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.
27
Under Florida law, petitions for post-conviction relief must be filed in the county where the defendant is incarcerated instead of where he was convicted. Since Quincy is staying these days at the Garvin Correctional Institute, which is half an hour away from the small town of Peckham, which is at least an hour from civilization, his case comes under the jurisdiction of a rural circuit court ruled by a judge with a dim view of post-conviction relief. I really can’t blame him. His docket is packed with all manner of junk claims filed by jailhouse lawyers toiling away inside the prison just down the road.
The Poinsett County courthouse is a tacky, modern creation designed by someone who didn’t get paid much. The main courtroom is dark, windowless, and with low ceilings that create a sense of claustrophobia. The worn carpet is a dark maroon. The wood panels and furniture are stained a dark brown. I’ve been in at least a hundred courtrooms in a dozen states, and this is by far the most depressing and dungeon-like.
The State is represented by the Attorney General, a man I’ll never meet because he has about a thousand underlings between him and me. Poor Carmen