The Guardians(51)

“He’s still alive, you know?”

“I don’t care. My dealings with him were over twenty years ago.”

“What did you tell him in the hospital?”

“Everything but the part about me nailing one of his thugs. I’ve never told anyone that, and I’ll deny it tomorrow if you repeat it.”

“So you’re still afraid?”

“No, Post. I’m not afraid. I’m just not risking any trouble here.”

“No word from the guy you hit?”

“Nothing. It was before the Internet and searching was more difficult. I dug enough to learn that there were two shooting victims admitted to Tampa’s public hospital on that date. One was shot by an intruder who was caught. The other guy was found dead in an alley. I couldn’t prove anything so I lost interest. About that time, my wife and I decided to leave town.”

“How did Pfitzner treat you afterwards?”

“The same. He was always very professional, the perfect cop, a good leader who believed in discipline. He gave me a month of paid leave after Kenny’s funeral and did everything he could to show concern. That’s why he was so treacherous. The community admired him and no one believed he was corrupt.”

“Was it known among his men?”

“We had our suspicions. Pfitzner had two pit bulls who ran things, Chip and Dip. They were brothers, a couple of real leg-breakers who did the dirty work. Arnie had a mouth full of oversized teeth and one of his front ones was chipped; thus, he was called Chip behind his back. Amos had smaller teeth but a fat lower lip that was always packed with a thick wad of smokeless tobacco; thus Dip. Below them were a few members of their team who were in on the action, the drug payoffs, but they kept all that separate from the routine business of protecting the county. Again, Pfitzner did a good job as sheriff. At some point, long before I arrived, he succumbed to the temptation of drug money. He protected the port, allowed the stuff to come in, provided safe zones to store it, and so on. I’m sure he made a mint, and I’m sure Chip and Dip and the others got their share. The rest of us had good salaries and benefits.”

He waves at a golf cart and two attractive ladies wave back. He follows them around a fairway, then veers over a small bridge to a secluded hideaway under some trees. When we are settled in, I ask, “So what did Kenny know?”

“I don’t know, he never said. He dropped a hint one time but never finished the conversation. You’re familiar with the fire that destroyed a bunch of evidence, including stuff from the Russo murder?”

“Yes, I’ve seen the report.”

“When Kenny was a kid he wanted to be a spy. Sort of odd for a black kid in a small town in Florida, but he loved spy books and spy magazines. The CIA never called so he became a cop. He was really good with technology and gadgets. An example: He had a friend who thought his wife was fooling around. He asked for help, and Kenny, in a matter of minutes, rigged up a phone tap in the guy’s utility room. It recorded every phone call and the guy checked the tape every day. Before long he heard his beloved cooing with her Romeo and planning their next rendezvous. Kenny’s friend caught ’em in bed and beat the shit out of the guy. Slapped her around too. Kenny was right proud of himself.”

“So what did he hear?”

“Something about the evidence getting destroyed. A few days before the Russo murder there was a rape out in the county, white on white, and the victim said she never saw the guy’s face but knew he was white. The favorite suspect was a nephew of Chip and Dip’s. The rape kit was stored with the other stuff because there was no room in the old headquarters. When it burned, the rape kit was destroyed, along with other valuable proof. Kenny and I were drinking coffee late one night, taking a break, and he said something to the effect that the fire was no accident. I wanted to follow up but we got a call and took off. I asked him about it later and he said he overheard a conversation between Chip and Dip about burning the building.”

He stops talking and there is a long pause. When I realize he’s finished with his story, I ease in with “Nothing else?”

“That’s all I have, Post, I swear. Over the years I’ve speculated that Kenny had probably wired the phones around the office. He suspected Pfitzner and his gang were in on the drug loot and wanted the proof. DEA was poking around and there was talk about the Feds coming in. Could we all get busted? Would Pfitzner sing and blame us? I don’t know, just my best guess, but I think Kenny was listening and he heard something.”

“That’s a pretty wild theory.”

“Yes it is.”

“And you have no idea what he may have heard?”

“Nothing, Post. No clue.”

He starts the cart and we continue our tour of the course. Every turn reveals another scenic vista of mountains and valleys. We cross rushing streams on narrow wooden bridges. At the thirteenth tee box he introduces me to his lawyer who asks how things are going. We say all is well and he hurries off with his buddies, much more concerned with his game than any of his client’s business. At the clubhouse, I thank Gilmer for his time and hospitality. We promise to talk in the near future but both know that will not happen.

It’s been a long, interesting trip but not that productive. However, in this business that’s not at all unusual. If Kenny Taft knew something, he took it to his grave.