The Guardians(34)
“I’m not sure I believe that.”
“Most white folks don’t, but go to the black community and you’ll find plenty of believers.”
In his eighteen years in the state senate, Colacurci voted consistently on the side of law and order. Pro death penalty, pro gun rights, a real drug warrior and big spender for whatever the state police and prosecutors wanted.
He says, “I never had the stomach for criminal law. Can’t make any money there.”
“But Keith made money on the criminal side, didn’t he?”
He glares at me with a frown, as if I’ve stepped out of bounds. Eventually he says, “Keith’s been dead for over twenty years. Why are you so interested in his law practice?”
“Because my client didn’t kill him. Someone else did, someone with a different motive. We know Keith and Diana were representing drug dealers in the late eighties, had some clients in the Tampa area. Those guys make good suspects.”
“Maybe, but I doubt if they’ll do much talking after all these years.”
“Were you close to Sheriff Pfitzner?”
He glares at me again. In a not so subtle way, I’ve just linked Pfitzner to the drug dealers, and Colacurci knows where I’m fishing. He takes a deep breath, exhales loudly, says, “Bradley and I were never close. He ran his show, I ran mine. We were both after the same votes but we dodged each other. I didn’t mess with the criminal side so our paths seldom crossed.”
“Where is he now?” I ask.
“Dead, I presume. He left here years back.”
He’s not dead but living a good life in the Florida Keys. He retired after thirty-two years as sheriff and moved away. His three-bedroom condo in Marathon is assessed at $1.6 million. Not a bad retirement for a public servant who never earned more than $60,000 a year.
“You’re thinking Pfitzner was somehow involved with Keith?” he asks.
“Oh no. Didn’t mean to imply that.”
Oh yes. But Colacurci is not taking the bait. He narrows his eyes and says, “This eyewitness, she says Pfitzner convinced her to lie on the stand?”
If and when Carrie Holland recants her false testimony, it will be included in a court filing for everyone to see. However, I’m not ready to reveal anything to this guy. I say, “Look, Mr. Colacurci, this is all confidential, right?”
“Of course, of course,” he readily agrees. He was a stranger until about fifteen minutes ago and he’ll probably be on the phone before I get to my vehicle.
“She didn’t name Pfitzner, just said it was the cops and prosecutor. I have no reason to suspect Pfitzner of anything.”
“That’s good. This murder was solved twenty years ago. You’re spinning your wheels, Mr. Post.”
“Maybe. How well did you know Diana Russo?”
He rolls his eyes as if she is the last subject he wants to discuss. “Not well at all. I kept my distance from the beginning. She wanted a job but back then we didn’t hire girls. She took it as an insult and never liked me. She soured Keith on me and we never got along. I was relieved when he left, though I wasn’t finished with him. He became a real pain in the ass.”
“In what way?”
He gazes at the ceiling as if debating whether or not to tell me a story. Being an old lawyer, he can’t help himself. “Well, this is what happened,” he begins as he shifts weight and settles in for the narrative. “Back in the day, I had all the tort business sewed up in Ruiz County. All the good car wrecks, bad products, med-mal, bad faith, everything. If a person got injured, they showed up here, or sometimes I went to see them in the hospital. Keith wanted some of the action because it’s no secret that injuries are the only way to make money out there on the streets. Big-firm guys in Tampa do okay, but nothing like big tort lawyers. When Keith left my office he stole a case, took it with him, and we had one helluva fight. He was broke and needed the cash but the case belonged to my firm. I threatened to sue him and we fought for two years. He eventually agreed to give me half the fee, but there was bad blood. Diana was in the middle of it too.”
Law firms blow up every week and it’s always over money.
“Did you and Keith ever reconcile?”
“Sort of, I guess, but it took years. It’s a small town and the lawyers generally get along. We had lunch the week before he was murdered and had a laugh or two. Keith was a good boy who worked hard. Maybe a bit too ambitious. I never warmed up to her, though. But you had to feel sorry for her. Poor girl found her husband with his face blown off. Handsome guy too. She took it hard, never recovered, sold the building and eventually left town.”
“No contact since then?”
“None whatsoever.” He glances at his watch as if he’s facing another hectic day and the hint is clear. We wind down the conversation, and after thirty minutes I thank him and leave.
Chapter 18
Bradley Pfitzner ruled the county for thirty-two years before retiring. During his career he avoided scandal and ran a tight operation. Every four years he was either unopposed or faced light opposition. He was succeeded by a deputy who served seven years before bad health forced him out.
The current sheriff is Wink Castle, and his office is in a modern metal building that houses all local law enforcement—sheriff, city police, and jail. A dozen brightly painted patrol cars are parked in front of the building at the edge of town. The lobby is busy with cops and clerks and sad relatives checking on inmates.