Death, Limes and Videotape: A Key West Culinary Cozy - Book 7

by Summer Prescott

  “Maybe. But I don’t need a warrant to identify the smell of smoke that’s hanging around you, or to see the bulge in your tunic pocket that looks suspiciously like a pipe for illegal substances. The way that I see it…if I perceive you to be a threat and have to pat you down, in case that pipe-shaped object just happens to be a weapon, and I discover drug paraphernalia on your person, which I’d then have to confiscate before I took you to jail, I’m guessing that might complicate your life a little bit. If, however, I don’t perceive you to be a threat because you were kind enough to show me some of your security footage…there’d really be no reason for me to pat you down,” he leveled the young man with a look.

  The clerk swallowed nervously, beads of sweat popping up on his upper lip and forehead. “The monitor is in the back and the tapes are on the shelf, marked by date,” he jerked his head to indicate the door behind him.

  Cortland nodded. “Yeah, I knew you were a good guy. I’m feeling less threatened all the time,” he flashed a tight smile as he headed for the security room. He surveyed the shelf of tapes and found that the particular date that he needed was missing.

  “Where is it?” he loomed over the clerk once again.

  “I don’t know,” the youth shrugged, looking scared. “It was back there earlier, I swear.”

  “Tell me exactly what happened that night, starting with the puke-covered guy coming out of the bathroom,” Cortland ordered. “I’m feeling a bit threatened right now,” he growled a warning.

  “Okay, okay,” the clerk held up his hands in mock-surrender. “The dude came out of the bathroom all wet, and he left. He didn’t speak and didn’t even buy anything.”

  “Did you see which direction he headed?”

  “Well, he didn’t leave right away,” the youth looked uncomfortable.

  “What do you mean?”

  “He ran into Lana out front, and they talked for a while, then they left together,” he blushed slightly.

  Bernard looked at him closely, surprised at his strange reaction. “Who is Lana?” he barked.

  “She’s…uh…a hooker.”

  The detective nodded, understanding his discomfort now. “Okay, when did they leave, and do you know where they went?”

  “There’s a crappy hotel across the street from the Candy Cane Club. She’s been seen there a lot,” he shrugged. “They left just before shift change, so probably around 11:00,” he guessed.

  “You seem to be a decent kid, Myron. Lay off the illegal stuff,” Cort warned, heading for the door.

  **

  The tires of his non-descript departmental sedan crunched in the gravel that surrounded the flea-bitten Paradise motel, as Bernard Cortland parked in front of the Office. A faulty fixture flickered with sickly yellow light, and the door handle that he had to touch to enter the shabby lobby was coated with layers of oil and dirt from the many unwashed hands that had grasped it. The smell, once inside, was a stomach turning combination of dirty microwave and cat urine.

  “Hello, may I help you?” a diminutive man with a lilting Pakistani accent asked suspiciously. Cortland was far better dressed than the man’s usual clientele, which elicited an immediately defensive posture.

  “Is Lana around?”

  “I’m sorry…I know no one named Lana,” the little man shrugged, avoiding the detective’s eyes.

  “Really? Then you won’t mind if I go door to door in your “establishment” to see if she might be here, now will you?” Bernard threatened.

  “You cannot do that,” the man exclaimed. “I am aware of my rights, and that is not permittable,” he insisted.

  “Ever hear of probable cause?” the detective asked in a low voice, looming over the much shorter man.

  “You are cop?”

  Cort pulled out his badge. “Detective. Was this man here?” he asked, showing the proprietor a photo of Daniel.

  Changing his tune entirely, now that he knew who Bernard was, the man nodded rapidly. “Yes, that is Fred Sanford. He checked in two days ago for a few hours.”

  “Do you know what time he got here?

  “It will be in the checkin log…one moment please,” the man flipped quickly through the pages of an ancient-looking guest book. “Ah, yes, here it is,” he pointed to a signature in the middle of a page. “Fred Sanford and guest…11:34.”

  Cortland nodded. “You don’t mind if I just take this with me do you?” It wasn’t a request. The man looked as though he’d like to protest, but thought better of it.

  “Of course not, I have another that I can use,” he acquiesced.

  “I’ll need to review your security camera footage from that night before I go,” he said. It wasn’t a question.

  “Yes, of course,” the proprietor nodded. “Come with me, please.”

  **

  Cortland’s jaw was clenched as he drove back to the station with newly discovered evidence. Now he understood why he’d had such a bad feeling about Daniel’s interrogation. Ferguson was currently badgering a man who, while not necessarily innocent, could not possibly have committed the murder. He went straight to the interrogation room when he got back to the station, and, rapping briefly on the door, poked his head in.

  “A word?” he said to Ferguson, who was clearly peeved at the interruption.

  “Can it wait?” the bespectacled detective grumbled, receiving only a raised eyebrow in reply. “Fine,” he sighed, lifting his considerable bulk out of the standard issue metal chair and heading for the door. “We’re not done here,” he gave Daniel a warning look on his way out.

  “Cortland, what are you thinking, interrupting me in the middle of questioning?” he demanded, hitching his pants up in a show of extremely high self-importance.

  “Letting you know that you’re questioning the wrong guy,” Bernard drawled, not impressed by the rotund detective’s posturing.

  “You’re way off base with this one,” Ferguson smirked, eager to share some wisdom. “He admitted to helping his daughter and breaking into the house, and admitted running into the victim behind the Candy Cane Club and beating the crap out of him.”

  “That’s nice,” Bernard drawled. “But there’s no way that he could’ve killed the victim.”

  “Oh really,” the pudgy detective sneered. “And what, exactly, brought you to that brilliant conclusion?”

  “Daniel Hayes left his ex-wife’s house after taking care of his daughter, and had just enough time to get to the convenience store. It takes ten to fifteen minutes on foot to get from her front door to Gas N Go. The time stamp on the photo from the front lawn said 10:44. The video camera at the convenience store shows him arriving at 10:57. He went into the rest room to clean up, emerging at 11:07. He encountered a professional named Lana outside the store and left the premises with her at 11:16. The two of them were walking through the alley behind the Candy Cane Club when they encountered Jace Chesterton and his cameraman at approximately 11:35.”

  “How can you possibly know that?” Ferguson challenged, rattled.

  Bernard pulled his phone out of his pocket and pulled up video that had been recorded by Jace’s own cameraman upon encountering Daniel and the hooker at 11:35.

  “This makes it pretty clear,” he said dryly.

  The two detectives watched the video, which was only seven minutes long and ended when Daniel and Lana headed over to the Paradise Motel. The footage that Cortland had reviewed in the dingy office of the Paradise had clearly shown the pair entering a room on the first floor, and not emerging from it until almost six o’clock the next morning.

  “Jace Chesterton was killed on Islamorada, roughly around 1 a.m.,” Bernard reminded Ferguson. “There’s no possible way that Hayes could’ve done it, because he was holed up in the motel with a professional all night. There’s no other exit from the room that they rented, besides the front door, case closed,” he finished.

  “I’m still going to book him on assault, he admitted to it,” Ferguson grumbled, defeated.

  “Yo
u do that,” Cort nodded. “Personally, I’m going to try to find the real killer before someone else dies.”

  Chapter 21

  “At least we know that he’s alive,” Tiara murmured, tamping down the whipped cream on top of her Key Lime pie with the tines of her fork.

  Marilyn’s heart ached for her daughter, who found out the previous evening that, although it looked like her father might still be alive, chances seemed pretty darn good that he was Jace Chesterton’s killer. While she was relieved on Tiara’s behalf that Daniel was still alive, and apparently still in Key West, she wasn’t looking forward to the emotional devastation that her daughter would undoubtedly experience if her father was indeed a murderer.

  “Cort is looking for him, sweetie. If anyone can get to the bottom of this mess, it’s him,” she tried to reassure the depressed young woman, her own words sounding hollow in her ears.

  “Yeah, I know,” Tiara sighed, finally giving up on the uneaten pie and dropping her fork onto the plate. “I’m going to go up front and let Kelcie take a break while I work on some spreadsheets. Nothing like a little math to take your mind off of your troubles,” she attempted a smile.

  “Okay, honey,” Marilyn nodded. “Let me know if you need anything.” She’d spent the morning looking at their numbers since Jace’s murder. It would soon be time to make the decision as to whether or not she’d be able to move forward with her expansion plans this year, and so far, the prospect seemed rather bleak. Immersing herself once more in her daughter’s expert charts, graphs and analysis, the morning flew by.

  “Ms. Hayes, I think you’d better come out here,” Kelcie popped her head into the office, eyes wide as saucers.

  Marilyn immediately rose from her chair and followed her assistant down the hall to the front of the shop. As she turned the corner behind the front counter, she saw Daniel embracing Tiara while she cried. Stopping dead in her tracks, the concerned mother froze, uncertain as to how she should handle the scene unfolding in front of her. Daniel solved the problem for her, by glancing up and catching her eye.

  “What are you doing here, Daniel?” she asked quietly, trying to keep her voice as neutral as possible, for Tiara’s sake, despite the fact that she was screaming inside.

  “Mar…I…” he began.

  Tiara broke away and interrupted him. “Mom, don’t freak out, it’s okay. Detective Cortland found evidence that showed Dad didn’t do anything wrong,” she held up her hands as though keeping her mother at bay.

  “Didn’t do anything wrong?” Marilyn was astounded. “I saw video that showed your father was quite clearly doing something wrong,” she challenged, hands on hips and tapping her foot.

  Her daughter sighed, wiping her face. “Yes, Mom, he beat up Jace Chesterton, but there’s no way that he could’ve killed him. He had an alibi that the detective verified,” she explained.

  “So, what’s this? The goodbye before you fade back into the woodwork, making your daughter go crazy with worry again? Do you have any idea what kind of an impact it has on her life when you just disappear and she doesn’t know if you’re alive or dead?” she demanded, furious and protective.

  Before Daniel could open his mouth to reply, Tiara stepped over to her mother. “We’ve made our peace, Mom,” she said gently. “He’s going to keep me posted as to where he is, when he can, and I’m going to try not to worry about him when I don’t hear anything.”

  “Why is it that he’s been on the island this entire time and hasn’t contacted you?” she half-whispered, trying to make her daughter see the folly in what she was proposing.

  “I couldn’t,” Daniel spoke up, approaching them slowly, keeping a safe distance between himself and his ex-wife.

  Daggers shot from Marilyn’s eyes. “What do you mean, you couldn’t?” she worked to keep from speaking through her teeth.

  “Captain Bob has…connections, Mom,” Tiara explained, before things got ugly. “Even though he’s in jail, he has a history of being able to hurt people…and their families. So Dad figured that if he laid low, here in Key West, he could watch over us and make sure that we were safe. He had to stay hidden because he wanted Captain Bob to think that he’d abandoned us, so that we’d be out of danger. He was helping us, Mom, even if it hurt me,” she looked down embarrassed, as Daniel reached over and put an arm around her shoulders.

  Marilyn was still seething. Something about the mere sight of Daniel set her teeth on edge, these days. “If you’re waiting for a thank-you…” she began advancing toward him.

  “Mom,” Tiara warned, raising her eyebrows in a way that made her look even more like a capable adult than she always did.

  Her mother threw up her hands in surrender. “Alright, fine, I’m going to go back to my office and go on with my life. The two of you, do whatever you need to do, but I’d appreciate it if you’re done by closing time,” she looked at her watch pointedly, subtly reminding them that the shop would only be open for a few more minutes.

  “Thanks, Mar,” Daniel murmured, and she gave him a cold stare.

  “I’ll close up the front,” Tiara volunteered. Marilyn response was a sad nod, before turning slowly to go.

  **

  Tiara appeared in the doorway of Marilyn’s office, having first stopped at the bathroom to dry her tears. “He’s gone,” she said softly, looking at her mother and hoping for understanding.

  Marilyn nodded, not knowing what to say, her fierce love evident in her eyes.

  “Don’t judge him too harshly, Mom,” her daughter requested with compassion. “He is who he is, and I’ve just decided to accept him as he is and let him work out the details of his own life.”

  “That’s good honey, I’m proud of you,” she embraced her daughter. “You okay?” she brushed a lock of spun-gold hair from Tiara’s face.

  She nodded and smile, hugging her mother fiercely. “Believe it or not, I am. For the first time in a long time, I am definitely okay.”

  “You do realize that I do the whole “Mama Bear” thing because I love you, right?” Marilyn grinned, pulling back.

  “Really?” her daughter teased. “I thought you just enjoyed intimidating poor, unsuspecting men.” The two laughed, and Tiara turned to go.

  “Sweetie?” her mom called after her.

  “Yeah?”

  “I really do love you.”

  “I know,” her daughter winked. “Love you too, Mom.”

  Chapter 22

  Detective Bernard Cortland had a hunch, and usually, when he followed his gut, he ended up being right. After reviewing all of the evidence, he’d only come up with one person who would have the access to the victim, the trust of the victim, and the physical strength to have taken Jace Chesterton’s life and disposed of the body in such a brutal manner. Without backup, and with nothing more than a hunch and some interesting video to go on, he approached the RV and knocked.

  Jace’s cameraman, Wayne Binkman, answered the door, looking disheveled and out of sorts, wearing only a shark tooth necklace and faded plaid boxers.

  “Mornin,’” Cort greeted him. “I know it’s early, but I’m trying to finish out my investigation on the murder of your buddy, and I was hoping that I might be able to talk to you a bit?”

  “Dude, I just woke up…can you like, come back later or something? I haven’t had coffee yet,” the clearly hungover cameraman mumbled.

  “I understand, man, I’m not a morning person either, but I’ve got a guy back at the station who’s about to be booked, and I need to tie up the loose ends, you know? It won’t take long, I promise,” the clever detective replied.

  “You caught the guy?” Wayne seemed both surprised and relieved.

  “Yeah, he denies it, but, we’ve got enough for a conviction,” Bernard said, telling the truth. While Daniel hadn’t committed the murder, he was at the station when the detective left, and they did have enough info to convict him…of assault. The fact that Wayne assumed that he was referring to the murder, just made getting in the d
oor that much easier.

  The cameraman sighed, then relented. “Alright, dude, c’mon in,” he said, opening the door of the RV wide enough to admit the detective.

  Cort entered the playboy mansion of an RV, his eyes taking in every detail without making it obvious. Wayne indicated that he could take a seat on the couch, then sprawled out across from him in a club chair, after pouring a glass of spicy Bloody Mary mix.

  “Quite a set-up you’ve got here,” the detective nodded appreciatively, despite that fact that he found the entire interior garish to the extreme.

  “Yeah, it ain’t much, but it’s home, for now,” the cameraman replied, taking a series of gulps of his juice and wiping his mouth on the back of his hand.

  “Oh, is the RV yours? I guess I just assumed that it was Jace’s,” he asked casually.

  “Well, I got a letter from his attorney that said he hated his family so much, that he left everything to me,” Wayne shrugged.

  Bernard nodded, recognizing a motive for murder when he heard one. “Wow, you two must’ve been close, like brothers. His death had to have been such a shock to you,” he mused, a glint of metal under the cameraman’s chair catching his attention.

  “Yeah, it was rough, but karma catches up with dudes like Jace eventually, you know?” he yawned and rubbed his eyes.

  “Hey, I could use a little pick-me-up…do you mind if I have a glass of that mixer?” the detective asked.

  “Sure man, hang on,” Wayne heaved himself up out of the chair and turned his back to get a glass out of the cabinet.

  In a flash, Bernard Cortland leaped from the couch, pulling handcuffs out of his sport coat pocket as he lunged toward the cameraman, catching him off guard. He pulled the unsuspecting killer’s arms behind his back and secured them, kicking the back of Wayne’s knees to bring him to the ground, so that he could subdue him more effectively. With his knees on the murderer’s legs, and one hand securing his cuffed wrists up between his shoulder blades, Cort used his other hand to pull out his phone and call for back-up.