“What day was that?”
“Last Thursday morning.”
Punt reached for his desk calendar and began checking dates. “Almost a week ago. This is Wednesday. Last Thursday would be a week ago tomorrow. You say Maxine cleans for you. When does she do that? What day of the week? And how thorough is she?”
“She cleans on Saturdays. Saturday afternoon, and usually she’s very thorough. But I’ve asked her to skip cleaning my office. She only does my living quarters.”
“So the glass may still be where Ace left it.”
“It may be. I’m too busy to keep count of every glass in my place of business or in my apartment either, for that matter. But if the glass’s still there and if what you say about DNA is true, then that glass may have Ace’s DNA on it—either fingerprints or dried saliva around the rim. Maybe both.”
“Let’s go take a look.”
As we left Punt’s office, he turned out the light, closed the door and locked it. Then he reopened it, snapped a light back on, and relocked.
“Your worries are beginning to rub off on me, Keely. It’s early evening, but a light left on could be a deterrent to an intruder later.”
Dusk darkened the street outside Punt’s office, and an onshore breeze reminded us that the sea surrounded our island. We drove through bumper-to-bumper traffic toward Duval Street. If New York is the city that never sleeps, then Duval must be the street that never sleeps. Teenage boys scooped the loop in conch cruisers that looked even gaudier than ours. Three tourists on mopeds rode adjacent to each other, fanning across two lanes of pavement and slowing traffic to a crawl. To Punt’s credit, he didn’t honk at them. Maybe he refrained because so many other horns blared and a police siren wailed from a distance.
“Tonight’s cops are too busy with the mopeders to notice this car.” Punt parked in the tow-away zone in front of Gram’s shop and we hurried into my office, snapping on lights as we went.
“There it is!” I almost tripped over a chair in my hurry to reach the bookcase. Punt grabbed my hand in the split second before I would have grabbed the glass.
“Wait! Don’t touch! Where can I find tongs, a plastic bag—a big one?”
“Some detective I’d make! I might have smudged my prints over any prints Ace left last week.”
Although my hands shook, I found a pair of tongs and a Ziploc bag. While I held the Ziploc open, Punt dropped the glass inside.
“So now we may have DNA from all five of Randy’s suspects,” I said. “Surely Shelley Hubble will listen once she hears our story and relates it to Randy’s plight.”
We were about to return to the cruiser when Gram rapped on my door then stepped inside.
“Gram!” I hurried toward her. “Are you all right? Can we help you?”
“I be fine. But hear news on radio few minutes ago—news you may need.”
“What news? Give.”
“Radio man say Nicole Pierce recants, that be the word he used, recants her words before judge, before jury people, words about Randy Jackson.”
“What else, Gram?” Punt and I both stepped closer to her. “What else?”
“That’s all I hear. Police sirens too loud. You want to know about this, yes?”
“Yes, Gram. Thanks for stopping by to tell us. We’ll learn more about it tomorrow. Or maybe on the late TV news.”
I saw Gram to her apartment, told her good night, and when I returned, Punt stood talking on the phone to someone at the radio station—and scowling.
“Guy hung up on me. Says to read about the recant in the Citizen tomorrow.”
“This could be a break for Randy!” I hurried with Punt back to the cruiser which hadn’t been towed away at the owner’s expense. We drove to his office, speculating about the news break Gram had heard. It could mean a lot of things. Maybe Nicole had remembered who she saw leaving Dyanne’s apartment on that long-ago night. Maybe this. Maybe that.
The inside light still gleamed, and when we entered Punt’s office, everything stood as we’d left it. Punt opened the safe, added the latest DNA fingerprint to our collection, and relocked the safe.
We were about to begin congratulating ourselves on our success due to my sketchy housekeeping when we noticed the red light blinking on the telephone.
“How did we overlook that?” Punt asked, reaching for the phone.
“Maybe Shelley Hubble decided we’re worth her attention after all.” We both sighed when Nikko’s voice flowed from Punt’s answer box.
“Nikko here, Punt. Calling from Orlando. I know you’ve barely had time to get home from Miami, but I need your help again. This time in Fort Lauderdale. Come as soon as you can and then phone Pete Branson. He’ll be expecting your call and he’ll put you up for a day or so at his condo. Try to get here before eleven if you can.”
Nikko gave his phone number along with Pete Branson’s and that was that. It was a three-hour drive to Miami and maybe another hour on to Lauderdale. Punt could never make it before eleven.
“Wish I’d been here to talk to him,” Punt said.
I wished that too, but I didn’t say so. I hated the idea of Punt being off island again so soon. I wondered how long he’d be away. Nikko’s “a day or so” sounded vague. Maybe ominous. I straightened up both physically and mentally, vowing never to allow myself to fall into the habit of being dependent on a man for my sense of personal worth and well-being.
“Drat!” Punt pounded on his desk. “As the junior partner, I’ve no choice but to go.”
“Anything I can do while you’re away? I mean I don’t want to approach Shelley Hubble alone. That’s a job for both of us. But is there anything else I could do? Pick up mail or something?”
“I’m not expecting anything important in the mail, and I’ll be in easy touch with Nikko. If Ace should call for a reflexology treatment while I’m away, you might want to put him off until I return.”
“No way.” I sounded braver than I felt. “Ace might have been the killer Nicole saw leaving the Darby apartment. I can take care of myself. Gram will play watchdog. Consuela’s the one who bothers me. What if she comes around insisting on helping us? She may ask about her contribution to the DNA box. She may even come up with another contribution—from Ace.”
“Just tell her we don’t need her help.” Punt grabbed my hand. “Keely, before I leave for Lauderdale, I want to drive to Nicole Pierce’s place—talk to her. Maybe ask her if she recanted because she’s remembered something important.”
TWENTY-EIGHT
I shuddered and hoped Punt hadn’t noticed. “Couldn’t that wait until you get back from Lauderdale? It’s late to be calling on anyone now. I doubt the Pierces would welcome you with open arms.”
“I’ll take my chances. I need to hear Nicole’s thoughts on the recant—and anything else she might have remembered. My body may be in Ft. Lauderdale tomorrow, but part of my thoughts will be here, working on the Darby murder. I need to have all facts available.”
“You need to get on the road. I know you’re a careful driver, but I hate the idea of you starting this late and then crowding the speed limit to make up for time lost talking to Nicole Pierce—or Slone.”
“I’ll be brief. If you don’t want to come with me, I’ll drive you home.”
“Some choice. Okay, let’s head for Flagler. Guess I’m betting that nobody there will give us the time of day and you’ll be on your way north almost immediately.”
“We’ll see. I promise you the stop’ll only take a few minutes. When we get there, you can wait in the car if you’re reluctant to face the Pierces.”
“No way. I’m not afraid. Well, only a little bit. They both make me nervous.”
Flagler’s a wide street, and it seemed busier than usual tonight. A few blocks from the Pierce home we saw blue-and-red flashing lights. Punt reached for my hand. When we drew closer we saw police cars, fire truck, ambulance—all with headlights on. A traffic cop had parked his car across both lanes of the street, diverting traffic
.
“Detour, please. Detour. Congested area.”
“What’s going on?” Punt asked.
“An emergency. Detour. Please keep moving.”
People in the cars behind us began honking horns, and Punt followed the cop’s orders. We were turning down the side street detour when we saw the yellow-and-black crime scene tape that cordoned off the Pierce residence.
Punt squeezed my hand as he drove slowly and at last found a parking place on this narrow side street. “That tape spells bad news, Keely. Let’s be inconspicuous, but let’s walk back and see if we can find out what’s happened.”
“Someone’s dead. You know that’s what’s happened. A murder or an unexplained death.” My teeth began to chatter and I felt my hand grow cold even in the warmth of Punt’s fingers. “Nicole? Slone? Which one lies dead? Maybe she killed him in self-defense. Maybe after all these years she realized he murdered Dyanne Darby. Maybe she accused him and he came after her. Or maybe after she recanted, Slone killed her before she could tell police he was the murderer.”
“Easy, Keely. Easy. We’ve both got to keep open minds. Let’s melt into the crowd of gawkers and walk toward the front of the Pierce house. Maybe we can talk to a cop. Ask a few questions.”
“Police will be tight-lipped. You know that. They’ll order us to move on.”
“I’ll take that chance. I’d like to hear what the onlookers are whispering, too. Sometimes curious neighbors pick up info the police never intended to leak.”
So we kept to the shadows, trying to attract no attention, stopping when we reached the coral rock fence around the Pierce property. I clutched Punt’s arm.
“Punt! They’re removing a body.” We watched as four uniformed cops carried a stretcher bearing a blanket-shrouded form off the Pierce porch, down a few steps, and then slid it through the open doors of an ambulance. In moments the vehicle drove away. No sirens. No flashing lights.
“Maybe the person’s still alive:” I said with little conviction, knowing if that were true, sirens would be wailing. “Maybe they’re taking someone to the hospital.”
“Dream on, Keely. Dream on. But one of those cops in the yard’s Jeff Bremmer.” Punt stepped closer to the fence. “What’s going on, Jeff? Got any details?”
Jeff turned long enough to recognize Punt, step closer and whisper. “ME hints suicide. Chief has an APB out for Slone.” Jeff hurried into the house and a man standing next to Punt beside the fence shook his head and whispered.
“So Nicole’s dead. Slone’s missing. Go figure.”
All around us people spoke sotto voce. We hung around in the strained silence a few minutes longer, but when nobody had anything else to say or whisper, Punt headed toward the car and I gave a relieved sigh, more than ready to go with him.
“The spouse is always a suspect, Keely.”
“Sure,” I agreed. “Wonder why Slone has disappeared.”
“Jeff said the medical examiner hinted at suicide. Maybe she left a note. Maybe she felt so guilty about causing Randy to sit in jail for twenty years, that she took her own life in remorse. Wish I didn’t have to go to Lauderdale tonight. But I guess we’ll hear more about all this on TV later this evening. The media will be full of it tomorrow.”
“And maybe it wasn’t suicide, Punt. And maybe Slone isn’t the guilty one. Maybe Dyanne Darby’s killer heard about Nicole’s recant on the radio like Gram did, and killed her before she could say anything more—anything that might incriminate him. The killer could be anyone.”
“No use speculating. By the time I return from Lauderdale we’ll know a lot more about the case. In the meantime, you take care. Keep a low profile and don’t do any nosey poking.”
I tried not to resent Punt’s orders, but I made no promises, and I didn’t intend to nosey-poke. Every day I pick up newspapers and read about some stranger’s murder, but when such a death happens to someone I know, it’s like I’ve personally been caught in a rifleman’s crosshair. Life’s fragile. The world’s a dangerous place. I never related well to Nicole Pierce, but there for the grace of God… Grim thoughts filled my mind and I wondered if they were filling Punt’s mind, too.
We rode in silence for many minutes before Punt spoke. “Keely, there’s one thing you could do for me—and for Dad. It’s the house.”
“Check on it for you?”
“Right. I promised Dad I’d take a look-see every day and it’s no problem as long as I’m on the island. Nikko didn’t indicate how long he’d need me up north, but it sounded as if it might be for more than a day. He’s eager to drop this case into the ‘done’ file and get home. Would you mind checking Dad’s place for me? You got the time?”
“Be glad to do it. But if you don’t mind, I’ll do my checking in the mornings. I’d feel safer that way. I know we looked the place over earlier today, but an early-morning look-see will tell if there might have been a problem during the night. Right?” What if Slone Pierce had decided to hide out in Beau’s empty house? Lots of the locals knew Beau and Jass were on an extended trip abroad. They knew Beau and Slone were friends. Cut the crazy thinking, I told myself, trying to block the thoughts from my mind as Punt spoke.
“Right. An early morning check would be a good deal, Keely. I’d appreciate it.” When we reached my place, Punt pushed two keys from his key ring, pulled a spare ring from his pocket, and eased Beau’s keys onto it. “Silver one’s to the front door. Brass one fits the storage cupboards in the carport.”
I pocketed the keys, and Punt walked me to my door. “I’ll stop by the airport, and pick up a different rental car, and leave immediately. Still have my bag packed. No problem there.”
We said a lingering good night, then I watched until Punt disappeared, driving into the clamor of Duval Street.
I tossed and squirmed all night, trying to find a comfortable position, all the while suspecting that my discomfort lay in my mind and my negative thoughts rather than in my body. The next morning Gram telephoned me, wakened me just as I’d dropped into a deep sleep. I had to force cobwebs from my mind before I could respond.
“What’s up, Gram?”
“Hear TV news. The Nicole woman dead. Police find husband. You know these people, you and Punt?”
“Yes. In a business way we know them. It’s a sad situation.” I snapped on my TV, eager to hear more details of yesterday’s tragedy.
Gram gave a harrumph, making it clear she wanted no part in the Pierce problems.
“Special coffee beans due to arrive from Hawaii. Kona. Would you come over? Help me deal with heavy bag and with Jose? He be the delivery man today. Take day off from Strunks.”
“Can’t he lift the bag for you?”
“Jose be with a bad back today. No like to ask him to lift. We can do it together.”
“Okay, Gram. I’ll be over soon as I’ve had a bite of breakfast.”
So we lift the bag of beans to spare Jose’s back, then we have bad backs. I thought Jose should seek a less demanding job, but I corked that idea. I knew Gram’d have her wheeled cart ready. We’d use it, and nobody would have to lift the beans far. Maybe I’d have some free minutes to check on Beau’s house before my first client arrived.
I ate breakfast, straightened my apartment and my office, listened to the TV news. Nicole had died from a gunshot to the head. Slone was in police custody being questioned. I felt more at ease, knowing Slone Pierce’s whereabouts. But how long would they hold him? The rest of the announcer’s chatter gave me no new information. Now we’d never know if Nicole had recalled the identity of Darby’s killer. A single bullet had silenced her. I switched the TV off.
No Jose. My first appointment arrived, but still no delivery truck. Midway through that appointment, Jose stopped his truck out front and honked. I excused myself, met Gram at her doorway and wheeled the cart to the truck. Jose managed to lower the beans onto the cart and get Gram’s signature on a receipt before he and his truck traveled on down Duval.
My day got off to a
bad start and it didn’t improve as the hours passed. I hoped Punt would call me from Fort Lauderdale. He didn’t. My second appointment turned out to be a no-show—an hour wasted. Had I known, I could have used her time to take a look-see at Beau’s house. My third appointment arrived late, expecting me to give her a full hour’s treatment. And I did. That left me almost no break before my next client. By four o’clock I felt exhausted. And I hadn’t kept my promise to check on Beau’s house.
“Where you go now, Keely?” Gram called when she saw me unlocking my bike.
“To Beau’s place. Be back in a few minutes.” I explained my mission. “How about having a late supper together? I’ll stop at Fausto’s and bring us something warm and Cuban.”
“Not good idea for tonight.” Gram’s earrings bobbed as she shook her head. “Muy tired. No hungry. Long day. I close shop at five and retire.”
“Another time, then.” I blew her a kiss and started to pedal down Duval. The day was still warm and sunny, but the wind had increased and I returned to my apartment for a sweater. I paused to make sure I had my cell phone in my pocket and the keys to Beau’s house. I’d call Gram when I got back to be sure she was okay. I didn’t like her to skip supper any more than she liked me to skip breakfast.
I had to fight the wind, pump hard, launch all my weight onto the pedals. Styrofoam cartons and cups scudded down the street along with an aluminum can and a paper bag from Fast Buck Freddie’s. Trash never sleeps. I smelled rain in the air and felt goosebumps rising on my arms, but only a few sprinkles dampened my sweater before I reached the Ashford house. After chaining my bike to a palm inside the picket fence, I paused to look around. Lights were blinking on in the neighborhood, and clouds cast deep shadows onto the porch although it was not yet five o’clock.
Pulling the house key from my pocket, I climbed the steps to the porch and paused again. Why had I told Punt I’d check on the house? I regretted having been unable to do it this morning as I’d planned. I hated to admit the house frightened me and that the possibility of Slone Pierce’s presence scared me even more. I poked the key into the lock, determined to put my fear behind me.
Cold Case Killer Page 21
