Crash Tack

by A. J. Stewart

  “So where do I begin?”

  “At the end,” I said. Lenny glanced at me and raised an eyebrow.

  “Okay,” said Michael. “So, I guess, why Keegan was arrested. He works for—worked for—Will’s company.”

  “Cyntech?”

  “Yes,” said Michael. “He’s the finance director. In charge of the accounting, financial planning, cash flow, that sort of thing.”

  “So he had his hands on the till, so to speak,” said Lenny.

  “Yes, I suppose.”

  “Who else had access to the finances?” I asked.

  “Not many. There were a couple subsidiaries that had their own finance people, but they reported in to Keegan. Then I think there were the directors. I think they had limited access. Keegan had a couple people working for him, so they had some access. That’s about it. ”

  “And how does this link to you?” I asked, although Deputy Castle had already filled me in on the likely reason. I just wanted to hear it from Michael.

  “I think someone was stealing money from the company, and I think they killed Will, or arranged to have him killed, and set Keegan and me up to take the fall.”

  “So why were you on the boat?” I asked. “You said before that Will just invited you, even though you had never sailed before. That doesn’t smell right, does it?”

  Michael coughed into his hand. “I think it was part of the setup.”

  “Go on,” I said.

  “There are certain things, personal things, that I’d rather keep out of this, if possible.”

  “You mean the being gay thing?” said Lenny.

  Michael’s jaw dropped, and then he gulped and closed his mouth. “How do you know that?”

  “I don’t think you’re as clever at hiding it as you think you are,” said Lenny. “I doubt anyone at the yacht club is buying that roommates story.”

  “Oh.”

  “And the sheriff knows that you guys were married back in ’04,” I added.

  “They know that?”

  “It’s public record, Michael,” I said. “It might have been all the way up in Boston, but it’s still public record.”

  “So why the ruse?” asked Lenny. “It’s 2008. Why lie about your relationship?”

  Michael analyzed the carpet, and then looked up. “Because it’s 2008. And it’s Florida.” He rubbed his face and then put his hands together, fingers on his chin so it looked like he was praying. I wondered if he knew he was doing it.

  “Look, we didn’t plan on it,” he said. “We got married when we were in Boston, and we had every intention of being open about that when Keegan got the job down here. But it took all of five minutes to know that Palm Beach isn’t South Beach, let alone Massachusetts. People were more conservative. Our marriage isn’t recognized in the state of Florida. We decided that for the sake of our careers that we would keep it low-profile.”

  “You ever go down to South Beach?” asked Lenny.

  “Yes,” said Michael, matter-of-factly.

  “Good spot down there. I used to hang down there a lot.”

  “You did?” Michael frowned. “You’re not . . . you know.”

  “I’m the one who’s supposed to find it hard to say the word gay, not you. But no, I’m not. But a lot of good guys I know are. I’m all for it.”

  “You are?”

  “Of course. Leaves more ladies for the rest of us.” Lenny smiled wide. I contemplated the idea that if a certain percentage of men weren’t interested in women, then it was possible a similar percentage of women weren’t interested in men, but I kept that thought to myself. I didn’t want to harsh Lenny’s mellow.

  “So, you decided to hide in plain sight, so to speak. And as you say, Palm Beach might not be South Beach, but it’s not the Appalachian backwoods either. What gives?”

  “There was one more thing.”

  “Which is?”

  “It turns out Keegan’s boss was a bit of a homophobe.”

  Lenny and I looked at each other.

  “Will Colfax?” I asked.

  Michael nodded .

  “Okay, I get that.” I said. “From all reports he was a bigot and a sexist. So not a stretch.”

  “Except,” said Lenny.

  “Except what?” said Michael.

  “Except he hired Keegan. They obviously met before the hire, right?”

  “Sure, Keegan interviewed in Michigan, and then he and I came down here to check it out before he committed. We had dinner with Will and his wife at their place in the Biltmore.”

  “You met Celia?” I asked.

  “I did. She’s intense,” said Michael.

  “You could say that,” I said.

  “And Michigan?” asked Lenny.

  “Will’s business was originally based in Detroit. Keegan’s first job was closing that business down.”

  “Ouch,” I said.

  “But my point is, they met before he was hired,” said Lenny.

  “Yes, several times,” said Michael. “Why?”

  “Not to put too fine a point on it, but your husband is a bit of drama queen.”

  “You didn’t see him at his best,” said Michael.

  “I’ll concede that,” said Lenny. “But does his best still involve a lot of hand waving and high-pitched yelps?”

  “Occasionally. What’s your point?”

  “My point is, Will would have to have been blind to not think that Keegan was gay. But he hired him anyway.”

  “Maybe,” said Michael.

  “So Will either hired him because Keegan was gay, or he didn’t care. And we seem to have ruled out not caring.”

  Michael frowned. “I don’t see where you’re going.”

  “I don’t either,” said Lenny. “Continue. We’ll see if I can figure it out.”

  “You know, now that you mentioned Celia, it made me think. She was pretty pro-Keegan.”

  “How so?” I asked.

  “At the dinner we had, she had a few drinks, we all did, and she said more than a couple times how she loved Keegan and how Keegan was the right guy for the job and how the island needed more guys like Keegan.”

  “You don’t mean finance guys?”

  He shook his head. “I didn’t think anything more of it, but now I wonder if she was a fruit fly.”

  “A fruit fly?”

  “A woman who likes to hang out with gay men. Ladies like Celia love stuff like that.”

  “Ladies like Celia?” I asked.

  “Bored rich housewives,” said Michael.

  We all sipped some tea while we digested that thought, and then I prompted Michael to continue.

  “So you’re in Florida, hiding in plain sight, and you meet Will, and despite his reputation he asks you to sail on his boat. Why did he do that?”

  “I don’t know. I mentioned at a function that since we were in Florida, we should do some sailing. Sometime later Will says he needs an extra hand on his boat for a race, and wonders if I am interested.”

  “Did you tell him you didn’t sail?”

  “I might have said I wasn’t that experienced. He said there was lots of experience on board. Now I think about it, I wonder if someone was setting me up by getting him to invite me. ”

  “Who would do that?” I asked. “Who would have that influence?”

  “Drew Keck,” said Michael. “Drew was essentially skipper of the boat, in all but name. He could have convinced Will.”

  “Let’s not jump at shadows,” said Lenny. “There’s another simple reason. Will needed an extra hand on board, but he didn’t want another crew member who would be competing for the attention of the ladies.”

  “That does fit what we know about Will,” I said.

  “But he could have recruited another woman,” said Michael.

  “Now that is something that would have upset Drew Keck,” I said. “He wasn’t keen on women being on board at all. Bananas either, apparently.”

  “This is really a bunch of stand-up guys,”
said Lenny. “Alec Meecham starts to look like a class act in comparison.”

  “He was,” said Michael. “He was the nicest one on board, to me at least.”

  “Did he hit on you?” I asked.

  Michael did a double take. “Have you met Alec?”

  “Yeah, okay. Was he trying to sell you a car?”

  “No, nothing. He was just friendly. I could see the girls thought he was a bit too smooth, and I’ve heard stories around the place, but that wasn’t my experience.”

  “What about Ron?”

  “I didn’t speak to Ron that much. He was nice too, but it didn’t work out that we were teamed together.”

  “All right. Is there anything more you can add?” asked Lenny.

  “I don’t think so. Where do we go from here? ”

  Lenny stood. “We’ll take another look at all these goons, and dig a bit deeper. If you can get any details on what Keegan was doing, the financials, anything, we can look into that too.”

  “I think the FBI took everything, but I’ll ask him.”

  “Just be aware that anything you say to each other in lockup can be recorded.”

  We walked Michael out and then I flopped back down on the sofa. Lenny sniffed his ice tea and then put it down.

  “So what now?” I asked.

  “Start at the end, is that what you said?” Lenny laughed. “How about we do that. Are we convinced it wasn’t an accident?”

  “If the sheriff’s evidence is accurate, and I’m sure it is. The brain fluid on the winch handle kind of nails it. Someone hit Will Colfax in the head.”

  “It’s definitely Will’s fluid?”

  “According to the state attorney it is.”

  “Why wouldn’t the killer throw the winch handle overboard?”

  “Not sure. Panic? Mistake? Trying to set someone else up?”

  “But not an accident,” Lenny said.

  “No, but more than that. I wasn’t completely sure Will was even dead. I mean, no body, right?”

  “You think he swam through the Gulf Stream?”

  “I didn’t have a working theory, but it doesn’t matter now. It’s foul play.”

  Lenny leaned back in his chair. “So foul play. Who benefits?”

  “The wife, usually.”

  “So we look at Celia first. See if we can find any connection to the crew. ”

  “Business partners are usually second. So Michael and Keegan.”

  “And the FBI will do the hard digging on them,” said Lenny.

  “So other business partners?”

  “Who were?”

  “Drew. Everyone says he and Will had something brewing, but he blew it off. He did meet someone last night, late at the yacht club, but I don’t know who, or if it’s even connected.”

  “So let’s find out what that was. And the girls?” asked Lenny.

  “No business as far as I can tell.”

  “Just funny business,” said Lenny.

  “Yeah. And that leaves Alec.”

  “Links?”

  “Will bought his cars through Alec, apparently. Nothing more that I know.”

  Lenny nodded. “You’ve met him. Why not go see what he’s about?”

  “What will you do?”

  “I’ll go check out Celia Colfax.”

  I frowned over reading glasses that I wasn’t wearing and gave him a look.

  He just smiled.

  Chapter Thirty

  LENNY LEFT IN his truck to visit Celia Colfax, and Ron was out with his new insurance client, so I took my bike out to Alec Meechan’s car lot. I decided to watch things from a distance for a while. I parked my bike in front of a taco shop on the opposite side of the road, then went in and sat at the window. There’s a limit to how long you can sit in someone’s restaurant without ordering anything, and in this case that limit was only fifteen minutes. There was no table service so I didn’t get hassled by a waitress, but the guy behind the grill was a dark-looking unit with a meat cleaver, so when he started grunting in my direction I ordered a couple tacos and a soda.

  I learned a few things about the automobile business. One, it wasn’t a volume business. As I watched, only two people actually entered the lot. One took a look at the Ferrari I had driven with Alec, but left before Alec could get out there. The other stayed long enough to speak with Alec but left without a test-drive. The second thing I learned was that working in a lot would be a pretty boring job. Alec spent most of his time sitting in the goldfish bowl of an office, punctuating the time with sporadic walks into the customer-free lot. It wasn’t that different from being a security guard, and I began tossing around ways one might combine those two jobs for greater efficiency.

  It takes a particular kind of person to do stakeouts well. You have to be okay with sitting around doing essentially nothing for long periods of time, but be ready to jump into action at a moment’s notice. I was generally fine with that. I had spent a lot of downtime in ball club locker rooms. Some guys almost went insane during a rain delay. I just cleared my mind and waited for the clouds to clear. Lenny was a master at it. He dropped into a trance of sorts, not speaking, barely breathing, but always watching. I wondered if it was something he picked up back when he was in the military. I could have stayed in the restaurant all day and waited for Alec to do something, but after a couple hours my taco and soda tab hit fifty bucks and I realized my wallet couldn’t hold out much longer, let alone my stomach. I resolved to get proactive. I also resolved that if I was going to do stakeouts on my own in the future, I really needed a car of my own.

  I pulled out the card Alec had given me and called the number.

  “Palm Beaches Luxury Auto,” was how he answered.

  “Alec, this is Miami Jones. I test-drove the Ferrari with you the other day.”

  I saw Alec sit up straight in his office chair. “Jones, yeah. I didn’t think you were serious.”

  “Why wouldn’t I be serious?” Clearly he didn’t think much of my motorbike.

  “No reason. How can I help?”

  “I’m still interested in it. Do you still have it?”

  I watched Alec stand and look out from his office at the car in question. “I’m not sure. I don’t see it on the lot. There was a lot of interest in that one.”

  I tried to hide the smile in my voice. “Oh, that’s too bad. Well, perhaps another time then. ”

  “Hang on, Jones, let me check something for you.” Alec held the phone to his chest for a few seconds, and then he came back on the line.

  “Looks like a customer had a hold on that one, but they didn’t come through with the deposit yet. There is a waiting list on it by the looks of things, but since we know each other, I think I can bump you to the top. But we’d have to take care of it quickly, you know what I mean.”

  “Gee, Alec, you’d do that for me?”

  “I always look after my friends.” So it had taken only two minutes to go from a time-waster on a bomb of a bike to best buds forever.

  “Well, that’s swell,” I said. I frowned at the swell . That might have been pushing it a tad far. “I’m in New York, at the Ritz Carlton tonight, and I won’t be back in Palm Beach until late tomorrow. Can we do something then?”

  “Sure, Jones, sure. I’ll take care of it.”

  “Thanks, Alec. Appreciate it. Hey, interesting news about Will Colfax, wasn’t it?”

  “What was that?” he asked. “There’s a lot going on there, I can tell you.”

  “I heard the feds raided his office.”

  “Yeah, I knew that.”

  “A golf buddy of mine who knows says the sheriff has let that other guy out.”

  “Ron Bennett? Yeah, that’s old news.”

  “Yeah, but my buddy says because of the feds thing, the sheriff is going to raid everyone who was on the boat. Hey, hang on, you were on the crew, weren’t you?”

  “Yeah,” said Alec, the confidence dropping from his voice.

  “Did they raid you yet?”
/>   “No. No, they didn’t. ”

  “Well, I’m sure you’ve got nothing to worry about, but if I were you, I’d clean up anything I didn’t want the sheriff getting his nose into. We’ve all got stuff we don’t want big brother getting into, right?”

  “Yeah, right.”

  “All right then. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “Yeah, tomorrow.”

  I hung up and paid my bill. I figured either Alec was going to do something, or he was going to do nothing. Doing nothing seemed a long shot. It was what he did that would determine whether I was interested in him. He didn’t waste any time. He made another call, then he collected his keys, locked the office, pulled a chain across the driveway to his lot and put a padlock in place. Then he got in a Porsche hardtop the fluorescent orange color of a life preserver and took off. I was sitting on my bike, waiting for him to go, and I pulled across the road, got a couple horns sounded at me and resolved to never do that again.

  I followed Alec onto I-95 south, and he opened the afterburners and took off like a rocket. He changed lanes without signals or regard for the presence of other vehicles, and it was only the garish color of the car that allowed me to see it pull off a couple exits later. As he headed east I almost lost him again, but the lights stayed red long enough for me to catch up, and I was two vehicles behind as we crossed the bridge onto the island. I could hear Alec revving the engine through the helmet and from five car lengths behind as he slowed and pulled onto Bradley Place. It was then I knew where we were going. I stopped a half block back and watched him pull up on the other side of the street from the Biltmore apartments, home of Will Colfax’s widow, Celia. Lenny was already staking her place out, and was parked on the apartment side and down a touch, and he sunk lower in his seat as he gave me a little wave. I ran across the road and pressed myself against the hedgerow that ran around the grounds of the Biltmore and the Royal Poinciana South apartments next door. I called Lenny.

  “Interesting development,” he said.

  “Indeed.”

  “Celia’s not home.”

  “Where?”

  “Lunch at The Breakers.”