"I'm trying to verify your alibi," I said, growing frustrated.
Bobby frowned, then pulled his phone from his pocket and tabbed through his contact list. He told me the number, and I entered it into my phone.
"Are you happy? Can I go now?”
I nodded to the door, and he took off.
"We may have more questions for you,” I shouted after him.
JD muttered, "I typically like kids. But I'm not so sure about that one."
I chuckled. Bobby certainly was a handful.
We left the office and thanked Coach Martin on the way out.
Possession of a firearm by a minor in Florida was illegal unless it was under the supervision of an adult. Bobby's admission gave us probable cause to search the house for the gun.
We hurried back to the station, filled out an application for a warrant, and waited around. Judge Echols signed off on it, and before long, we were back at Ken Boyd's residence, knocking on the door.
His voice crackled through the speaker on the video doorbell. He wasn't too keen to talk to us. "I told you, I'm not talking to you without an attorney. What do you want?"
"We have a warrant," I said. "Now you can open the door, or we can break it down. It's going to be a lot cheaper if you let us in."
The speaker crackled as he disconnected. A few moments later, Ken approached the door. He opened it with an annoyed face. "What are you searching for?”
I handed him a warrant. "Your son admitted to possession of a firearm," I said as I stepped into the foyer. "Show me to his room.”
Ken did, and we followed him into the living room and down the hallway to the bedrooms. He motioned to the door, and JD and I entered.
Bobby kept his room tidy. I assumed that was at the direction of his father. Ken was the kind of guy who liked everything squared away.
It was a typical teenage boy's room with pictures of cars, girls, and bands on the wall. A small twin bed rested in the corner, and there was a desk, an aquarium, and a bookshelf with plenty of comic books and graphic novels.
I pulled on a pair of nitrile gloves, searched under the mattress, and found the Ruger right away.
A look of disbelief washed over Ken's face as I bagged it. "What is he doing with that?”
"Hopefully, he didn't use it to commit murder," I said. "You should think about changing the combination to the safe.”
Ken swallowed hard and nodded. A thin mist of sweat coated his face. The possibility that his son may havecommitted murder filled him with dread. "What happens now?”
"We’ll take it to the lab and run ballistics. If it comes back clean, we’ll return the weapon to you. If it doesn't, your son will face charges."
Ken swallowed hard and gave a grim nod. "Where is Bobby now?"
"In class.”
"And you talked to him without my permission?”
"Not necessary under Florida law.”
We left, headed back to the station, and logged the pistol as evidence. JD and I filled out reports, then decided to grab lunch at Mirage.
Jack ordered the jerk chicken bowl with rice, beans, and pineapple salsa, and I went with the Cuban Press.
I called the admin office at the junior high and talked to Linda. With a few taps of the keys, she told me Lana was absent today. She said her mother had called the school to let them know she was sick.
Something told me Lana was playing hooky.
