Page 110 of The Newcomer
“Nope.” Tommy dropped the cigarette butt into the Styrofoam coffee cup he’d been holding. “He don’t buy much. Maybe a sub sandwich, chips.”
“When was the last time you saw him?” Joe asked.
“He come in here this morning.” The bagger tossed the coffee cup into a nearby trash can. “Sorry. Gotta get back to work.”
“Wait,” Joe said. “How long ago did you see him?”
“Hmmm. We open at eight, it was right after that. You know what? I think he’s using our men’s room to wash up in.”
“What makes you say that?”
“That bathroom gets cleaned and restocked last thing at night. But this morning, right after that guy was in there, a customer complained it was a mess. I went in there, and it looked like someone had taken a shower in the sink. Soap and paper towels all over the place.”
“So maybe he’s living in his car or something,” Joe mused. “No access to a bathroom.”
“Or he sleeps on the beach,” Tommy said. “Until the cops run him off. But that’s mostly young kids doing that around here.”
“Hey, thanks. That’s really helpful,” Joe said. He pulled some bills from his pocket and tried to press them into the bagger’s hand, but the old man shook him off. “Not allowed,” he said.
After he left the shopping center, Joe drove to the Treasure Island police station. He went inside and tapped on the glass separating the desk officer from the lobby.
Serafina Suarez looked up from her computer monitor and smiled. “DeCurtis! Where’ve you been? We missed you.”
“Just taking some comp time,” Joe said. “Can you do me a favor, Fina? I’m interested in recent arrests or citations for public vagrancy. My suspect is white male, late thirties to forties.”
“How recent?” she asked.
“The past week.”
Suarez started typing. “How are things at the motel? Your mom doing okay?”
“She’s fine, thanks,” Joe said.
“My aunt and uncle loved staying there this past fall. They want to come back next year too. And they really appreciated the friends and family discount.”
“Tell ’em to book early,” Joe said.
She nodded and tabbed down through the incident reports for the past week. “I’m not seeing any vagrancy reports for white males,” she said, and then laughed. “Oh, here’s something you’ll love. You know Driscoll? The new recruit? He caught Sweaty Betty sleeping on one of the benches at Sunset Vista Park Friday morning.”
“Bet I know where this is going,” Joe said. Elizabeth Schockle, whose street name was Sweaty Betty, was a mostly harmless, if smelly alcoholic who drifted in and out of local homeless shelters. He himself had transported her, more than once, to the emergency room after she’d been found unconscious behind a convenience store or on the beach.
“Driscoll, being Driscoll, woke her up to tell her to move along, and of course she cussed him out, so he slapped cuffs on her and put her in his cruiser to take her to lockup.”
Joe raised one eyebrow. “And?”
“Betty, being Betty, took a dump and pissed all over the back seat of his unit,” Fina said, chuckling. “He had to spend half the morning hosing it down and disinfecting it.”
“No fun,” Joe commented. “Hey, are there any new hobo camps around the beaches where I might look for my guy?”
“Not since the local chamber started pressuring us to close down the camps,” Fina said. “Homelessness is bad for tourism, in case you haven’t heard. It’s mostly a case of solo guys sleeping on a park bench or in the bushes a night here or there, and then moving along. You want me to check if your guy’s been arrested? What’s his name?”
“Might as well,” Joe said. “Declan Rooney.”
“Really?” Suarez looked startled. “I remember his name coming up in that gold-and-jewelry-buying scam at the Surf a few years ago. You’re still looking for him?”
“I am, only this time we think he’s moved up to bigger and better crimes. He’s been linked to a homicide down in Immokalee. He was spotted at Publix yesterday, and again today.”
“I can put out a BOLO on him if you want,” Suarez offered.
