenna was a buddy of mine?
No sir, I didn't.
The judge said, Well, you do now, boy. When I tell you we're through here, it means we're through, you don't ask any more questions. You understand?
Yes sir.
The alligator wasn't brought here as a prank or otherwise, to cause anybody harm. It came out of that canal all by itself. So there's no need of you to write up an Offense Report.
Gary said, I still have to tell Colonel McKenna what happened.
That's all right, the judge said, long as you don't color it. He smiled then, his mouth did while his eyes remained cold. Tell Bill for me he should've sent the dog-catcher.
Gary said, Yes sir, I will, paused a few seconds wanting to bite his tongue, but had to ask it. Judge, has your life ever been threatened?
Chapter 8
There was a judge friend of Bob Gibbs, now retired from the bench, who described Palm Beach as an island off the coast of the United States. Bob Gibbs agreed one hundred percent. Cross Lake Worth east and you were in a different country, the top end of the Gold Coast where the rich and famous lived. But you know what? Go the other way, drive west out beyond Twenty Mile Bend and, man, you were in a different world, the Glades, bottomland America with a smell of muck and fish and half a million acres of sugarcane off on the left side of the road there. He liked Palm Beach, enjoyed being an honored guest at the balls and functions, eating free. But never felt the kick that coming out to the Glades gave him. Why was that? His judge friend who'd retired and moved up to the Panhandle said, Cause you're a redneck at heart. Why do you think? If you'd been born here you'd be moonlighting gators for hides and meat instead of sitting on the bench, an ill-tempered judge.
Recalling that got Bob Gibbs in touch with his feelings, as Leanne would say, aware of a different kind of kick this trip. One right in the gut. Anger mixed with a foreboding something messy could come of this alligator business. What in the hell was Dicky Campau thinking that he delivered it alive?
They were to meet this evening at Slim's Fish Camp on Torry Island. Cross the bridge over the rim canal and you were there, in the marshy lower end of Lake Okeechobee, not too far from Belle Glade. Bob Gibbs found the frog gigger inside Slim's visiting with friends and pulled him out into the dark, over by the Coca-Cola machine.
How many times did I tell you. It was suppose to be a dead one?
It was, when I left it. Dicky looking bewildered at the thought of its having come alive. Judge, me and my wife took the truck, figure to run along the dike. We spot her in the canal right there by the cleaning dock eating on some softshell turtle. I thought we might have to go clear to Canal Point, but there she was. I shine a light on her, see about eight ten inches between the eyes? I know she's a big'n.
Bob Gibbs said, What was our deal? Deliver the son of a bitch dead. He couldn't say it enough.
Judge, it was. Ask my wife. I used a snatch hook on a quarter-inch line. I caught her clean, one throw, tied off around my trailer ball and pulled her out of there. I don't mean she come willing, she fought it, pretty near tore the trailer hitch clean off my truck. I said to my wife, We got us one.' Next, I hit that gator over the head with a ten-pound sledge. One stroke, she let out her air and never made another sound.
It came back to life, Bob Gibbs said. Walked through my screen porch and into my house.
Prob'ly smelled your dog.
It ate the dog.
Judge, I told you when you called, I hunt frog. Outside of that gator they arrested me for I ain't trapped one in years.
Bob Gibbs thought a minute, hearing insects in the night and the sound of country music coming from Slim's.
You know that canal by my place? I'm saying that's what it came out of.
It could've.
I want to know for sure.
It's possible she swum down there.
And came into my yard.
I guess. Listen, Judge? You know my wife's pretty good at estimating. She looked at that gator and saw about four hundred dollars in the hide. She figured the meat, five bucks a pound, could bring another hundred. What I'm saying, that was part of the deal, Judge. You call me to pick her up afterwards and she's mine. Am I right?
And nobody would know about it but us, Bob Gibbs said. That's right too, isn't it?
Yes sir.
I stopped by the Helen Wilkes after court this evening? Everybody in the entire goddamn place knew about it. They're even speculating it was put there to get me. And you know why? Cause the son of a bitch was alive. Cause I had to call the sheriff to come kill it.
Dicky Campau said, So you don't have it no more, huh?
Chapter 9
Kathy Baker was here because the detective, Sergeant Gary Hammond, had called the office wanting to talk to her about Dale Crowe Junior. She told him she was just walking out the door, but had to be at the Detention Center this afternoon and could stop by later. The county jail was right behind the sheriff's building. He said fine. She had met Gary Hammond once before, but he didn't seem to remember.
Louis Falco, a sergeant with the TAC unit, was also here. Kathy knew him slightly from the Polo Lounge, an after-work hangout off Military Trail, but had never seen Gary Hammond there. She had a feeling he didn't drink or smoke and went to a Protestant church on Sunday. But a neat-looking guy, lean build, no ring. White button-down shirt and print burgundy necktie, very nice. She wondered if cop groupies out at the Polo Lounge would go for Gary Hammond or think he was impersonating a police officer. He looked more like a lawyer than a guy in law enforcement. Mid-thirties, say, but no ring. The only thing that marred his neat image, but a nice touch, his hair was kind of long, dark brown, down over the collar of his shirt.
Gary Hammond was telling them, If you ran the names of all the bad guys convicted by Judge Gibbs who are back on the street and wouldn't mind taking a whack at him, you could paper this room with the printouts.
Kathy let her gaze wander from Gary's desk to take in the size of the squad room with its rows of desks, walls and ceiling a dull yellow. But with those glass-front offices all around the four sides, there wasn't a whole lot of wall space. How many names was he actually talking about? Kathy didn't ask. Th
e guy liked his wallpaper analogy and was trying to make a point.
He liked it so much he was taking it next door to Sex Crimes saying, If it was possible to count all the bad guys still in doing a hard fall, but have friends on the outside they could get to pay the judge back, we'd have to use the walls in there too.
Kathy didn't know about the walls in Sex Crimes. She did recall they had lamps on the desks and artificial flowers. Part of that squad room was Child Abuse.
Gary Hammond moved on saying, If you consider just the wackos and rockheads that pass through Gibbs's courtroom every day of the week. Or it could be a guy never had even a parking ticket, all of a sudden he draws time on a DUI manslaughter, got drunk and killed somebody with his car. The guy loses his job, his family, his life is ruined and it's all this judge's fault.
What he was actually saying, Kathy decided, it could be anybody. Including Dale Crowe, for some reason singled out or she wouldn't be here. Though she still didn't see what Dale had to do with the alligator.
Lou Falco didn't know why he was here either, asking, What do you want me to do about it?
Kathy wondered that too. This didn't seem to be a job for TAC. The Tactical unit specialized in undercover work, surveillance, narcotics investigations But also dignitary protection. That could be it.
Gary said he was looking down the road, trying to anticipate what might happen next. I'm wondering if the judge shouldn't have a watch put on him. Nothing elaborate, park a green-and-white at his house, drive him to court
Falco said, In case another alligator gets after him? You don't even know it was put there.
I'm ninety-five percent sure.
Even if it was, you can't call it attempted homicide. People get alligators in their swimming pools all the time, they don't call TAC. You play golf, don't you? Any course around here, walk in the rough you're liable to step on an alligator. Listen, I don't want to tell you your business, but at this point the only lead you can get is from the judge. What's he say about it? Anybody threaten him lately?
I asked him and he threw me out, Gary said. We're no longer on speaking terms. All I got from the judge, nothing happened during the night they were aware of. He wouldn't let me talk to his wife.