The Last Breath

by Danny Lopez

  He forced a laugh, shook his head. “I didn’t kill anyone.”

  “Was it because of Mrs. Fleming?”

  “I didn’t kill them,” he cried. “They were my friends.”

  “Who are those guys in the pickup? I saw you talking to them.”

  He looked to the side. The bridge was up all the way. The mast of a tall sailboat was just starting to pass under the bridge.

  “Talk to me, Keith.”

  His face was twisted, his shoulders folded forward. “I swear I didn’t kill them.”

  I took two steps forward. “What happened?”

  “I don’t know.” His surfer drawl was gone. A small crowd had gathered behind me and to the side.

  “If you talk to the cops, they’ll go easy on you. They’ll be cool. I’ll help you in any way I can.”

  He tilted his head to the side. The rain that had been falling lightly came back harder. Keith looked up and raised his hands, palms up like Jesus. He chuckled. “What a bitch, huh?”

  The sailboat passed. The bridge was starting to come down. I took another step.

  “My kids,” he cried. “I was doing it for them.”

  “Doing what?”

  He turned and sat on the rail, stared at the ground. “They’re my kids, too,” he said, his voice low, angry. “I know I have problems. But it’s not right. I love my boys.”

  “I know how you feel,” I said, my voice quivering as I thought of Zoe. “I have a seven-year-old. I only get to see her a couple of weeks in the summer. But it’s better than nothing.”

  The clinking bell of the bridge broke the moment as the bridge closed and the barriers began to rise.

  Keith looked away at the other side of the bridge. The blue and red flash of the cops came and went with the sheets of rain. “I was doing it for the money.” His tone was steady. “So I could pay a lawyer and fix it. Get my kids back.”

  “What about Mrs. Fleming?”

  He turned to look at me and pursed his lips. “That just happened.”

  “What just happened?”

  “The affair.” The cars moved slowly, crossing the bridge heading west to the beach. Our lane, heading east, was blocked by the accident. Someone at the very back honked. “We met at the beach one day and kinda hit it off, just kinda happened. I didn’t know who she was.”

  “What about those men in the truck?” I said.

  Keith shook his head. The rain let up some. I came to his side.

  “Keith, they tried to run me off the road,” I said quietly. “Who are they?”

  “Dealers,” he said flatly.

  “Weed?”

  “Pills. Oxycodone, Fentanyl.”

  “But why?”

  He dropped his head in hands and wept, shook his head. “They weren’t for her. She said they were for a friend with a back problem.”

  “Who said that?”

  “Brandy.”

  The Sheriff’s deputies reached us. One placed his hand on Keith’s shoulder. “You hurt? Do you need an ambulance?”

  Another one stood back, talking into his radio on his shoulder. I stood. “Call Detective Kendel. He has to be in on this.”

  “Who was driving the Land Cruiser?”

  CHAPTER 31

  KEITH HAD CONFESSED nothing. But the Sheriff’s deputies cuffed him and put him in the back seat of a cruiser. I got back in Tessa’s little Fiat and went straight to the Old Salty Dog.

  The usual crowd of scruffy drunks and sunburnt tourists who sipped Bud Lites and tall fruity drinks with fancy garnishes stared at me as I marched up the steps to the bar. Everyone—except the older man with the messy gray hair and long goatee, a pint of Guinness in front of him. Cap’n Cody.

  “Dexter!” Tessa cried and covered her mouth. “You’re soaked.”

  I took a stool next to Cap’n Cody. Tessa grabbed a stack of paper towels and set them on the bar in front of me. “You look like shit.”

  “The cops busted Keith,” I said point blank. I wanted to see her reaction, see if she was in on whatever Keith was in on. Pills. Affairs. Murder?

  She just stepped back and looked a little stunned. “What for?”

  “I think he killed Liam,” I said.

  Her expression didn’t change.

  Cap’n Cody leaned forward, touched my arm. “Did you know Jaybird was Terrence Oliver?”

  “I found out this morning,” I said.

  “Unbelievable shit,” he said and shook his head. “All these years. Little guy goes around like a bum. I just can’t …”

  “You’re not playing tonight?” I asked.

  He dismissed me with a wave. “They’re filming that damn reality show at the Oyster Bar. Brought their own musicians.”

  Tessa forced a chuckle. “Cap’n Cody’s music isn’t hip enough.”

  He slapped his chest. “MTV ain’t even about music no more.”

  I dismissed him and looked at Tessa. “Keith wasn’t acting alone.”

  Her mouth twitched just slightly. “Who else?”

  “I don’t know,” I said. “But it’s in the hands of the authorities now.”

  She came out from around the bar and put her arms around me, held me. I could feel her heart beating hard against my chest. Cap’n Cody and the two drunks were staring at our little soap opera.

  When she released me, she held me at arm’s length, studied me, her eyes traveling from my chest to the top of my head and back. She had tears in her eyes but she didn’t let them out.

  “I’m off,” Cap’n Cody said and set a ten-dollar bill on the counter. He slid off his stool and walked out.

  Tessa smiled at him. Then she looked back at me, her lower lip trembling. “You’re soaked.”

  “Yeah, it’s pouring outside.”

  She went behind the bar and came back to where I was and handed me her house keys. “Why don’t you go to my place and dry up?”

  I looked past her at the taps. Handed her the keys to her Fiat. “Can I have a pint of that JDub’s IPA first?”

  She cracked a smile. “You’ll never change, Dexter Vega.”

  After I downed a pint to settle my nerves, I took Tessa up on her invitation and walked out of the Old Salty Dog and headed toward the beach. I was confused about Keith. So he was having an affair with Brandy Fleming. Fine. But he was dealing drugs—or just getting them for Brandy. Still, I couldn’t see her as a pill popper. She was too … uptight, angry. Fentanyl and oxycodone. Opioids knocked you out, numbed your body, mind, and soul. They were addictive and dangerous. The piece didn’t fit the puzzle. I didn’t see how it could get Liam and Jaybird murdered.

  Outside it had stopped raining. The key was back in party mode. Tourists dressed in bright t-shirts, shorts, thin minidresses and flip-flops made their way along the sidewalks, shuffling out of one bar and going into another.

  Across Ocean Boulevard I could see the lights of the MTV crew filming the Siesta Key reality series. I kept going, curious to see the spectacle. The crew’s truck blocked my view. A large crowd packed Siesta Key Oyster Bar. A band was playing an older U2 song. People stopped to watch, but the cops working security moved them on. Just past the trucks, outside the Daiquiri Deck, I saw Cap’n Cody walking with a man in a beige suit. Cap’n Cody was waving his hands in front of him, probably complaining about his gig being canceled because of the MTV guys.

  When I got to Tessa’s apartment, I took a hot shower and dried off. I found a pink and yellow terrycloth robe that was a little too small for me and put it on. I went into the kitchen, made myself a sandwich, and grabbed a cold Corona from the fridge. I sat in the living room and ate and drank and tried to put the pieces of the puzzle together.

  But it wasn’t easy. I kept thinking of Keith and his kids. I had a good idea of what he was going through. Maybe he was being screwed in the divorce, didn’t deserve to lose his kids. But maybe he was an abusive husband, a bad father. Shit. He was sleeping with Brandy Fleming and buying drugs.

  People dig their own damn graves
.

  So why did I feel so guilty about his arrest?

  Divorce. When Nancy told me she wanted a divorce, it didn’t come as a real surprise. We had lost the connection we’d once had. We’d become different people. I was obsessed with work and she was trying to build a family. I understood that now. But when it’s happening, when the world you love crumbles before your eyes, you don’t see it. I couldn’t see it then. Instead I felt attacked, pounced upon by her accusations and her complaints. Then came the lawyers. And with them came the poison that still lingered in our bloodstream.

  But in the end, she was right. I was selfish. All I cared about was my stories, the newspaper. Only now I wished we could reconcile enough to be civil to each other for Zoe’s sake.

  Maybe I saw that in Keith. His world had been turned upside down with the divorce and the loss of his boys. He needed money for a lawyer to fight the restraining order, get partial custody. But what did any of that have to do with killing Liam and Jaybird?

  * * *

  I woke up to the sound of a door closing. I sat up. The room was bright. In my hand was an empty Corona bottle. Across from the coffee table was the reflection of the lights of Siesta Village against the dark buildings that blocked the view of the ocean.

  “Hey.” Tessa’s sweet voice sailed gently across the room. She looked tired, her hair a little disheveled but still holding shape, her lips moist. I could tell from the redness of her eyes and the slight puffiness around them that she’d been crying.

  “You okay?” I said.

  She nodded and sat beside me. Then she grabbed the empty from my hand and held it up. “Really?”

  “I was thirsty.”

  “Did you eat something?”

  “I made a sandwich.”

  She placed the bottle on the side table and leaned back on the sofa, flipped off her shoes, and crossed her legs, her feet up on the coffee table. “I can’t seem to wrap my brain around this.”

  “Neither can I.”

  She dropped her hand and took the cord of the bathrobe between her fingers and twisted it, coiling and uncoiling it over and over.

  “Did you get a chance to make that list?” I said after a while.

  “Yup.” She bounced back up and went into her bedroom, took a while coming out. She’d changed into a pair of pajama pants and a t-shirt, wore her hair down. Her laptop was in her hands. She sat next to me again and set the computer on her lap. We both leaned forward as she clicked open a Word doc.

  She pointed to the screen. “So these are the three latest properties.”

  Two small parcels in East County and the house on Beach Road at the end of April.

  “Vivian said Liam hired her to bid on this property.”

  Tessa recoiled in her seat. “Vivian McCutcheon?”

  “Yeah, Pearlman’s assistant.”

  “That woman was obsessed with Liam.”

  I smiled. “That’s what she said about you.”

  Tessa set the computer on the coffee table, leaned back, looking at me. “What else did she say?”

  “That’s all. But she said Liam asked her to outbid whoever was trying to buy that house.” I pointed at the computer.

  “Whatever.” Tessa waved. “I guess it doesn’t matter.”

  “What?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Tessa …”

  “She was Liam’s ex from college. She was jealous of me. Until I broke it off with Liam.”

  “Jealous enough to be violent?” I said. I hadn’t even considered Vivian as a suspect. But …

  “I don’t think so,” Tessa said with a short smile. “Besides, I know how to take care of myself.”

  I was thinking of the assault and battery charges, but I had to be careful. I said, “Do tell.”

  “There’s nothing to tell.”

  “You like a karate expert?”

  She tilted her head to the side. “I’ve been in a couple of bad relationships. With … abusive guys.”

  “Liam wasn’t like that, was he?”

  “No! Absolutely not. He was perfect.”

  “Yet you broke it off.”

  “I told you. He lied to me. I couldn’t trust him. He was a hypocrite. Said one thing and did the other. I can’t stand that.”

  “And Vivian?”

  Tessa shrugged. “She used to come to the beach and hang out with us. But it was obvious it wasn’t her scene. She didn’t like the whole Bohemian lifestyle. She used to lecture Liam about it. I used to think his father had put her up to it, you know? To get him away from us.”

  “You think he did?”

  She shook her head, picked up the computer, and tapped the space bar to wake it up. “She’s just a sad, lonely girl.”

  “And you don’t think she could’ve killed Liam and Jaybird?”

  “No, she wasn’t a psycho. She was just … alone.”

  We sat quietly for a long time, just the bass coming from a speaker somewhere far away—the MTV show.

  “This town is growing too fast,” I said.

  “Why do you say that?”

  “The building boom, the TV show, Number One Beach. All this attention is killing paradise.”

  “It’s not so bad.”

  “But it’s starting,” I said. “And this business of closing Beach Road. I don’t know what Liam and Jaybird were planning, but they were probably going to build something big and expensive and get very rich.”

  “You can’t stop progress,” she said.

  I wasn’t so sure. I glanced at the computer screen. “So who owns the third house on Beach Road?”

  Tessa scrolled down. Stopped, pointed at the information: Dieter & Waxler.

  CHAPTER 32

  MY CELL PHONE woke me up. I was lying in Tessa’s bed. The place smelled of perfume, something nice and slightly sweet. I was naked. I wrapped the sheet around my waist and followed the ringing to the table by the closet.

  Too late.

  A few seconds later, the voice mail sound chimed. Mr. Vega, this is Joaquin del Pino returning your call regarding Beach City Holdings. I’m about to walk into court and should be out in a couple of hours. I’ll try you back then.

  I dialed him right back. It went to voice mail. I hung up.

  I heard movement in the apartment, glass against glass, flatware against flatware, steps. In the alley, a trash truck was backing up and the intermittent beeping sound bounced all over the apartment. Siesta Key, I thought. A nice, peaceful little island.

  The robe I had worn the previous night was on the floor. I put it on and went to the bathroom and focused on last night. I had not been able to determine who was lying, Vivian or Tessa. Or maybe both women were right. They both loved Liam Fleming. But Tessa had pretty much fallen off my suspect list. In her own way, she had confessed that she’d defended herself against a couple of creeps. It explained the assault and battery charges. Vivian, I knew nothing about. But if she was involved, someone else had to be, too. I couldn’t see her killing two grown men, especially Liam, who was athletic. She would’ve needed help.

  Then there was the third property on Beach Road owned by Dieter & Waxler. It was just coincidence that the same company that was building a nine-story condo next to my little cracker house downtown owned the house on Beach Road.

  When Tessa and I looked at a map, the layout on Beach Road was this: Dieter & Waxler owned the first house on the corner. Beach City Holdings owned the other two. The property Vivian had been in charge of bidding on—and the one with the most recent transaction date—was the one in the center.

  I had a very strong hunch the other bidder had been Dieter & Waxler.

  We looked up Dieter & Waxler on both Corporationwiki, a website with a ton of corporate information, as well as in the State of Florida Division of Corporations website. But we came up empty. We figured the company was not incorporated in Florida—nothing wrong with that.

  What we did find was an office for The Majestic and Alex Trainor. They were conveniently located
at One Sarasota Tower, that glass monstrosity across from the new Westin.

  I walked out to the living room and found Tessa in the kitchen. She wore a very sexy purple nightgown that hung on her shoulders and breasts and came halfway down her thighs.

  “Good morning,” she said with a quick smile. “Coffee?”

  I nodded and stood leaning against the counter across from her.

  “Cream and sugar?”

  “Black, thanks.”

  She placed the cup on the counter in front of me, grabbed her own cup, and brought it to her lips, never taking her eyes off me.

  I took a sip and set the cup down. “So,” I said. “Did we?”

  She shook her head and hid her smile. “No, but we fell asleep in each other’s arms.”

  “For real?”

  “What, you find that difficult to believe?”

  “No, I just … I didn’t know.”

  “It was a pretty intense night,” she said.

  “And we were both very tired, right?”

  * * *

  After an amazing breakfast of pancakes and eggs and freshly squeezed orange juice, I got dressed. Tessa had thrown my clothes in the dryer for me. They smelled nice, too. I had to get my car out of the pound, but the case took priority. I left in Tessa’s Fiat for the mainland and the offices of Alex Trainor.

  I parked on the street at the end of Palm Avenue behind One Sarasota Tower and took the elevator to the fifth floor. The offices were in a suite at the very end of the hall. A sign with the fancy cursive logo for The Majestic was glued to the wall. The door was locked.

  I knocked, looked around. There were three other doors in that part of the hall, but they each had their own signs. One was for a financial advisor, the other for an estate attorney, and the other said, Agency Travel, whatever that meant.

  I knocked again. Didn’t even hear a sound. I turned to go. Then the elevator at the end of the hallway dinged and a crew of four men in jeans, work shirts with name patches, and boots came marching toward me.

  One of them used a key to open the door to Trainor’s office. He let the others in, then looked at me. “Can I help you?”

  “I was looking for Mr. Trainor,” I said.

  “Canceled his lease,” the man said and walked into the office.