Longboat Blues

by H. Terrell Griffin

  When I finished eating, I booted up my computer and checked my email. There were several spams offering me an opportunity to increase the size of certain body parts and a note from J.J. with attachments. Sure enough, the attachments were both pictures of Sam Cox. One caught him full face, and the other about quarter face, as he turned to talk to Maria. J.J. had cropped the pictures, so only Sam was visible. I printed up several of each.

  I called Molly and asked if it would be convenient for me to stop by her home. She lived in snug little house on a canal near the south end of the key. Coffee was brewing as I entered the front door. She poured us cups, and we sat at a table on the porch overlooking the canal. I showed her the pictures of Sam Cox.

  “That’s the guy I saw at the Town Hall the other day. I’m almost positive he’s the same guy who was looking for Logan.”

  “Are you certain enough to testify in court if necessary?” I asked.

  “Yeah. I’m certain, Matt. Who is he?”

  “I’d rather not tell you just yet, in case the police start asking you questions. I want to play some of my cards close to my vest. I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t mention the pictures to anyone else.”

  “I understand, Matt. I know Logan didn’t do this.”

  I finished my coffee and left, heading to mid key and the police station. Iva was at her desk and greeted me with a smile. “Good morning, Matt. I heard you’d been off the Key for a while.” There are no secrets on a small island.

  “Morning, Iva. Just got back. Is the chief in? I just need a couple of minutes.”

  “He’s in, Matt, but he’s up to his fanny in paperwork. Let me see if he can see you.” She picked up the phone and told the person on the other end that I would like a couple of minutes of the chief’s time. She hung up, and said, “Go on back, Matt.”

  Bill Lester was at his desk, tie askew, a cup of coffee in his hand. “Counselor, you’re getting to be a pain in the ass.” He was grinning.

  “Guess so, Bill,” I said. “As soon as we get through with this mess, we need to go fishing.”

  “You can say that again. What can I do for you this morning?”

  “I don’t want to presume on an old friendship, but I’m trying to get a line on a guy named Sam Cox. I understand he came to visit you. I wonder if you can tell me what he was doing here.”

  “I guess you haven’t seen yesterday’s Observer.” The Longboat Observer is our weekly newspaper. It keeps the island politicians in the sunshine and dutifully reports most of the gossip on the Key. “We’ve got Governor Wentworth coming to visit. He’s going to be at the Colony for a few days this weekend. Cox’s company is providing security. He stopped by to give me a heads up about the visit and to coordinate the security.” The island was a favorite spot for politicians, and their visits always stretched the police budget. The chief was not happy. “More overtime for the cops and more paperwork for the chief. Why do you ask, Matt?”

  “He’s a friend of a friend, and I was just wondering if he was in some kind of trouble.”

  “Trolling for business, Matt?”

  “Nah. Just curious,” I said, heading for the door. “Thanks Bill. See you soon.”

  “Take it easy, old buddy.”

  I picked up a copy of the Observer from the free box outside the Town Hall and sat in the Explorer reading the front page story of the governor’s visit. There wasn’t much to it. The governor had been campaigning hard and was taking a mini vacation with his wife and two children at the Colony. He would be here for three days, starting Friday. The Longboat Key police department was handling security.

  More pieces of the puzzle fell into place. Rundel was a political type, Wentworth was a politician, Cox worked for Rundel, Rundel provided security for Wentworth. But why had Cox been looking for Logan in early April? I really needed to talk to Logan, and he had not called in several days. I was beginning to worry about him.

  It was almost lunchtime, so I headed for Bradenton Beach and Dewey’s. I could count on a pretty good Philly cheese steak sandwich, a couple of laughs with Dewey, and perhaps another identification of Sam Cox.

  Dewey was at her usual place behind the bar. “Hey Matt, I was asking K-dawg about you just last night. Said you were off island for a few days.”

  “Just got back. How’re you doing?”

  “Without,” she cackled. She was always complaining about how lousy her sex life was. I guess if I live to be eighty-five, I might figure out whether she was just kidding around, or dead serious.

  “How about one of those famous steak sandwiches and a diet coke?” I asked.

  “Coming up. She called to the kitchen, placing the order and set my drink on the bar.

  “I want to show you a picture and see if you know this man,” I said, laying the two pictures of Sam Cox on the bar.

  “That’s Logan’s Army buddy,” she said without hesitation.

  “You sure, Dewey?”

  “Absolutely. I might be old, but my eyesight is twenty-twenty.”

  “Would you testify to that in court if it became necessary?”

  “To help Logan? You know damn well I would. How’s he doing?”

  “As well as can be expected. I think he’s anxious to finally get his trial started.”

  “You going to get him acquitted?”

  “I certainly hope so, Dewey,” I said.

  My sandwich came and we chatted as I ate. I told Dewey I’d let her know about the trial, and left to see Slim Jim at Frisco’s with the picture of Sam Cox. He was certain that Sam was the guy with Logan on the night of Vivian’s death. He also agreed to testify if I needed him. This would cut my window in which Logan was without an alibi to less than an hour between the time Logan left Frisco’s and the latest time Vivian could have been killed. I was making a little progress, but that hour could put Logan in the death chamber.

  I headed back to Longboat to email Anne with what I’d found out. As I was pulling into the drive leading to my condo, my cell phone rang. It was Logan.

  “Where the hell are you?” I asked, my anger boiling up. He had left me hanging on a thin limb, and I wasn’t happy about it.

  “Whoa,” he said. “I’m still in New England, but I’m planning to be in Florida by Sunday. I’ll give you my ETA as soon as I know it. What kinda bug you got up your ass?”

  “Goddammit, Logan,” I exploded, “You haven’t called me in a week, and I can’t get in touch with you. What the hell kind of deal is that?”

  “I’ve been busy, Matt.”

  “Busy? Busy? Are you out of your mind? It’s your life on the line here, not mine. I don’t want another day to go by without hearing from you. Understood? Or so help me, I’ll withdraw from this case so fast you’ll be wondering if I was just a figment of your imagination.”

  “Okay, Matt. Sorry. I’ll call you every day. What’s so important?”

  My anger was fading. “I’ve found your Army buddy. Ever hear of a guy named Sam Cox?”

  “Never. I sure as hell wasn’t in the Army with anybody by that name.”

  “How about Hale Rundel?”

  “I know that name. He used to hang out at O’Sullivan’s some. I had a few drinks with him once or twice, but that’s all.”

  “Would you have talked about your Army experiences with him?”

  “Probably. He was a pilot himself. Fixed wing guy, I think. He was interested in how I got into choppers and what kind of training I had. What’s he got to do with this?”

  “Did he know about you and Connie?”

  “He knew we were friends, I guess. She was at the bar at O’Sullivans with me one night when Rundel was there. What’s going on?”

  “Cox works for Rundel down in Miami. They are both tied into the Wentworth campaign somehow. I don’t know what it all means, but it’s too much of a coincidence not to be looked into. Can you think of any connection?”

  “Nothing. None of it makes sense to me.”

  “I’ll stay on this. Call me tomorrow.
”

  An idea had been buzzing around in my head since I left Miami. I decided to call Will Ledbetter and see if he had any thoughts. I identified myself as Senator Royal, and was put right through to him. I just couldn’t help myself. Will answered, laughing, “Senator, you are sure shaking up my office staff.”

  “Glad I can help. Will, I’ve been trying to make some connection between the deaths of Vivian and Golden Joe. You told me Joe was not happy with Vivian, because she testified against him. Could he have reached out to her from prison?”

  “I doubt it. He was a real loser; no friends and no money to pay anybody. He might have gone looking for her when he got out, though.”

  “No, the time frame isn’t right. Somebody was after Vivian months before Joe got out of prison. They probably found her through Vivian’s dad. I was just thinking that maybe Joe set it up.”

  “I don’t see how, Matt. Could there be a connection between the john who messed Vivian up and her killer?”

  “I’ve wondered about that too, but I don’t have any way of checking that out, since we don’t know who the john was.”

  “Let me do some checking. I’ve been here a long time, and I can call in some favors. Maybe there’re some rumors out there that’ll help. I’ll let you know. When does your trial start?”

  “Monday morning, Will. I’m on a short string here.”

  “Gotcha. I’ll get back to you soon.”

  As I was putting the phone back in my pocket, it rang again. Anne Dubose showed up on caller ID. “Hey, Matt. How’s it going?”

  “Nothing new. How’re you doing?”

  “A little depressed, I think. I thought we were onto something, and I could help put those bastards away. I guess I’m just disappointed. I was thinking about driving over to Longboat. Maybe I can help with your trial.”

  My heart did a little jig. It was happy to think about seeing Anne again. “I’d love to have you. I’ve got a guest bedroom and bath in my condo that you’re welcome to use.”

  “What’ll the neighbors think?”

  “If they think I’m sleeping with you, I’m not going to deny it. Wouldn’t want to hurt my reputation, you know.”

  She laughed that delightful trill that made me want to see her. “I’ll be there this evening,” she said.

  Anne arrived in the late afternoon. We went to the Hilton for drinks with my friends who always gathered there on Thursday evenings. Dallas was there, being the absolute gentleman, but grinning wickedly at Anne. He told her stories about Logan, and some about me, and they got along famously. I thought the stories about Logan would humanize him some to Anne. To her, Logan was really just an accused felon, his story written in the dry legalese of the indictment. We lingered longer than we should have, and went to Moore’s for a late dinner.

  Dottie Johansen was at the bar, and she took to Anne immediately. She announced that it was about time I brought a lady around, and that while Anne could probably do better, I might be worthy of spending some time with. After dinner, we drove to the far end of the key to the Colony Beach, where we sipped our after diner drinks and listened to the smooth voice of Debbie Keaton, singing jazz and oldies.

  “You’ve got a lot of friends here,” Anne said, looking over her Kahlua and Cream.

  “Yeah. The locals are really a good bunch. Every one takes care of every one else.

  “They all seem to think a lot of you.”

  “That’s a very mutual feeling. I think they were a little surprised to see me with a beautiful lady. I didn’t have the heart to tell them we’re just professional colleagues.” I laughed.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “I think the average person thinks of a lawyer as a rich man in an expensive suit. They haven’t gotten used to the new order - good looking women kicking ass in a court room.”

  “I think the feminist idea is that a woman can do anything a man can.”

  “Yes, and I agree with that, mostly. I think what they missed is that there is always a sexual tension between a man and a woman.”

  “Always?” She chuckled. “And I thought you were tense about the trial.”

  “Well, that, too.” I had made a fool out of myself, and I didn’t even have booze to blame it on. I was ridiculously sober. Not only was she a colleague in a dicey situation, I was years older than she.

  “Would you be less tense if I went back to Lauderdale?”

  “I’m sorry. I guess that did sound like a proposition, and I didn’t mean it that way. You’re a very attractive lady, but you don’t have to worry about me. I’ll respect the boundaries.”

  “I wasn’t worried,” she said, smiling.

  We drove back north toward my condo. The key was quiet, with only an occasional car headed in the other direction. The lights were on at the 7-Eleven store, the only all night establishment on the island. Two Longboat Key cop cars were parked in the lot. Dinner time for the night shift, I figured. I had the sun roof open and the windows down. The sweet air off the Gulf saturated our space. Soft classical music played on the radio. We didn’t talk; just enjoyed a fine evening as it wound down toward bedtime.

  As we entered my condo, I told her I’d see her in the morning, and headed for my room. “Matt,” she said, “about that sexual tension. I felt it too.”

  “Thanks, Anne. I’m sorry I made a fool out of myself. Just chalk it up to bar talk.”

  “Matt? Do I have to sleep in the guest room tonight?”

  My heart did that little jig again, and old Mr. Lucky started stirring. “Um, what did you have in mind?” I asked, not daring to assume the answer.

  “Can I sleep with you tonight? No boundaries.”

  Chapter 23

  FRIDAY

  Will called on Friday morning, waking me from a sound sleep. He told me that he had talked to the police lieutenant who had overseen the investigation into the beating of Vivian and the murder of the other prostitute. The lieutenant had moved on to the intelligence division of the Chicago Police Department.

  “They play things real close to the vest over there,” Will said, “but he and I were classmates at the police academy.”

  “I didn’t know you were a cop,” I said.

  “Only for a couple of years, and I moved to Probation and Parole. The lieutenant told me some interesting rumors picked up by the intelligence people. It seems that when Golden Joe was released from the pokey, he went right back to his old ways. He began to deal in drugs, but then suddenly disappeared within a few days of his release.”

  “Do the cops have any idea what happened to him?”

  “Well, that’s the funny thing. Joe was bragging that he had made a connection with a big time drug importer in Miami, and he was headed down there to put together a deal that would make him rich.”

  “And he ended up dead.”

  “Yes, but the Intel Division didn’t know that. The word hadn’t gotten through channels to them.”

  “Did they have any idea who Joe was dealing with in Miami?” I asked.

  “No, but he did say they were a bunch of white guys. I thought most of the drug importers in Miami were Hispanic.”

  “I thought so, too. Thanks Will. If you hear anything else, let me know.”

  “There was one other thing, Matt. I don’t know if its important.”

  “Shoot.”

  “The lieutenant told me that there had been some pretty heavy pressure coming down on him to close the case. He wanted to find the john, but some people in high places were pulling a lot of weight to get him to back off. It didn’t sit well with him, but he had a career, and he didn’t want to piss off the bosses. He’s always thought the john was somebody high up in the police department.”

  “Okay, thanks, Will. See you later.”

  I put in a call to Carl Merritt, Anne’s detective friend in Miami. “Good morning, Counselor,” he said, picking up the phone. “How’re things on the west coast?”

  “Puzzling Carl, very puzzling. I have it in my mind that the
big drug importers in Miami-Dade are all Hispanic. Am I wrong?”

  “You’re right. There are probably some small time scumbags in the business who aren’t Hispanic, but they don’t last long. The competition is tough, and most of the new guys end up dead.”

  “Do you know anything about some white guys getting into it in a big way?”

  “No,” he answered. “Some try it now and then, but we usually find their bodies pretty quickly.”

  “Have you ever heard the names Hale Rundel or Sam Cox mentioned in the drug context?”

  “Hang on,” he said, and put me on hold. He was gone for several minutes, while I listened to a jazz station piped into their phone system. Suddenly he was back. “Sorry that took so long. I checked with our drug enforcement division. They don’t know anything about Rundel, but Sam Cox showed up on their radar a couple of years ago. They thought he might be flying drugs into the country from the Bahamas, but they could never nail him. Even if he was, it was probably such a small operation that it never got the interest of the Hispanics.”

  “Thanks, Carl. I appreciate the effort.”

  “No problem, Matt. Tell Anne I said hello.”

  “Carl said to tell you hello,” I said to Anne, who was sitting up in bed beside me.

  “How did he know I was here?” she asked.

  “Video phone, maybe,” I said.

  She blushed, and pulled the sheet up over her naked breasts.