Crash Tack

by A. J. Stewart

  I turned on my stool, and almost fell off. The fragile nature of the stool was partly to blame, but I was also taken aback by the sight of the attractive sheriff’s deputy from the day Ron and crew had returned. She was in full uniform, still making forest green look like a fashion choice. The gun on her hip bounced ever so slightly as she strode across the courtyard. Another deputy, a far less attractive guy with a buzz cut and hard face, marched one pace behind her. It didn’t seem very chivalrous to walk behind her, but she didn’t seem to need the help. The investigator from the day at the dock brought up the rear in a blue suit that looked like it was the latter half of a buy one, get one free. The deputies came straight to us. The woman held my eye, but didn’t smile. She stopped before Ron, Lenny and me.

  “Deputy,” said Lenny.

  “Mr. Cox,” she said, all business.

  “Can I offer you a cool beverage?”

  “No, thank you. This isn’t a social call, I’m afraid.” She turned her gaze on Ron. “Mr. Bennett, I have to ask you to accompany us to the sheriff’s office.”

  “Why?” asked Lenny. The investigator stepped forward.

  “We have some questions,” he said.

  I looked at him. “Why not ask them here?”

  I glanced at the female deputy and noted she was shaking her head, ever so slow, like my mother used to do when I was just about to do something stupid.

  “It would be better to not be here,” said the investigator.

  “Is he under arrest for something?” asked Lenny.

  “No, sir,” said the investigator. “Not at this point in time.”

  It was the last part, the throwaway line, that gave us all pause. But if there was one thing Lenny had taught me in my short career, it was that messing with the law might sometimes be necessary, but you’d better have a good reason to refuse a direct request to attend questioning. That usually resulted in an arrest, and watching Ron walk out of Longboards in cuffs was not something anyone wanted. Especially Ron. He slipped off his stool and put his unfinished beer on the bar ,

  “If anything, I’d like to know what the heck is going on,” said Ron.

  I watched the female deputy nod and offer Ron a little smile. The deputy stood aside and Ron walked away. The two deputies dropped in behind him, one standing just off each of Ron’s elbows.

  “Where you taking him?” asked Lenny.

  The investigator handed Lenny a card. “Gun Club Road.”

  “How long?”

  “Come down in a couple hours. We’ll see then.”

  “Is this trouble?” I asked.

  “That depends on the SA.” He tipped his head like he was wearing a hat, which he wasn’t, then turned and walked out of the courtyard. I looked at Lenny and he held the guy’s card up for me to see. It read: Gene Moscow, Investigator, Palm Beach Sheriff’s Office .

  “What on earth could they want?”

  Lenny slipped the card into his red palm tree print shirt. “They think Ron pushed his skipper overboard.”

  Chapter Five

  WE DIDN’T WAIT a couple hours. We got straight in Lenny’s truck and headed down around the airport to Gun Club Road. The criminal justice complex housed the headquarters of the Palm Beach Sheriff’s Office, as well as outposts of various other law enforcement bodies, and it was the main detention center for the county. I had spent a bit of time there, fortunately as a visitor, but Lenny knew the place like the back of his hand. He drove in and parked at the back of the lot, and we walked across the large space and headed inside. Lenny asked about Ron and the civilian at the desk checked through his papers, and then told us that he was in an interview, and it could be a while.

  Lenny nodded. “Tell Moscow that we’re here anyway, will ya, Hank?”

  “Sure thing, Lenny. Still might be a while.”

  Lenny winked. “We’ll grab some coffee.”

  “Go to Dunkin’. I wouldn’t feed the coffee we got here to my dead cat.”

  We went to Dunkin’ Donuts. There’s one for every ten snowbirds in South Florida. I got a juice that could have used a hit of vodka, and Lenny grabbed a coffee and a donut. We wandered back to the waiting area, and Lenny was just finishing the last of his coffee when the door to the offices buzzed loudly and Gene Moscow appeared. He had loosened his tie, but he still looked uncomfortable.

  “That was quick,” I said.

  Moscow put his hands on his hips. “You guys know a lawyer?”

  “Why?” asked Lenny.

  “Your buddy needs one.”

  “You’re arresting him?”

  “A formal charge has not yet been laid, but Ron is refusing to answer any more questions without an attorney present.”

  “There must be dozens in this building,” I said.

  “We offered him a public defender to sit in. He declined and said to talk to you.”

  Lenny ran his hands through his thick hair. “Why won’t he talk?”

  “I can’t speculate on what’s going on in his mind, Lenny.”

  “Quit that, Moscow. You know what I mean. He was talking, right? To begin with. All helpful like. And then you drop something on him that makes him think twice about where this is all going, and he clams up. What was it?”

  Moscow shuffled his feet and inspected the shine on his shoes. “I can’t get into that with you—you know that, Lenny. But I’ll tell you this much. There is a suspicion of foul play with the Will Colfax disappearance.”

  “Of course there is,” said Lenny. “You’ve got to rule that out. But why Ron? That’s crazy.”

  “It might be crazy, but we got motive.”

  “What motive?” I asked. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing.

  Moscow just shook his head. He wasn’t sharing. “If he doesn’t want a public attorney, then we have to hold him over until tomorrow morning. You think you can find him a lawyer by then?”

  “Sure. He’s not going in the main pen is he?”

  “He’ll be in minimum custody for pretrial, unsentenced males. He’ll be all right.”

  I wasn’t sure how spending the night in prison was all right, but I guess it was all perspective. Compared to being in maximum security with an ax murderer called Big Bubba, it was probably a dream.

  “Can we see him?” I asked.

  “Not tonight.”

  “Then we’re done,” said Lenny. “We’ll sort something out and be in touch.” We shook hands with Moscow and turned to leave. I had a last thought.

  “Moscow, who’s the state attorney on it?”

  Moscow’s face was granite. “Edwards. Eric Edwards. You know him?”

  “The tall guy? Dresses like an Italian mobster?”

  Moscow said nothing in reply, but his raised eyebrows and firm set mouth told me that the SA wasn’t Mr. Popular with the PBSO. I nodded and we headed outside into the last of the twilight. Palm trees swayed in silhouette, and one could be forgiven for thinking all was right with the world.

  “You got a lawyer in mind?” I asked Lenny as he started the truck.

  “Yeah. Let’s just hope he’s around.”

  Lenny pulled out onto Gun Club Road and headed back around Palm Beach International. As he joined the traffic on Route 1, I looked toward the water I couldn’t see. With the window down I could smell the salt air. A little burr had lodged itself in my brain, and it was scratching at my mind. I turned to Lenny, who was leaning one arm on the windowsill and using the other to steer with one finger.

  “There’s something I don’t get,” I said. “If we are talking a murder investigation, and that seems to be what we are talking, then I always thought that momentum was everything. Aren’t most cases solved in the first forty-eight hours?”

  “That’s more about kidnapping, when someone’s life is on the line. A dead guy is a dead guy. He’ll wait,” said Lenny. “But yeah, often useful intel is gathered pretty quick.”

  “So I’m wondering why the PBSO is so calm about waiting to interview Ron tomorrow. Surely that kill
s their momentum? And Ron doesn’t get to delay the investigation because he can’t choose an attorney. Either they interrupt his lawyer’s dinner and get him out there, or they provide someone already in the building. So what gives?”

  Lenny grinned. “Not bad, Kimosabe . Why do you think they’re okay with that?”

  I looked back out the window as I pondered that. Why would the state attorney want to delay an investigation? Unless he wasn’t delaying it at all. I spun in my seat back to Lenny.

  “They don’t have enough to lay a charge. They brought Ron in to try and shake him, and he didn’t shake. So now they are trying to get more on him. I bet they’re investigating the hell out of it, but they want Ron on ice, so they can back up what they know, and formally charge him tomorrow.”

  Lenny nodded. “Like I said, not bad.”

  “So what do we do?”

  “Get him a lawyer.”

  Lenny parked the truck under the gaze of the massive Palm Beach County courthouse. We walked away from the huge arch of the court, down First Street, to a newer office building that housed a bank, some companies whose owners had cleverly given them names that give no clue as to what they do and are utterly unpronounceable, and the law firm of Croswitz and Allen. I ran my finger along an empty space on the list of tenants, and Lenny smiled. He took out a key and opened the front door and we left the elevator alone and took the stairs. We stopped by the law offices and were pleased to see a light on. Lawyers, more than most folks, do love to brag on the long hours they work, as if this were the reason our species existed. Lenny tapped the glass and opened the door, and we wandered into a small front office. The computer on the reception desk was turned off, so Lenny called out.

  “Anyone home?”

  There was some rustling from behind the inner door, and a thin balding man with an even tan and a winning smile poked his head out. Allen was the rainmaker of the firm, although it was a generous use of the word. The firm consisted of just the two partners and their secretary, and Allen got most of their business on the golf courses around Palm Beach. Hence the tan.

  “Lenny Cox,” he smiled. “And young Miami. You boys moved in yet?”

  “Not yet. Just finishing some internal walls and a lick of paint. Few days.”

  “The rental agreement is all done, right?”

  “Yeah, it’s all sweet. Thanks for looking that over for us.”

  “Happy to have you join our little family here in the building. What brings you here now?”

  “Ron’s in jail.”

  Allen lost the smile. “Do tell. ”

  Lenny gave him the back-of-a-baseball-card synopsis, and Allen listened intently. When Lenny was done, Allen nodded to himself several times.

  “You want me to sit in on the interview.”

  “If you wouldn’t mind.”

  “Let’s make a call.”

  Allen led us into his office. It was what you expected a legal office to look like. Lots of thick leather-bound legal tomes, a polished hardwood desk that was neat and dusted. The chairs were old but well cared for. Allen and his partner, Croswitz, were like the odd couple, and Allen was the fastidious one. He picked up the phone and hit a button and waited for the call to connect, and then he told the other end who he was and who he needed to speak with. He waited again and I looked at some of the photos on the walls. Most of them were of Allen with people unknown to me, and almost all of them were either on golf courses or in bars I assumed to be on golf courses since everyone wore polos, chinos and hat hair. Allen announced himself again, and said he would be representing Ron Bennett. He gave a couple of ahas, and then told the other end until then , and he hung up. He clearly didn’t bill his clients by the word.

  “That was Detective Moscow. He says we will resume the interview at 8 a.m. tomorrow. I shall be there.”

  “Thanks,” said Lenny. “We appreciate it.”

  “I have a tee time at eleven, so hopefully it doesn’t run too long.” He smiled and walked us out. “I shall call you once we’re done.”

  “Will you see Ron before?” I asked.

  “Of course.”

  “Tell him . . .” Suddenly I couldn’t think what I wanted to tell him. It will all be okay? We’ll get to the bottom of it? Hell, we didn’t even know what was going on. Allen put his hand on my shoulder.

  “I’ll tell him. Don’t worry.”

  But I did worry. I worried about what I didn’t know, and I worried about it all the way back to Longboard Kelly’s.

  Chapter Six

  THE UMBRELLAS AT Longboards were all folded up like flowers that had closed their blooms with the setting of the sun, but the party lights were on and cast a joyful rainbow of colors across the tables. The courtyard was about half full, and the vibe sounded light and easy and didn’t suit my mood at all. There were two guys sitting in our spots at the bar, dressed in fishing shirts with more pockets than a pool table. Muriel saw us and gave a shrug, and nodded to a table. Lenny gave her a face like a sucked lemon but sat, and Muriel brought two beers out to us.

  “Sorry, wasn’t sure you’d be back,” she said.

  “Where else would we go?” said Lenny, matter-of-factly and without expectation of a response.

  “Who are the fancy shirts?” I asked as I picked up my beer.

  “Keyboard punchers from Michigan. They saw the party lights from the road.”

  “Mick needs a bigger fence,” said Lenny, smiling as he sipped his beer.

  “How’s Ron?”

  “They’re keeping him overnight,” I said.

  “In jail?” she whispered .

  I nodded. “They’re going to interview him in the morning.”

  “Can they do that? Put him in jail like that?”

  I nodded again. “They can.”

  “Has he been arrested?” she asked.

  “No, but he asked for a lawyer and that won’t happen until tomorrow. And the sheriff is within rights to keep him for a reasonable amount of time without a formal charge, so given it’s Ron’s lawyer who is the delay, an overnight stay becomes reasonable.”

  “Can’t you get his lawyer out there tonight?” Muriel frowned with concern. It wasn’t a great look on her. But it was a fair question and I turned to Lenny.

  Lenny shrugged. “Ron didn’t ask for a lawyer. He asked us to find him one. That means he didn’t expect to get out, regardless.”

  “Why?” I asked. “What does he know that we don’t?”

  Lenny shrugged again.

  “Poor Ron.” Muriel glanced away and then did a double take. “Is that who I think it is?”

  I looked at Lenny, who had broken out in a devious smile. “I believe it is,” he said.

  I turned in my seat, back toward the parking lot, and saw the female deputy who had taken Ron away, sauntering back into the courtyard. Only this time I was fairly confident she wasn’t planning on arresting anyone. She had changed out of her uniform, and was making a white T-shirt and denim jeans look like the crown jewels. She had already seen us and it was clear where she was headed, so we waited for her to arrive. When she did, she gave me a smile that made my belly flip around like I hadn’t eaten for a week.

  “Hi,” was all she said to me, but it was enough .

  “Hi,” I returned, with much less assurance.

  She looked at Lenny and said, “Hello, Lenny.”

  “Deputy,” he replied, the cheeky grin not moving from his face. “What can we do for you?”

  “I heard you’d probably be here, and I just wanted to stop by and say I’m sorry about Ron.” She looked at me again and the smile had gone.

  “We all are,” said Lenny. “Would you like a seat—we seem to have some spare.”

  “Thanks,” she said, taking a seat between Lenny and me.

  “Would you like a drink?” asked Muriel, coolly.

  “Thanks. Vodka tonic would be great.”

  Muriel left to procure the drink and I watched her go, for reasons I didn’t understand but had some
thing to do with not wanting to face the deputy until I had something clever to say. And if something clever eluded me, then anything at all would suffice. I lingered a little too long on watching Muriel round the bar and start pouring vodka, and my mind was a blank, so I gave up and turned back and took the chicken’s way out and looked at Lenny.

  “I’m sorry—I don’t think we were properly introduced,” she said, making me turn to her. She had her hand out, long fingers and neat nails. “Danielle Castle.”

  I took her hand and shook it. Her skin was softer than I expected a deputy’s skin to be, but then I hadn’t really done a scientific study on it. She gave me another smile, this one from only half her mouth, but the effect was inversely proportionate. We shook hands for longer than was necessary, and then she let my hand go and I returned the favor. She lifted an eyebrow by way of inquiry, but as I didn’t understand the nature of the inquiry I remained mute.

  “And you are?” she asked .

  I realized that I was as quiet as a church mouse, but with a Laurel and Hardy kind of face. “Oh, sorry. I’m Miami. Miami Jones.”

  She gave me the full-watt smile again and it made me grin like an idiot.

  “Pleased to meet you, Miami Jones.”

  Muriel saved me from myself by delivering the vodka and tonic.

  “So what’s the deal with Ron?” said Lenny.

  Danielle took a sip of her drink and then returned it to a coaster. “Let me start by saying in an unofficial capacity, I don’t think Ron did anything. I’ve met Ron. There’s not a mean bone in his body.”

  “So why is he in jail?” I appeared to have found my voice. She looked at me with concern.

  “I can’t say too much because it is an open investigation, but we had to notify next of kin, and in the process of doing that it became apparent that there might be a motive for the missing man’s disappearance.”

  “Will Colfax,” I said.

  “That’s right.”

  “A motive for what? Ron to push him overboard?”

  “Yes. That or worse,” she said, taking another sip.

  Lenny leaned back in his chair. “And can we ask what this motive is?”

  “Like I said, it’s not my place to say too much, I just wanted you to know.”