“Surely an alleged affair is not enough,” I said.
“Quite right, it is not. It provides motive, nothing more. Now opportunity is obvious, the fellow was alone on the deck in the middle of the sea. But they will need more, and they know it, but that is what an investigation is for.”
We sat looking at each other for a while. Perhaps the other two were thinking things over, but I was waiting for someone to say something, like suggesting a way forward. It didn’t come, so I went looking for it.
“So what should we do?” I asked.
“If the SA wants to keep Ron longer than tomorrow morning. they will have to present a prima facie case to a judge. If that happens, our job will be to muddy the waters, to make it look like the state has no basis for an arrest, let alone a conviction. You gentlemen are investigators. I suggest you investigate what happened out there.”
Chapter Nine
FELICITY HAVILL HAD been the last person to see Will Colfax alive, according to the PBSO. And Ron had told us that she worked at the Post , meaning the local rag, the Palm Beach Post . If she was a reporter, she might have the kind of memory and eye for detail that could help us clear Ron. Lenny called the main switch at the Post and was put through to Felicity, where he explained Ron’s predicament, and Felicity told him she liked Ron a lot and would do anything to help.
The Palm Beach Post came out of a bunker-like building on South Dixie Highway on the east side of I-95 from the airport. The harried air of ink and cigarette smoke was absorbed in its walls, so Felicity suggested we meet at a bar around the corner. The bar was as white as a hospital bathroom, with flat white sofas and white bar stools that looked as comfortable as tractor seats. Despite being close to the Post’s HQ, there were no reporter types in the place. It really didn’t seem to be my idea of a reporter hangout, and I knew I was right when I saw Felicity Havill bounce into the bar. She had looked like a print journalist when I had seen her getting off the yacht that day, but now she looked anything but. She was far too attractive—pretty enough to be on television. She had blond hair that fell across her shoulders like a shampoo commercial, a button nose, soft features and pert breasts that were covered by a pink twin set that gave her a certain Sandra Dee look. What Sandra Dee wouldn’t have worn was the tight skirt below it that accentuated shapely legs. It seemed she was playing down her looks, wanting to appear cute rather than sexy. Perhaps a professional trade-off, perhaps just personal preference. She wasn’t a Florida native, not by my reckoning, because her fair skin was still fair, and yet to be crisped up by the Florida sun. She was everything Mandy Bennett was still trying to be twenty years later. Despite it all, she wasn’t my type. There was something just too darn delicate about her, like you’d spend your whole time making sure she didn’t get cracked whenever you went out.
“Felicity Havill,” was the first thing she said. She offered her hand and both Lenny and I shook a firm grip that made me reassess how delicate she was before I even sat down. She ordered a white wine, Lenny a margarita on ice and I got a rum and cola. It was a fancy drink kind of place.
“I’m so sorry about Ron,” she said. “It’s surely a mistake. Ron’s one of the good guys.”
“We think so,” said Lenny. “So, Felicity, what is it you report on at the Post ?”
“Oh, I’m not a reporter.” She smiled like that was the funniest thing she’d heard that day. “I’m senior executive of advertising sales.”
That made a whole lot more sense to me than reporter. Reporters usually look hassled and flustered and permanently close to a deadline. They talk fast and listen hard, and there’s usually some kind of ballpoint ink on their fingers. Felicity had none of that. I bet she sold a lot of advertising, though .
“How did you come to be on the boat for the race?” I asked, and it occurred to me as I spoke that I didn’t even know the name of the vessel.
“I wanted to learn to sail. It’s Florida, right? So I went down to the club and took some lessons, did a few twilight series, and one night after a race I met . . .” She stopped for a moment and put her hand to her mouth and gulped back emotion. Our drinks arrived, giving her some time to collect herself.
“Sorry,” she said. “I met Will. He invited me to sail on his yacht, and I did a few races, a few day cruises, then this race came up and it sounded like fun.”
“Where are you from, originally?” I asked.
“Why not Florida?” She smiled with her eyes as she sipped her wine. It felt like a trick question, one of those testers that women throw out and men drown in like quicksand. I had nothing to lose and no skin in the game, but years of practice made me give her the answer that I had ready.
“You said, it’s Florida, right . Suggests you are from somewhere else.” I kept the flawless skin thing to myself. That felt too much like flirting, and I didn’t think that was the right way to go with this one.
“You’re good. I grew up in Montana. Billings to be exact. I went to school at University of Georgia.”
“A Bulldog.”
She nodded. “Fortunately, this far south they let being a Georgia alum slide. Living in Jacksonville would be a nightmare.”
I nodded. I went to college in the same state as Jacksonville, and being a Miami Hurricane didn’t go down that well there either .
“By the way, what’s the name of Will’s boat?” I asked, ticking a box.
Felicity gave an eye roll, fished out her purse and pulled out a packet of photographs. She licked her finger, flicked through the prints and selected one, and then slid it across the table to me. It was a photo of what looked like the crew, some standing in the cockpit of the yacht, a couple on the dock. They all looked fresh and happy and ready for adventure, and for a moment images of young men preparing to go off to the First World War came to mind. The name of the yacht was written across the back of the boat.
“Toxic Assets ?” I frowned and Felicity raised her eyebrows.
“Will’s sense of humor, I guess. I took that picture just before we headed out from Palm Beach for the start of the race.”
“And this is Will Colfax?” I pointed at a man in a new-looking ball cap, red sailing shirt. He was a little pudgy around the jowls, but wore a smile the camera loved.
Felicity nodded and sat back in her seat. We all sipped our drinks and then Lenny got to the point.
“Can you tell us about that night?”
Felicity dropped her smile and nodded again. “We came across the Bahama Banks during the day. It’s shallow and you need to keep an eye out for shoals and reefs. Drew had the helm most of the day. When we got to Cat Cay, that’s just south of the Biminis, it was sunset, and the decision was made to head across the Gulf Stream overnight. It’s deep water after you drop off the banks, and safe, and they said the weather was good to push us home, so we kept going.” She took a sip and continued .
“We had raced over to Nassau without sleep really, so we were all pretty tired, and Will said we’d do shifts. First shift was Will, Alec and me. The others were below and went to sleep.”
“So you three were on deck,” said Lenny.
“Yes. No. I don’t remember Alec being there. No, he wasn’t, for some reason. I was on deck with Will, and now I think about it, when I went below, Alec had fallen asleep in the galley.”
“So you went below?” I asked.
She nodded slowly, and I could see her weighing that decision, knowing it was the wrong call, as things turned out.
“Will and I were on deck for a while. It was dark, and pretty smooth sailing. We were making good time, the breeze at our backs, and Will said I looked tired and I said I was, and he said I should get a few winks in. I wasn’t sure I should. We were taught to always have at least two crew on deck at all times, but he said it was like a bath out, and he’d wake me if anything changed.”
“So you went down?”
“Yes. Will said I could crash in his cabin. He had the stateroom, it’s his boat, so I did. I fell asleep in seconds, I thi
nk. I didn’t wake until someone started banging on doors, and I found out Will had gone over.”
“Felicity, how do you think that could have happened?”
“I don’t know. The weather was a little choppy by the time I got on deck, but it wasn’t a big sea or anything.”
“Had Will been drinking?” asked Lenny.
Felicity hesitated and in doing so gave Lenny his answer. “We were tired, it had been a pretty hard race and he wanted to relax a little.”
We nodded but said nothing. It was often the best way to get people talking. Most interviewers just kept asking questions, and talked right over the answers. But the majority of folks are uncomfortable with silence, and sooner or later feel the need to fill it. Felicity was one of those people.
“He had a bottle of rum. I don’t care for it much, but it seems to be a sailor thing. Like from pirate days. So we shared a couple of rums. Just a couple. He wasn’t drunk or anything.”
“Where was Ron when you woke up?” I asked.
“He was on the radio, to the Coast Guard. I think he took the call.”
“Was anyone else up?”
“Everyone. I think they banged on my door, Will’s door, last, because they assumed he had been on deck, not asleep. So I got up and everyone was on deck, looking out at sea.”
“For Will?”
She nodded.
“Felicity, do you know anyone on board who might want harm to come to Will?”
She shook her head instantly. “No, no. Certainly not Ron. But none of the others either. I mean, I didn’t know them all well. I’d sailed a couple times with Drew, and I knew Alec and Amy from the club. But everyone seemed to get along pretty well.”
“So you think it was an accident.”
She stared into middle distance for a moment, maybe picturing that moment in her mind, the moment Will went over. Perhaps she was replaying it, each time slotting one of the other crew members into the scene, showing them pushing the skipper over the side. I had played the same scene in my mind, trying to see Ron doing it. Somehow the image of him never formed properly. Felicity may have had the same problem .
“Yes,” she said, almost to herself. “I don’t get it, but yes. I think it was an accident.” She looked up at me, tears welling in her eyes. “I think he fell overboard.”
Chapter Ten
OUR INVESTIGATION TOOK a hiatus as we made our way to the courthouse adjoining the county lockup on Gun Club Road. As predicted by Allen, the state attorney had to put up or shut up if he wanted to keep Ron in custody, and he had opted for the former. Ron’s preliminary hearing was held on minimal notice but Allen was there, sitting opposite the state attorney for the Florida 15th Judicial Circuit, who had decided to make the appearance himself. Allen suggested this was not a great sign for Ron. The SA was seated at a plain table and had a large file box next to him, behind which sat one of his minions. The file box seemed to have a lot of paper in it, and I was surprised they had so much paperwork already. Or perhaps it was all blank and he used the technique to psych out his opponents. Or that might have been my mind getting the better of me. Despite sitting, the SA looked tall. He sat erect, spine against the back of the chair, which accentuated the effect. He was lean too, and had the tight cheeks of a marathon runner. I watched him stare at the judge-less bench, like a quarterback before a big game, and I wondered if he was visualizing how his plays would work out. He kept his gaze ahead, and ran his hand down his tie, in a subconscious move that I didn’t think he even knew he was doing.
The judge came into the court and we all stood, and then we sat again and a guy in uniform announced the first docket. Ron was led in. He was dressed in an orange jumpsuit despite not having been charged with anything until that morning. He looked gaunt and withdrawn, and the orange suit did nothing for his complexion. In short, he looked guilty. Guilty of anything and everything.
“Does he have to wear that jumpsuit?” I whispered to Lenny.
Lenny nodded sagely and whispered back. “The court says it isn’t prejudicial if there isn’t a jury present.”
“But the judge is human, too.”
Lenny shrugged. “Everyone they see is in orange. They believe they’re above it.”
“Are they?”
Lenny shook his head and directed his attention back to the bench. The prosecutor stood and proved to be taller than I thought. I was a lazy six-two, and he beat me by a good couple inches. He looked like a well-dressed string bean.
“Your honor, Eric Edwards for the People. In the matter of the People versus Ronald Anthony Bennett, charge of first-degree homicide, we ask the court that the accused be held in custody until formal arraignment due to the nature of the crime.”
“I understand the alleged crime took place at sea?” The judge looked over thin glasses at the prosecutor.
“Yes, your honor.”
“And no body has been recovered?”
“That is correct, your honor. The incident occurred in the Gulf Stream, and the Coast Guard believes the body was swept away in the current. We will provide expert testimony that proves the deceased would have been dragged out into the Atlantic and that survival is not possible.”
The judge nodded and looked at his documents. I leaned to Lenny again, who had seen a lot more courtroom action than I had.
“Why isn’t Allen objecting? Surely they have no idea where the body ended up.”
“This isn’t LA Law . Allen will get his chance.” I let the reference to a show I vaguely remembered as a kid slide, and turned my attention back to the courtroom.
“What do you have for me?” asked the judge.
The prosecutor, Edwards, flipped over a page on his table and then looked up as he spoke. “Considerable circumstantial evidence, your honor. The accused had motive, as outlined in the court documents before you, as well as means.”
“Means?”
“He was conveniently situated on the yacht, your honor. All other crew members had been assigned cabins, twin cabins, with one other person. The defendant elected to sleep in the galley, alone, where he had access to the deck without being seen by any other crew.”
“I see.”
“The sheriff’s office has also found physical evidence, which is being analyzed as we speak, and we fully expect such evidence to prove the state’s case.”
“Okay, Mr. Edwards, thank you. Mr. Allen, it’s been a while since this court has seen you.”
Allen stood when addressed. “Yes, your honor.”
“You disagree, of course. What do you have to say on the matter? ”
“The state is fishing, your honor. The alleged motive is paper-thin and we can show it to be so. As for opportunity, there were six other people on the yacht, apart from the alleged victim and my client, your honor. Furthermore, the state cannot even prove that Mr. Colfax’s disappearance wasn’t an accident.”
“Mr. Edwards?” The judge turned his gaze back to the prosecutor.
Edwards stood. He was a good six inches taller than Allen, and that seemed to give him some kind of unfair advantage. I always felt a little smile cross my face when a short batter took the plate back in my playing days. It made me feel like I had the physical edge, before I ever threw a pitch. Never did it cross my mind at the time that a smaller batter meant a smaller strike zone for me. The mind works in mysterious ways.
“As I said, your honor, we have collected considerable physical evidence that we believe will show foul play. There is also the matter of the victim’s considerable experience at sea, and the calm nature of the water at the time.”
“Okay. Anything else, Mr. Allen?”
“Your honor, there are no grounds for this matter to be heard in your honor’s courtroom. The alleged incident occurred in the territorial waters of the Bahamas, and as such should be the domain of the Bahamas Maritime Authority.”
The judge looked at Edwards, who had remained standing. “Your honor, there is considerable precedent here. The vessel is registered i
n the state of Florida and the victim is a resident of Palm Beach County.”
The judge nodded and turned back to Allen. “Anything else?”
“Your honor, the state has nothing but thin, circumstantial evidence, and the promise that they will find proof. That simply isn’t good enough. They are, of course, welcome to continue their investigation, however frivolous, but not at the expense of my client’s liberty.”
I thought the client’s liberty thing was pretty impressive, but this wasn’t my ship to steer.
“Mr. Edwards, I’m inclined to agree with Mr. Allen. Without formal arraignment I see no reason not to release the defendant. You are welcome to lay charges and arraign at a later date.”
“Your honor, we believe the defendant is a flight risk.”
That was news to me. I’d never known Ron to vacation outside Florida, let alone be a flight risk. I couldn’t see Ron leaving Florida if the only other option was to be thrown into the fires of hell, and not just because the fires of hell were mild compared to South Florida in summer. Ron was the poster child for the Florida life. He loved everything about it: the sun, the sea, the heat driving one to beat a hasty retreat to the bar.
“How so?” asked the judge.
“The defendant is a dual national, your honor.”
That stopped the room. I frowned and saw Allen freeze in his standing position, and then glance as surreptitiously as he could at Ron. Ron looked up with a look of wonder, and nodded to Allen. I turned to Lenny, who didn’t look at me. He just nodded as well.
“Explain,” the judge said to Edwards.
“The defendant was born in Jamaica, your honor. He is a Jamaican national, and later became a citizen of the United States. This fact, combined with his expertise as an open ocean sailor, suggests he presents a significant flight risk.”
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