Cold Case Killer

by Dorothy Francis

  “We can promise more details to those who sign up.”

  Punt made several tries before he came up with a single-page ad that suited us. “We’ll do it in red and black with lots of white space,” Punt said. “Read a book on advertising that said red sells and white space sells.”

  When Punt finished working with color and space details, font size, and script style, he ran off a copy of the ad. After that he created a return envelope. All the recipient had to do to receive a free dinner for two was to check the box marked “I am interested, please send more details,” slip the page into the enclosed stamped envelope and drop it in the mail.

  “This looks very professional, Punt. You should go into the ad business.”

  “Not unless the PI business goes belly up.”

  I read the come-on again. “Free dinner and cocktails for two at Louie’s Back Yard, corner of Vernon and Waddell. Ocean view porch dining, indoor dining or deck dining at transom level. Live music on Thursdays. This offer good any time during March.” I grinned. “Sounds so good it makes me want to sign up myself.”

  Punt addressed one envelope to Slone Pierce and the other to No-Fail Depth Finders.

  “I’ll use my post office box address for the return envelope.”

  We studied the come-on, reading it several times before inserting it into the envelope, sealing it, stamping it. We drove to the post office on Whitehead and mailed the letter.

  “I need to go to Beau’s house and check it out,” Punt said. “Want to go along?”

  “Think I’ll beg off if you don’t mind. I need to get home. Tomorrow’s a work day and I have several appointments. Need to see if I have plenty of supplies and a shelf full of clean towels and slippers. My thoughts have been so fragmented, I’ll need time to organize.”

  “Of course,” Punt smiled and drove me home. “I’ll call you tomorrow after your last appointment and maybe we can make plans for approaching Ace Grovello. He should be an easy mark compared to Slone Pierce.”

  “I don’t know, Punt. He came in for one appointment, but he didn’t return for a second. Maybe I offended him.”

  “You’re not the type to offend people, Keely.” Punt pulled me to him for a quick kiss. “Do you have clients all day tomorrow?”

  “Just in the morning. An afternoon client called saying she had to cancel, so I told her I’d reschedule her to Monday evening. I don’t usually take evening appointments, but I liked the woman. This time I made an exception.”

  “How about seeing Ace Grovello tomorrow afternoon?”

  “A rotten way to spend a Monday afternoon, but we do need to talk with him.”

  “Right. Why don’t I call you in the morning to make sure your afternoon’s still open. We can finalize plans then.”

  “Good idea.”

  We shared a farewell kiss, and as usual, it left me sorry to see him go and eager to hear his voice again even if it meant a visit to Ace Grovello. That couldn’t be any worse than our visit to Slone Pierce. Could it? I tried to bury all thoughts of warning notes, warning phone calls, broken windows.

  TWENTY-FIVE

  On Monday morning, after a weekend of freedom from my office, I welcomed getting back into the routine of meaningful work, peaceful work compared to investigating a murder. I checked my appointment book. No first-timers today. I sighed. That meant I wouldn’t have to explain the age-old idea behind foot reflexology. In addition to that, I’d know my clients were returning as satisfied customers.

  Since finding the death threat on my door last week, I’d begun opening my office carefully, casually peering in all directions before I walked slowly and calmly to give Gram a good morning kiss. If anyone were nearby lurking or watching, that person would see no sign of fear in my actions or my demeanor. There’s a lot to be said for presenting a strong front to the public. It’s a bit of positive action that bolsters my confidence.

  This morning the fragrance of coffee already scented the air. Gram stood behind the espresso machine making lattes for three customers sitting at her coffee bar. Two more tourists sat beside them perusing a menu, so I blew Gram a kiss from the doorway and returned to my office. After a light breakfast, I straightened my apartment, pulled the privacy screen in place, and opened the drapery across my window to let customers know I was ready for business.

  Punt called me moments before I expected my first client. “Love you, Keely. Never forget that.”

  “I won’t forget. Never. All’s okay at your place this morning? No slashed tires?”

  “All’s well here. You have a good night?”

  “Yes. No nightmares. No death threats written or verbal. No rocks crashing through the window.”

  Punt laughed. “Sounds downright boring. I’m calling to reconfirm our plan to visit Grovello this afternoon. That still fit into your schedule?”

  “Yes. I suppose so, but this one really makes me nervous. I keep wondering why he didn’t schedule his next appointment. He paid in full for six treatments, but he didn’t schedule number two, nor did he demand his money back.”

  “Don’t sweat the small stuff. Consuela will get on his case. She’ll be afraid of losing her freebie.”

  “I promised her the freebie whether or not Ace returned.”

  “You might mention that you appreciate his business when we pay him our surprise visit this afternoon. We could use it as an opener—a reason for our call.”

  “I suppose we could, but I refuse to look like I’m begging for his business. I have enough clients without having to give would-be customers the hard sell.”

  “Right. Maybe you can think of it as a soft sell. I’ll pick you up a little after two. That sound okay?”

  “Yes. I’ll be through working by then. You still driving the cruiser?”

  “Sure. We could walk, if the cruiser embarrasses you. His B&B’s only a mile or so from your office. But I think it’d be wise to have quick transportation handy.”

  “You’re right. I prefer the cruiser to walking and I’ll be ready when you get here.”

  My day passed as scheduled. Two clients, then lunch. Gram had started closing her shop from eleven until one and placing a SIESTA TIME sign in her window. She said it gave the shop more local color, but that was an excuse. She closed for a couple of hours on doctor’s orders. At age seventy-two she needed the rest. She put in a full workday not counting the siesta break. I never mentioned age to her. That was a no-no and I didn’t like to go there.

  After lunch, my first client arrived late, but it didn’t ruin my schedule since I allow an hour between sessions to rest my hands and my psyche. More goes into foot reflexology than a massage. I need to draw on the earth and the air for psychic strength that puts me in touch with elements that I never totally understand. Those elements, in turn, put me in touch with my patient’s inner needs. Sometimes I used to go alone to the beach, stand barefoot in the sand, feel the sun’s warmth against my skin, and breathe in the scent of the sea. That ritual restored my inner strength. But I hadn’t done that lately. Not since the death threats.

  The early afternoon passed quickly and I told Gram my plans. I waited in front of my office, ready to slide into the Conch cruiser before Punt had to stop and search for a parking place. He arrived promptly and we were off. The cruiser still reeked of cigarette smoke that I tried to avoid inhaling by taking shallow breaths. Punt drove down Duval before he turned on Whitehead. The distance to Ace’s B&B was farther than we’d expected. Glad we hadn’t tried to walk.

  “There it is.” Punt pointed to a gate in a croton hedge. “The Sand Dollar.”

  He parked a block from the entry and we walked back. The croton hedge surprised me. The multi-hued green, red, and yellow leaves are bright rainbows of color that attract the eye, but the locals know that the leaves can brush permanent stains onto clothing. The stains don’t show immediately, but eventually the smudged spots appear and the wearer wonders where they came from.

  A brass arch marked the doorway into The Sand Doll
ar office that consisted of little more than a highly polished teakwood desk, a steel four-drawer file cabinet, and a swivel chair, empty at the moment. A corkboard at the left of the desk announced prices and checkout times. Ace Grovello had a good thing going here. Rates started at $200 per night and checkout time was ten A.M.

  “May I help you?”

  Punt and I both looked up in surprise as Consuela swept into the office and took a stance behind the receptionist’s desk. She reminded me of a cormorant today—jet black hair, long neck, black eyes. She tossed us a supercilious grin.

  “What are you doing here, Consuela?” Punt failed to hide his irritation.

  “Sometimes when I’ve been good to Ace, he lets me work here at the desk.”

  “We’d like to speak to Mr. Grovello,” I said before she could go into detail about the why of today’s employment.

  “He’s out at the moment.” Consuela lifted an eyebrow. “Do you have an appointment?”

  “No.” Punt peered around Consuela through an open doorway. “Could we wait for him in the courtyard?”

  For a moment Consuela appeared flustered, making fluttery motions with her hands. “Will you tell me the nature of your business, please?”

  I spoke before Punt could say anything. “You know Mr. Grovello’s a client of mine, and…”

  “Oh,” she said. “You’re here on a business call?” She didn’t wait for my reply. “Well, I suppose it’ll be all right for you to wait in the garden. Mr. Grovello dislikes hearing it called a courtyard. He should be back in a few minutes—although he never advised me that he expected callers.”

  Punt eased us toward the patio and we entered a tropical garden, a courtyard surrounded by sleeping units whose doors opened onto this patch of greenery. Consuela led us to lime-green patio chairs pulled near a round umbrella table whose glass top covered an array of sand dollars arranged in cream-colored sand.

  “May I bring you some iced tea?” she asked.

  “No thank you,” Punt said. “We’ll be content to wait here until Mr. Grovello arrives.”

  And wait we did, unable to speak freely for fear of letting Consuela know the nature of our business with her boss—at least her boss for today. An hour passed before we saw Ace Grovello walk through the front gate. He stopped briefly to talk with Consuela at the desk, and then strode toward us, belly leading body—a thing I remembered from our previous meeting. A shaft of sunlight glinted on his doubloon pendant, and again he reminded me of a Mack truck intent on running us down. Punt and I both stood.

  “Miss Moreno, I believe?” He reached to shake my hand. “Nice to see you again.”

  “Thank you, and please call me Keely. I’d like you to meet my friend, Punt Ashford.”

  Punt and I sat and Ace joined us, relaxing into a chair he pulled into position across from us.

  “How may I help you people today?” Ace asked.

  I sensed Consuela eavesdropping, but Punt spoke, keeping his voice low. “I’m a private investigator, Mr. Grovello. Keely, along with Maxine and Randy Jackson, has hired me to look into a cold-case murder that took place on Christmas Eve around twenty years ago.”

  “And your investigation has brought you to my door?” Ace acted neither ill at ease nor angry—merely curious. I saw Consuela in her desk chair, leaning toward us.

  “Yes, it’s brought us to your door as well as to several other doors. Are you familiar with Randy Jackson’s story, his present plight?”

  “Randy Jackson.” Ace rolled the name around on his tongue as he repeated it slowly and looked into the distance as if trying to recall some memory hiding in the recesses of his mind. “Randy Jackson.” After a few moments, he looked directly at Punt. “Isn’t he the convict the courts exonerated some months ago? A convicted murderer the court released into society?”

  “Yes,” Punt replied. “Randy Jackson is that person—that innocent person.”

  “I suppose he has a burr up his butt after rotting away in a prison cell all those years.”

  “Mr. Grovello.” Punt impaled Ace with his steely gaze. “Randy Jackson has more than, as you so delicately phrase it, a burr up his butt. He has a burning desire to see the person guilty of murdering Dyanne Darby convicted of that crime, a burning desire to see that person imprisoned.”

  “So why are you here this afternoon? Why are you telling me this Randy Jackson hard-luck story? And Miss Moreno—Keely—how are you involved in this sordid matter?”

  “Keely’s involved because she’s received death threats from some person who doesn’t want her to stir up an investigation into this case.”

  “And why would Keely want to, as you say, stir it up?”

  I hate it when people talk about me as if I’m absent, or incapable of speaking on my own behalf.

  “I want to bring this case to police attention again because Randy Jackson’s mother is my friend and because she and her son need my help—and Punt’s help. Also, I abhor the thought of a murderer walking the streets of Key West.”

  Punt could tell my anger was about to boil over. He rose and stood behind my chair as he drove to the point of our call—Randy’s suspicion of the long-ago divers and our need for DNA specimens.

  “It would be an easy matter for you to clear yourself of all suspicion by letting us collect some DNA material,” Punt said. “Randy says you were one of his diving buddies years ago.”

  “Hah!” Ace roared and rose, glaring at Punt on a level. “And what do you propose to do with my DNA material should I happen to go along with your scheme and provide it? Answer me. What are your plans? Do you have a license to make such a request of ordinary citizens?”

  Punt pulled out his billfold, opened it. “I have a private investigator’s license, Mr. Grovello.”

  Grovello turned away. “Hah! A PI license doesn’t impress me. I think you’re up to something underhanded. If the police wanted DNA material to be used in Randy Jackson’s behalf, I feel sure they’d send an officer—an officer of high rank to request and collect it. I’m having nothing to do with a private investigator.”

  “As you choose, Mr. Grovello,” I said.

  “Ace. You may call me Ace. And I do want to book another reflexology appointment with you. Sometime soon. Should have done it while I was in your office, but I had a strict schedule that day.”

  “You’re changing the subject, Mr. Grovello,” Punt said. “I’m sure Keely welcomes all clients, and of course, that’s her privilege. But as far as cooperating with us on the DNA request, you’ve made your position clear. Perhaps you’re afraid of what your DNA might reveal to the police.”

  “I’m not afraid of your investigation, Mr. Ashford. Not at all. I consider criminals beneath my consideration. And I consider private detectives only a step or two above them. Now will you please leave my premises before I call authorities and have you evicted?”

  I stood, and Punt took my arm and we headed toward Grovello’s office. Consuela rolled her eyes and gave us another supercilious glance as we left the building and stepped onto the street. We didn’t speak until we reached the cruiser and eased inside it.

  “What do you make of Ace Grovello, Punt, and Consuela?”

  “I don’t know. We made him very angry. He seemed even hotter than Slone Pierce. And I suppose Consuela managed to overhear our request and his response.”

  “Yet in all his anger, he wanted to set up another reflexology appointment. I don’t want to work with him again, but I think I need to. And I will. Maybe I can get information from him that you or the police can’t. He’s a bragger. I might be able to lead him into revealing information we need.”

  “Maybe. I don’t want you taking needless chances with any of the suspects, especially Slone and Gus. Those guys are rough and tough and ready to protect themselves in any way that’s necessary.”

  “And then there’s Consuela. I didn’t expect to see her today.”

  “One never knows exactly what Consuela’s up to. Maybe she’s merely after a more el
egant bed. Grovello’s a smoother operator than Slone and Gus. He has to meet the public every day in order to keep his place in the upscale tourist business.”

  “So let’s get out of this neighborhood. If Ace tries to make another appointment with me, I’ll welcome him with my ears wide open.”

  “Good idea, but take care. Let me know when and if he books. I’ll be at Celia’s having an espresso—available if you need to call me.”

  “I’d appreciate that.”

  “So far we’re getting nowhere with our DNA collecting. In a few days Randy’ll be back. Maybe we’ve done enough, failed enough to convince him that collecting DNA’s a job for the police. But there’s one more thing we can do. We can go to Beau’s place, pick up his scuba mouthpiece and have it ready for examination.”

  “And who are we going to get to examine it?”

  “I think approaching Shelley Hubble’s our best bet. The police and the court authorities know of her previous work for Randy. They’ll be more likely to listen to her than anyone else.”

  “What about Jeff Bremmer—our friend on the police force?”

  “Right. What about him! He hasn’t reported to us on his research concerning previous burglary charges against the divers. Some buddy! I’m not interested in turning the DNA evidence we have over to him.”

  “Maybe he couldn’t get the info you asked for without arousing suspicion. Cut him some slack. Tomorrow, if we’re lucky, we may get a letter from Slone Pierce.”

  “Maybe. It’s a little soon, but maybe. How about some dinner, Keely? I’m starved.”

  I looked at my watch, surprised to see that darkness had fallen and it was almost seven o’clock. “Can’t take time to eat tonight, Punt. Remember? I told you about my client who needs a makeup time. She’s scheduled tonight at eight.”

  “You have to eat. Not good to miss meals.”

  “I’ll make a snack after I’m finished working with her. See you tomorrow afternoon after work. That okay?”