Stone wrote his cell number on his card. “There’s a hundred in it for you if you’ll call me when he returns—or if you see the couple again.”
“I can always use a hundred,” the woman said, stretching out between the boats to take the card.
Stone and Dino drove back to the Marquesa.
“Evan Keating is . . . what’s the word?” Dino asked.
“Elusive,” Stone replied.
12
STONE, AS EARLIER requested, picked up Annika Swenson at a small, pretty conch house on South Street. She was dressed in white—lacy top, linen pants—with a yellow sweater thrown over her shoulders. Stone put her in the car.
“I booked us a table at Louie’s Backyard,” she said. “Straight ahead, I’ll direct you.”
Louie’s turned out to be a large clapboard house on the beach with a big deck out back overlooking the water. They took a table on the deck, ordered mojitos and asked the waitress to call them when their dinner table was ready. The sun was going down.
“The light is beautiful here,” Stone said.
“Always,” Annika replied.
“What brought you to Key West?”
“A job in the ER here. I was a late finisher from med school—
Johns Hopkins—and by the time I finished my internship and residency, I was already thirty-five. I had had enough of cold winters, so when I got the Key West offer I jumped at it.”
“Were you born in this country? I think I detect a slight accent.”
“No. I was born in Stockholm. My parents moved to Miami when I finished college, and I came with them and applied to Johns Hopkins.”
“Do you prefer the United States to Sweden?”
“Yes, I think so. At any rate, I never think about moving back to Sweden. I do miss some of the Swedish attitudes.”
“Attitudes about what?”
“Sex, mainly. Americans have so many hang-ups about sex. Things are simpler in Sweden.”
“I’ve heard that, but I haven’t encountered it.”
“You have now. For instance, what would you say if I told you that I find you attractive, and that after dinner I would like to take you back to my house and make love to you?”
“Are we speaking hypothetically?”
“Not necessarily.”
“I would be flattered and pleased,” Stone said.
“Then you have a Swedish attitude,” she said. Then there was some sort of scuffle at the bar, and Stone turned to see a man take a swing at another. The swinger was a compact, muscular man with blood in his eye; the one scrambling to his feet was Charley Boggs.
Two men came running down the stairs from the main restaurant and pulled the fighters apart. There was some discussion, which Stone couldn’t hear, then Charley Boggs stalked away from the deck and out of the restaurant, while the shorter man returned to his table and his drink.
“Why are you so interested in this argument?” Annika asked.
“I’m sorry, I’m a great deal more interested in you, but I know one of the men.”
“Which one?”
“The one who got thrown out. His name is Charley Boggs, and the local police suspect him of being a drug dealer.”
“And why are you acquainted with a drug dealer?” she asked, not unreasonably.
“I’ve met him only once; he’s apparently an associate of a man I’m trying to find.”
“Do you want to follow him?”
“No, I want to have dinner with you, then take you back to your house and make love to you.”
She smiled. “Thank you, I would prefer that, too. Who is the man you’re looking for, and why?”
“His name is Evan Keating, and I need to get his signature on some legal documents.”
“Are you a lawyer?”
“Yes, in New York.”
“Does your work often bring you into contact with drug dealers?”
“No. Keating’s father wants to sell the family business, and they need the agreement of the young man. The company is a client of a law firm I’m associated with.”
“Well, if you are sent to Key West on business, then you lead an interesting life,” she said.
“Sometimes it’s interesting; sometimes it’s too interesting.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean it’s interesting if I meet someone like you during the course of my business, and it’s too interesting if I’m knocked unconscious outside a restaurant.”
She smiled. “Well, you are the first man I’ve ever met when he was lying face down on a sidewalk.”
“Did you see whoever hit me?”
“No. I turned a corner, and there you were. A car was driving away.”
“What kind of car?”
“A white convertible with a man and a woman inside.”
“That would have been Evan Keating and his girlfriend, Gigi Jones.”
“The man you’re looking for?”
“Yes. I had approached him at the bar in the Marquesa and asked to speak with him. He suggested we go outside.”
“Isn’t that what American men do when they wish to fi ght? Go outside?”
Stone laughed. “Sometimes. I wasn’t expecting a fight on that occasion, though.”
“She must have hit you with something heavy,” Annika said.
“Why do you think the girl hit me?”
“She was with the man. Was there any other man present?”
“No.”
“Then it must have been the girl. You should not turn your back on strange women.”
“That’s good advice,” Stone admitted. They were called to their table, where they ordered another mojito and dinner.
AFTER DINNER , they returned to Annika’s house, as previously discussed, and she led him upstairs to her bedroom. She undressed and hung up her clothes, and Stone draped his over a chair. She pulled the bedcover off the bed and onto the fl oor.
“You’re very beautiful,” Stone said.
“You’re beautiful, too,” she said. “I think we will be good lovers together.”
They lay on the bed and came into each other’s arms. “First, we will do the missionary position,” Annika said, pulling him on top of her. “I love that name. Then we will rest and we will do it a different way.”
“All right,” Stone said. “Should we discuss which way now?”
“You are laughing at me,” she said, taking his penis in her hand and sliding it inside her. She did not need a lubricant.
“Only a little,” Stone said. “And suddenly I can’t remember why.”
“Good,” she said. “You must think only of now.”
She was right, he decided.
13
STONE WA S WAKENED by a buzzing noise that he did not immediately recognize. It took him a moment to see that his cell phone, vibrating, was doing a little dance on the glass top of Annika’s dressing table. He gently removed Annika’s blonde head from his shoulder, tiptoed naked across the room and picked up the phone. “Yes?” he whispered.
“Where the hell are you?” Dino asked. “As if I didn’t know.”
“I’m at Annika’s. What do you want?”
“That figures. This whole thing is blowing wide open, and you’re in the sack with a blonde.”
“What do you mean, it’s blowing wide open?”
“I mean that Charley Boggs was found floating face down in Garrison Bight this morning, not far from his houseboat, dead as a mackerel.”
“I saw him get into a fight last night at Louie’s Backyard. He lost.”
“Was he alive after the fi ght?”
“Yes, he left under his own steam.”
“You might want to pass that news on to Tommy Sculley,” Dino said. “I expect he’d want a chat with the other fighter.”
“I’ll call him in a few minutes,” Stone said.
“What, after you’ve fucked the blonde again?”
“None of your business. And don’t worry, Charley Boggs isn’t going anywh
ere.”
“Okay, you fuck the girl, and I’ll call Tommy. Give me a description of the fi ghter.”
“White male, five-nine, a hundred and seventy, dark hair, lots of stubble. Built like he labors for a living.”
“That’ll do. Go get back in bed.” Dino hung up. Stone got back in bed, and Annika snuggled up close to him. “I like it that we’re both blonde,” she said. “I mean blonde all over. That must be very rare in this country.”
“Now that you mention it, it is rare, at least for me.” He kissed her and their tongues played with each other.
“I hope you are fully rested from last night,” she said, “and ready to make love again.”
“I think I might just manage it,” Stone replied, “if you do most of the work.”
“All right,” she said, cheerfully. “We did the missionary position and the doggie position last night; now we will do the blow-job position. Lie on your back.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Stone said, following instructions. She glanced at the clock. “You mustn’t take too long to come, because I must go to work.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he replied. “I’ll be as quick as I can.”
STONE GOT BACK to the Marquesa in time to see Dino’s breakfast dishes taken away.
“Have you eaten anything?” Dino asked. “I’m referring to the like of bacon and eggs.”
“Nothing like that,” Stone said. He picked up the phone and ordered.
“As soon as you can get yourself together, we should go over to Boggs’s houseboat,” Dino said.
“Why?”
“Well, don’t you think we might find something there that could tell us more about your Evan Keating?”
“I suppose we might.”
“You don’t think very clearly first thing in the morning, do you?”
“I do, but I wasn’t thinking about Charley Boggs.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah.”
“I take it you had a pleasant evening.”
“That is an inadequate description of my evening.”
“I think I’m going to have to call Genevieve and get her down here,” Dino said, referring to his girlfriend.
“If that will keep you from exploding with envy, by all means. She can ride back with us.”
Dino went inside to use the phone, and Stone had his breakfast.
THEY ARRIVED AT the Garrison Bight houseboat of Charley Boggs an hour later, with Stone freshly shaved and showered. Tommy Sculley was sitting in a teak chair on the rear deck reading the local newspaper.
“Take a pew,” Tommy said. “My crime scene people will let us in there in a few minutes.”
“This is your idea of working a scene?” Dino said, sitting down.
“First, they work it and show me any evidence, then I work it. Like that, we don’t get in each other’s way.”
“This is where Charley Boggs liked to do his fishing,” Stone said, sitting down. “You think he fell in and drowned?”
Tommy nodded. “I think he could have fallen in and drowned right after he caught the bullet in the back of the head. He might have lived long enough to drown.”
“Any luck on the guy he fought with at Louie’s last night?” Stone asked.
Tommy nodded. “Guy name of Billy Guy.” He jerked a thumb behind him, toward the row of charter fishing boats. “He skippers a fisherman parked over there. My guy Daryl is talking to him now.”
“That’s quick work,” Stone said.
“It’s Key West; nobody who lives here can go into a restaurant or bar without being seen by somebody who knows him. It makes life simpler when you want to find a guy.”
“Any news on what the fight was about?”
“Daryl will bring us up to date after he pumps Billy. He’s already talked to a couple of witnesses; you’re next.”
“Sounds like he won’t need me,” Stone said.
“You could be right,” Tommy replied, turning the page of his newspaper.
“Anything worth reading in there?” Dino asked.
“Nothing about Charley Boggs,” Tommy said. “He was found only a couple of hours ago.”
“Do a lot of people in Key West get shot in the back of the head?”
Stone asked.
“Remarkably few compared to, say, New Orleans or Chicago. Last execution-style killing I can remember here was year before last. This one is the first gunshot killing of any kind this year. Hope it’s the last.”
Daryl appeared on the gangplank. “Permission to come aboard, skipper?”
“Get your ass aboard,” Tommy called back.
Daryl, clad in jeans and a splashy shirt with a lot of tropical fruit on it, came onto the rear deck and seated himself on the railing, since all the chairs were occupied by his elders.
“So?” Tommy asked. “Are we charging Billy Guy with Charley’s murder?”
“Probably not,” Daryl said.
“What was the fi ght about?”
“Charley made an unkind comment about Billy’s girl. Billy took exception and put a fist in Charley’s face.”
“I got sort of a sideways look at that,” Stone said. “The management separated them before it got any farther.”
“Was Charley’s remark unkind enough to make Billy want to kill him?” Tommy asked.
“Nah,” Daryl replied, “and his girl wasn’t even along. She was back on his boat with PMS. He got home about nine and stuck.”
“Is that just Billy’s story, or did she confi rm it?”
“She confirmed.”
“It’s not very far from over there to over here,” Tommy pointed out.
“I know Billy,” Daryl said. “I don’t think he has a murderous streak.”
“If you say so, Daryl,” Tommy said.
A Boston Whaler putted by with Charley Boggs’s corpse covered and strapped to a stretcher.
“You have a decent medical examiner down here?” Stone asked.
“Yeah, but he ain’t going to find anything, except a bullet in Charley’s brain. This one ain’t rocket science.”
“Then somebody tell me who offed Charley Boggs,” Stone said.
“And tell me if Evan Keating had anything to do with it.”
“All in good time,” Tommy said, turning to the sports page.
14
THE INSIDE OF Charley Boggs’s houseboat looked like he hadn’t lived there for very long. There was a sofa, a big fl atscreen TV and an expensive-looking audio system and a lot of CDs.
“Pretty easy to see where Charley’s interests lay,” Tommy said.
“Yeah, and his interests make the place easy to search,” Dino agreed.
“Let’s look at upstairs,” Stone said. “I predict a bed and another TV.”
Stone turned out to be right.
“Look, there’s a bedside table, too,” Dino said.
“They must love Charley at the furniture store,” Tommy opined. He opened a drawer in the bedside table and pointed. Inside was a new-looking semiautomatic pistol.
“SigArms P229,” Stone said. “Charley lived simply, but he liked the best of everything—at least, the best of everything he owned: TVs, stereos and weapons.”
Tommy pulled on a pair of latex gloves, popped the magazine from the gun and racked the slide, spitting a round onto the bed. He sniffed the barrel.
“Cordite?” Dino asked.
“Gun oil,” Tommy replied. “The deed didn’t get done with Charley’s own gun.” He put the round back into the magazine and bagged the works.
Tommy checked the closet, which contained some jeans and Hawaiian shirts. “He’d blend right in in Key West with that wardrobe,” he said. They checked the bathroom medicine cabinet, which contained a toothbrush and a razor, and the toilet tank, which contained water. They went downstairs and checked the kitchen. There were two cases of Bud in the fridge, along with a jar of peanut butter and some left-over Chinese in cartons. In a drawer they found some utensils, and in a cabinet a few glasses.
�
�That’s it,” Tommy said. “Do you believe it? I mean, everybody collects a little of life’s detritus, but not Charley.”
“How long did the neighbor say he’d lived here?” Stone asked Dino.
“Since last year. She didn’t say when last year.”
“Did he own a car?” Stone asked.
“There was a motorcycle chained to the electrical post on the dock,” Tommy said. “I reckon that’s his.”
“Was it searched?” Stone asked.
“Search a motorcycle?”
Stone walked up the dock and found the motorcycle, a light Honda. “Do you have the keys?” he called back to Tommy. Tommy produced a plastic bag containing some items and found some keys. He tossed them to Stone. “These were in his pocket.”
Stone found the right key and unlocked a little storage compartment on the cycle. “Hey, hey!” he yelled and held up a ziplock bag with two fingers. “That’s half a key, I reckon.”
Tommy walked down the dock, took the bag, opened it and tasted a sample. “Cocaine,” he said, “and my guess is it’s uncut.”
“That’s a lot of product to be walking around with,” Stone said, “and there were no smaller bags, so I guess he wasn’t hawking it on the street.”
“More like a delivery,” Tommy said, “one that didn’t get made.”
“Enough to get killed for,” Stone pointed out.
“I guess the killer asked Charley for it, and when he didn’t give, the guy got pissed off.”
“It wouldn’t have taken long to search the houseboat,” Stone said,
“but he didn’t search the motorcycle.”
Dino had joined them. “Let’s take another look at the boathouse,” Dino said.
They did, and this time they looked everywhere. Dino stood in the little wheelhouse, holding a fl oorboard in his hand. “Take a look at this,” he said to Tommy. Tommy looked and found an empty compartment with a trace of white powder at the bottom. “Maybe the shooter didn’t go away empty-handed after all.”
“You could get half a dozen kilos in there,” Dino said.
“Yeah, and that’s more than enough to get shot for. Anybody know what a key goes for these days?”
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