Cold Case Killer

by Dorothy Francis

  These people were intent on drinking beer and eating chips and cheese on crackers. No mob activity seemed eminent. I wondered which one of the revelers might be Shrimp Snerl. I perused the crowd, trying to form a mental image of what he’d look like. I expected to see a whale of a man—someone like Gus Helmer. Wrong. The man who finally appeared to greet Punt with a slap on the back had to stand on tippy-toes to reach Punt’s shoulder. Shrimp.

  Captain Snerl was a toothpick of a man—small boned, thin. Looking into his beady black eyes, I remembered an English teacher who tried to teach us to avoid clichés. Said she could string a necklace with all the beady black eyes she’d blue-lined from student essays. So I tried to think of Shrimp’s eyes as black snails, ebony snails dropped in whites so yellow they made me wonder if he had jaundice.

  “Glad to meet you, Keely.” His handshake belied his fragile appearance and left me wondering how many of my fingers needed splints. And for such a little guy, he had the booming voice of a Bible-belt preacher.

  “Need to talk to you, Shrimp,” Punt shouted. “Want to ask a favor.”

  Shrimp eyed the crowd, then eyed Punt again. “Sure thing, man. How about a couple of beers? Soon as this drawing’s over, I’ll be with you all the way all the day.”

  “No beer for us, but thanks. Mind if we wait outside? You take your time. We’ll stick around.”

  “Okay, man. Be right with you.” Shrimp escorted us to the door and outside and I welcomed the clean air. Would he return for us, I wondered. We sat on the top step and waited. I counted the cars passing on Key Deer Boulevard and after a long time I reached the conclusion that two out of every ten cars are red.

  When we heard the crowd inside roar and cheer, we jumped up. And just in time. The door burst open and people poured out like water gushing over a dam.

  “Five hundred big ones,” one man shouted. “Butch’s always a lucky so and so.”

  “Dang it,” another man said. “Been comin’ here for years and never won a cent.”

  “Going to give up on raffles.” The first man tossed his ticket stub onto the graveled parking lot.

  When Shrimp appeared, he invited us to sit in his pickup while we talked. The truck looked new except for the ominous bullet hole in the driver’s-side door. Shrimp saw me staring at it and laughed.

  “It’s a decal, Keely. Realistic, right? Stuck it there to get a rise out of my wife.”

  “And did it?” I asked.

  “You bet.” He opened the passenger door and Punt helped me onto the seat where I sat between them, pressing close to Punt. Or was Punt pressing close to me?

  The truck interior smelled of hemp rope and WD40. Clean smells. Smells I seldom associated with shrimp boats or shrimpers. “Good to see you again, man. We need to get together more often. I miss my old beach pals. We had us some good times, right?”

  “Right,” Punt said.

  “What can I do for you, man?” Shrimp asked.

  “Got a friend who’s down on his luck. Thought maybe you could use him on your crew for a week or so.”

  “He got any experience around shrimp boats?”

  “No,” Punt admitted, “but he’s smart. He’ll catch on—guarantee you that.”

  “What’s his name? Anyone I know?”

  “Name’s Randy Jackson. Ever heard of him?”

  “Nope. Can’t say that I have. What kind of work does he usually do?”

  “He’s been out of work for a long spell, been out of the Keys for a long spell.”

  “Doin’ what?”

  Punt sighed. “Doin’ time. Twenty years of it. He’s been exonerated by the court, and now he needs work.” Punt told Shrimp the whole Randy Jackson story along with the fact that Randy’s mother and I had received death threats.

  “The guy’s a hothead,” Punt admitted. “I want him off Key West while I’m trying to investigate that twenty-year-old murder.”

  “What makes you think I need a hothead on Midnight Moon? A shrimper’s no place for a prima donna. And I don’t want to tangle with an ex-con. Randy Jackson sounds like bad news. Don’t think I want to go there.”

  “Maybe we can make a deal,” Punt said. “Instead of you paying Randy, I’ll pay you to take him off my hands for a few days.”

  “You sound downright desperate, man.”

  “Not quite, but almost. What do you say?”

  Shrimp pulled out a cigarette, lit it, and took a few drags before he spoke again. “Tell you what, Punt. I’ll give him a bunk for a week. You can pay me five hundred earnest money in case he decides to tear up my boat or start a mutiny. But if he turns out to be a good worker, I’ll return your five and pay him the regular shrimper’s fee.”

  “Sounds like a plan to me.” The men shook hands and Punt reached for his billfold and peeled off five bills. “When do you go out next?”

  “Tomorrow. Two o’clock sharp. Bring him to the Key West shrimp docks a little before two. I’m having some repairs made there and once they’re done, we’ll be off.”

  “Where’ll you be going?” Punt asked.

  “Man, you’re asking for my trade secrets. I never talk about my route or my destination. All I do is brag about my catch once I get back.”

  “Fair enough, Shrimp. I’ll have Randy at the docks on time. Don’t go without us. I’ll remind him to bring along sunscreen, too. He hasn’t seen much sunlight lately.”

  “Good idea at that. But we’ll work by night, sleep by day.”

  “What kind of jobs will he be doing?”

  “The usual. Galley duty. Winching in the nets. And sorting out trash.”

  “Trash that’s been dumped into the sea?” I asked. “Cruise ship trash?”

  Shrimp laughed. “No. To a shrimper, anything that isn’t a shrimp is trash or by-catch. We sometimes pull in a lot of other fish and turtles along with the shrimp. Someone has to sort them out and pitch ’em overboard.”

  “Oh.” Now I remembered reading about environmental laws forcing the shrimpers to replace their old nets with new ones that would release loggerheads and greens before the crew hauled them aboard. Those laws never made the shrimpers happy, so I avoided that subject.

  “Tell him to pack light,” Shrimp said. “He’ll have only a small bunk with a storage space underneath it. I’m not running the Queen Mary, you know.”

  “I’ll make that clear to him.” Punt opened the truck door, alighted, then helped me to the ground.

  “See ya tomorrow, man,” Shrimp called after us as we made our way back to the Karmann Ghia.

  “Good job, Punt. You talked him into it. Hope Randy comes through for you and you get your five hundred back.”

  “A risk is a risk and I feel that one’s a good one. But there’s one thing we’ve forgotten. We need to give Randy the hard sell on the plan. We need to convince him that taking this job would be in his best interest. And we need to do it tonight. If he refuses to sail on Midnight Moon, there’s no way we can make him go.”

  “So let’s talk to him. Tonight. He’ll need some time to get his things together.”

  “I’ll drive him to the shrimp dock tomorrow if he’s willing. So let’s go see what he says right now. If he refuses this job, we’re back to square one.”

  TWENTY

  We were crossing the Niles Channel Bridge when I began worrying about Shrimp Snerl and his offer to allow Randy on his boat.

  “Should we call Randy before we get to Stock Island?” I asked. “Maybe we should make sure he’s home. Or if he’s not home, maybe Maxine can tell us where he is.”

  “Let’s arrive unannounced. Remember that element of surprise. It could work to our advantage—again. Call him, and he has too much time to think over his options.”

  “Yeah, you’re right. If we present our offer face to face, we’ll have a better chance of persuading him to our way of thinking. Maybe Maxine will overhear us and help him make the right decision. Shrimping with Shrimp. I like the sound of it.”

  We drove through the
soft night. The mechanical bull on Ramrod sat in silence, but a bit farther on, the sound of the steel drums drifted toward the highway and cars still crowded Mangrove Mama’s parking lot.

  “Need a drink?” Punt asked.

  “Not unless you do. I’d rather get on home and talk to Randy.”

  “Right.” Punt drove faster, but still within the speed limit—not an easy task on a highway where the speed limit changes a dozen times between Big Pine and Key West. A few minutes later, Punt took a left onto Stock Island and when we reached the Jackson trailer, we saw the gray Ford parked nearby. Leaving the Karmann Ghia, we walked to the trailer. I looked overhead, wondering if Lavonna the iguana lay on a branch doing guard duty, but I didn’t see her.

  “What’re you two doing around here this time of night?”

  The gruff voice startled me and I grabbed Punt’s hand before I realized Randy was lying in his hammock. At the sound of his voice, a light flashed on over the trailer steps and Maxine appeared silhouetted in the doorway.

  “Randy, we have some great news.” I stepped closer to the hammock.

  “I could use some good news for a change,” Randy replied without rising.

  “Why don’t you all come inside?” Maxine called. “Got plenty of space here, and maybe we need to talk in private.”

  “Good idea,” Punt said.

  Maxine opened the door wider and stepped back. At first I thought Randy might refuse to join us, but he heaved himself from the hammock and followed us. The trailer smelled slightly of spaghetti sauce and garlic bread, totally pleasant fragrances.

  Punt, Randy, and I sat on the couch, trying to ease into positions that would allow us to face each other. Maxine pulled a folding chair from a slot between the closet door and her bed at the back of the trailer and joined us.

  “Spit it out.” Randy looked at Punt. “What’s your great news?”

  Maxine busied herself making us iced tea while Punt told Randy about Shrimp Snerl and Midnight Moon. Randy’s scowl didn’t change as he listened. At the end of Punt’s spiel, Randy said three words.

  “What’s the pay?”

  The question startled me. I hadn’t expected Randy to jump at the chance to work on a shrimp boat, and I thought he’d have questions about accommodations, work requirements, and stuff like that.

  “Your pay depends on the catch,” Punt said. “Good catch, good pay. Poor catch, poor pay. It’s all relative. But it’s your chance to prove yourself—at least prove your worth to Captain Snerl.”

  “It’s also my chance to lose a week’s time in collecting DNA.” Randy’s scar began to brighten. “The DNA samples rate tops on my list of important things. I can go shrimping anytime. Anytime at all.” Randy stood and began to pace—a difficult feat in a small trailer. Maxine kept dodging, allowing him space between the couch and her bed.

  “Yes,” Punt said. “Yes, you can go shrimping anytime—anytime someone will take you on, anytime a captain will risk his boat, his crew, and his reputation to give you a job. Not everyone’s hiring right now. Shrimp’s doing me a favor by taking you on for a trial run. If you do a good job, he might hire you again.”

  “Randy,” Maxine cut in. “Give it some thought—a lot of thought. I know shrimping’s some of the hardest work around, but…” She broke off mid-sentence and curled her tongue over her gold tooth.

  “Don’t think I’m afraid of the work, Ma. You know better than that.” Randy stared at the floor. “But now that Punt Ashford’s willing to help us investigate Dyanne’s murder, that’s top priority with me. A week on Midnight Moon would be wasted time as far as our investigation’s concerned. A whole week lost.”

  “Maybe you could think of it as a whole week gained in the employment field,” I said. “And while you’re at sea, Punt and I’ll be working on your DNA idea and on getting the police to consider the suspects you mentioned.”

  “There’s another thing, too,” Punt said. “Once you make good with Captain Snerl, the police’ll give your requests to review suspects more attention. A man with a job carries more weight with the police than an unemployed drifter.”

  “They may even want to listen to you and hear your views,” I said. “It would certainly be a boon to them and their careers to be able to say they’d solved a cold case others had given up on.”

  Randy scowled, sighed, stared at the ceiling. His body language told me we’d won our case.

  “Okay, people. You win. I’ll sign on with Captain Snerl for one run and we’ll see how it goes from there.”

  “Good decision.” Punt rose to stand beside Randy and shake his hand. “Keely and I’ll pick you up tomorrow afternoon around one o’clock. That’ll give us plenty of time to drive to the shrimp docks, meet Captain Snerl, and get you settled on the Midnight Moon. You’re going to be glad you made this decision, Randy. It could turn your life around and point it in a better direction.”

  We left the Jackson trailer before Randy could change his mind.

  “Well, Punt, we got what we wanted—and needed. We’ll have a whole week to work on the investigation without Randy’s help.”

  We drove onto Key West and Randy stopped at my office. “How about spending the night at my place?” he asked. “I feel, well, I feel that every night you spend here alone, you’re putting yourself in danger.”

  “You’re sweet to be concerned, Punt, and I appreciate it. But not tonight. I’d have to wake Gram up to tell her or she’d worry when I didn’t appear in the morning. We always check on each other, first thing.”

  “So leave her a note,” Punt said. “You’ve got a key to her place. Leave a note on her coffee grinder. Or anyplace she’d notice quickly.”

  So that’s what I did. It didn’t take a lot of talk from Punt to persuade me to see things his way. The memory of the rock through my window, my time at the ER, and bruises that still hurt hastened my decision. I wrote a quick note, left it on Gram’s breakfast table, and we drove to Punt’s place.

  Even with the lights gleaming from the widow’s walk, the mansion held an empty and deserted atmosphere without Jass in residence. But I smiled as I remembered she and Beau still had another month to enjoy their trip abroad. Due to my nightmares, I felt in no position to make a full commitment to Punt, but I liked the dream-free nights we spent alone at the mansion.

  “How about a swim?” Punt nodded toward the pool where hibiscus bushes surrounding the water gave privacy to anyone caring to swim. “It’s a warm night and we’ve had a long day. A swim will refresh us. How about it?”

  “Let’s go for it. Is the water heated?”

  “Not tonight. Didn’t think we’d be using the pool.”

  “No problem. If it’s chilly we can warm up in the shower later.”

  We climbed the stairs to Punt’s apartment and once we stepped inside, I headed for the drawer where I kept a few of my things and reached for my black bikini. Punt took it from my hand and replaced it in the drawer.

  “Let’s call this skinny-dip night. Been thinking about it all day long.”

  “It’s bright moonlight, Punt. Anyone passing by could see us in spite of the hibiscus bushes.”

  “Oh come on, Keely. Nobody’s going to be looking. It’ll be us and the moon and the water.”

  “Okay, Punt. Your call.” I sighed, but I was as eager as he. “There’s nothing like the feel of cool water against bare skin.”

  “I can think of a thing or two, but we’ll talk about that later.” He handed me a robe and grabbed one for himself. We slipped into them and walked barefoot down the apartment steps and to the pool. Then Punt headed back upstairs.

  “Wait a sec, okay? I’m going to snap off the widow’s walk lights. This night’s going to be between us and the moon.”

  I waited, and presently the widow’s walk became silhouetted in moonlight. Punt returned, and in the shadow of a hibiscus bush he removed his robe and then mine and led me toward the pool. We both made smooth dives into the water, surfacing to blink moisture from ou
r eyes.

  “It doesn’t get much better than this.” Punt pulled me to him and we kissed with the man in the moon watching in envy. “You’re concave where I’m convex. Could I talk you into a little sex?”

  “You’re a poet and don’t know it.” I slipped from his embrace. “Beat you to the other end.” I started with a strong crawl, but Punt overtook me, drawing me to him while we both did a smooth side stroke that pressed our bodies together in a demanding way.

  “We should have thought of this a long time ago.”

  Now we stood in water chin deep for me and he cupped my breasts in his hands then lowered his face into the water and kissed them. When he surfaced, he asked, “Have you ever done it in the water, Keely?”

  “No. Have you?”

  “Not telling. Want to experiment? We could teach each other as we go along.”

  Facing me, Punt began walking through the water until I felt the pool wall behind me. I clung to him, my arms around his neck, pulling him close, close until no space separated us. We were involved in a deep kiss when we heard a car pull into the driveway, heard a door slam. Then footsteps sounded on the apartment steps and a voice called.

  “Punt? Punt, are you home?”

  “It’s Consuela,” Punt whispered, his lips close to my ear. “Keep quiet and maybe she’ll go away.”

  She didn’t go away. “Punt? Punt?” she called again. “Your car’s here. I know you’re in there. Come to the door. I’ve got something for you. Something you’ll be interested in.”

  “You and Consuela got something going?” I caressed a part of him that had gone limp, and he put his hand over my mouth before I could say anything else.

  “I don’t know what she’s doing here. But we can wait her out. If she comes near the pool we can submerge until she leaves.”

  Consuela knocked and called to Punt a few more times then we heard her come back down the stairs. All was quiet and we waited to hear her car start. Surprise. The next thing we knew she was standing in the moonlight at poolside, but she hadn’t seen us.

  “Grab a breath,” Punt whispered.