"Like Phil Thompson."
I nodded. "Exactly."
"Even though he doesn't have a motive."
"Walter could have stumbled onto whatever Phil was doing."
"That would have to be something pretty bad to make committing murder worthwhile."
"People have killed before to keep things from being exposed," I said.
Tom nodded. "I'm sure that's true. You've, ah, had more experience along those lines than I have. But if you're right, at least that means we don't have to worry about the killer striking again. The Thompsons are gone, and if they're guilty it's not likely they'll come back here. As a matter of fact, they had time to get off the island before anybody realized they weren't here anymore."
That depressing thought had occurred to me, too. Phil and Sheila could be back in Miami by now. They might even be on a plane, headed for who knows where.
Tom put his sunglasses back on and leaned his head against the chair. "Since we can't do anything," he continued, "I vote we get back to relaxing."
"You're right," I said. I leaned back, too. I even closed my eyes, hoping that I might be lucky enough to doze off for a while.
Fat chance of that. My mind kept spinning, insisting that I had seen or heard something in the past two days that might hold the key to Walter Harvick's murder.
Whatever it was – if it even existed – stubbornly eluded me.
But at least with my legs stretched out into the sun the way they were, I was able to work on my tan.
* * *
I actually did go to sleep, which surprised me. Not for long, though, because Tom woke me up to ask if I'd put on any sunscreen. He didn't want me to burn. I hadn't, so I got a plastic bottle of it from my beach bag and rubbed some on my legs.
"I'll do your shoulders and your back if you want," Tom volunteered.
"That sounds nice." I handed him the sunscreen. "Thanks."
The back of the lounge chair let down so that I could lie almost flat on my belly. That's what I did while Tom rubbed the sunscreen onto my shoulders and upper back. His hands were strong, and the touch of them felt good. I started to drift off into a haze of lassitude.
The sound of my cell phone's ringtone – "Margaritaville"; I'd changed it for this trip, cliché though it might be – made me curse the person who'd invented that bothersome gadget. I raised up onto an elbow and reached into my bag.
The display showed that Luke was calling. I didn't figure he would interrupt unless it was something important, so I thumbed the button to answer.
"What is it, Luke?"
"I thought you'd want to know, Miz D," he said. "The cops just showed up with Mr. and Mrs. Thompson."
That set me bolt upright on the chair. "Are you sure?" I asked him.
"Yeah, I was going back to the main house after playing a set of tennis with Matt Altman, and I saw a couple of uniformed officers leading them in. That Detective Zimmer was with them, too. I didn't get too close, but I know it was them."
I believed him. Luke wasn't the sort to make a mistake about something like that.
"All right," I told him as I slipped my feet back into my sandals. "Thanks for lettin' me know."
"What are you gonna do?"
"Well, Zimmer probably won't talk to me, but I'm going to try to find out what's going on anyway. They're still my clients, even if they are murder suspects."
If I could convince Zimmer that my theory about Ronnie Scanlon being unable to have murdered Walter was correct, then she wouldn't need a lawyer anymore. I wasn't sure I'd be doing Phil and Sheila any favors by siccing Pete Nickleby on them . . . but heck, if they'd killed Walter I wasn't sure I really wanted to do them any favors.
"I'll see you at the house," I added to Luke, then closed the phone as I stood up.
Tom was already on his feet. "What is it?"
"The police brought in Phil and Sheila Thompson. Luke saw them being taken into the main house."
That put a puzzled frown on Tom's face. "Why would they bring them here? If they're in custody, why weren't they taken to police headquarters?"
"No idea," I replied with a shake of my head. I had said that a lot over the past few hours, but it was true. I really didn't have any idea.
And I didn't like that feeling.
I would have much rather stayed there letting Tom massage the knots out of my muscles under the guise of rubbing sunscreen on me, but I couldn't turn my back on clients, even potential murderers. If I knew the Thompsons were guilty it would be different, but I didn't know that yet.
I shrugged into that terrycloth cover-up. It was short enough to leave my legs mostly bare, which means it wasn't really the most appropriate costume for trying to worm some information out of the cops, but I didn't have much choice. I picked up my bag.
"I'll come with you," Tom said. "I want to know what's going on, too."
I couldn't blame him for that. Having all this happening at the resort that generations of his family had built up had to be bothering him, even though he didn't really show it.
We hurried along the path leading from the pool back to the main house. When we got there, Luke was waiting for us on the verandah, just outside the front doors, wearing the t-shirt and shorts he had worn to play tennis.
"They're upstairs," he greeted us. "I watched through the window while Detective Zimmer and the other officers took them up there. They cleared everybody out, and there's a cop posted at the foot of the stairs now to keep anybody else from going up."
"We'll see about that," Tom said. "This is my place, after all, and I'm starting to think Charles is taking advantage of our friendship."
We went into the lobby and crossed the room to the stairs. The officer posted there held up a hand to stop us.
"Nobody allowed upstairs now, sir," he told Tom. "Sorry."
"You know I own this resort, don't you?"
"Yes, but that doesn't matter. You'll have to take it up with Detective Zimmer."
"I plan to," Tom said, and I couldn't help but notice that an angry note had come into his voice.
I asked the officer, "How long do you expect them to be up there?"
He shook his head. "I couldn't tell you, ma'am."
"Where were the Thompsons taken into custody?"
"I couldn't – "
"Never mind," I said. "I know, you couldn't tell me."
He shrugged as if to say that wasn't his fault. And I knew it wasn't. That didn't make the situation any less frustrating.
Other people were in the lobby, too, looking just as curious as we were. Unlike the three of us, though, they hung back from the foot of the stairs, content just to watch and see what happened next. They didn't have any real stake in this.
"Were Phil and Sheila handcuffed when you saw them?" I asked Luke.
He shook his head. "No, but they didn't look like they were going anywhere except where the cops wanted them to."
The front doors opened again, and two more officers came in with a prisoner between them and another officer bringing up the rear, as if the guy they had in custody was dangerous.
I didn't doubt that was the case, because all it took for me to recognize him was a glance. I had seen him in Sloppy Joe's the night before. So much had happened since then it seemed hard to believe that not much more than twelve hours had passed.
The dark, hawkish face of Clint Drake was set in angry lines. Unlike the Thompsons, he was handcuffed. Or rather, he had some of those plastic restraints around his wrists, pinning them behind his back as one of the cops held his arm and steered him across the lobby toward the stairs. A streak of dried blood from a cut on Drake's forehead was smeared across his face.
"What in the world?" I muttered.
"Who's that?" Luke asked as the little group advanced toward us. He hadn't been at Sloppy Joe's the night before, so he'd never seen Drake.
"Step back," the cop on duty at the foot of the stairs ordered us.
As we moved aside to let them pass, Tom said quietly to Lu
ke, "That's Clint Drake. One of our local shady characters."
"Walter was trying to charter his boat," I added.
"Ohhh-kay," Luke said, clearly confused.
He was no different in that respect than I was.
Drake glared at us as he was escorted past us and started up the stairs with the officers. I don't know if he recognized me or if he was just mad at the world in general because he'd been arrested.
A familiar rumbling voice made me look up. Detective Zimmer had appeared on the second floor landing. "Officer Bell," he called down to the cop who had stopped us, "I want those three up here right now."
And then he pointed at me, Tom, and Luke.
Chapter 20
A shiver of apprehension went through me. I don't know why; I was sure I hadn't done anything wrong except maybe acting a little more curious about Walter Harvick's murder than Detective Zimmer would have preferred. I guess it's like driving and suddenly seeing a police car in your rearview mirror. Even though you know you haven't been speeding or breaking any other traffic laws, you still feel a little nervous.
In this case, it was more like a lot nervous. Zimmer had that effect on people, I supposed, especially when he didn't look happy.
I wondered how long it had been since Detective Zimmer actually had looked happy.
Then I shook off that thought as the uniformed cop said, "You heard the detective. You can go upstairs now."
"I'm not sure I want to anymore," I said.
"Ms. Dickinson," Zimmer said.
Tom touched my arm. He looked eager to find out what was going on as he said, "Come on, let's get up there before he changes his mind."
He had a point there. With Tom and Luke flanking me, I started up the stairs.
Zimmer met us at the top. He jerked his head to indicate that we should follow him.
As we turned to the right, I saw that the door to the Thompsons' room was open, with a policeman standing just outside it. I figured that meant the other cops, as well as Phil and Sheila, and Clint Drake, were inside the room. When we reached the door, I saw that I was right. Phil and Sheila sat next to each other on the bed, looking scared, while Clint Drake, still in his restraints, stood to one side of the room with an officer on either side of him.
As soon as he saw me, Phil exclaimed, "Ms. Dickinson! Thank God. Will you tell these officers Sheila and I aren't some sort of criminals?"
He looked and sounded so pathetic, for a second I felt sorry for him. Then I remembered how Walter Harvick's body had looked, sprawled there on the sand. Until I knew for sure that Phil and Sheila hadn't had anything to do with that, I wasn't going to waste any pity on them.
"I don't see how I can do that, Mr. Thompson," I said coolly. "All I know is what you've told me, and it seems like you've got a habit of lyin'."
"The only thing I lied about was that I was going fishing," Phil said. "I . . . I had something else I wanted to do."
Detective Zimmer grunted and said disgustedly, "Treasure hunting."
"It's more like amateur archeology in a way – "
"Treasure hunting!" Zimmer repeated, clearly not pleased. He waved a hand at the maps and charts spread out on the bed and the books stacked on the room's desk.
"Really?" Tom said with a note of amusement in his voice. "You came down here to look for buried treasure?"
Phil looked pained. "There are still plenty of legendary treasures to be found – "
"They're legendary because they're not really there," Tom told him. "There have been a lot more rumors about buried treasure than there ever was any real treasure."
"You don't know that," Phil insisted. "Anything might be buried on these little islands. I've been studying the subject for years, and this isn't the first time I've come down here to search."
"But you haven't found anything, have you?"
Phil didn't answer Tom's question right away. He sat there scowling for several seconds before he slowly shook his head.
"Not yet. But it's just a matter of time."
Zimmer looked at me and asked, "Did you know anything about this?"
"Not a thing," I said. "Don't you think I'd have told you if I did?"
"I hope so."
I nodded toward Clint Drake and asked, "What's his part in this? Was it his boat Mr. Thompson was on yesterday?"
Phil didn't let Zimmer answer. He said, "That's right. I chartered his boat to help in the search. And then today he tried to kidnap us!"
Drake spoke for the first time since we'd been up here, rasping, "You misunderstood."
"You said you wouldn't bring us back to Key West unless I called my bank and had fifty thousand dollars wired to your offshore account!" Phil said. "And the things you threatened to do to my wife . . ."
Beside him on the bed, Sheila shuddered.
"If all this is true," Zimmer said, "the two of you are lucky. Drake might have done even worse. He would have cut your throats and dropped you over the side for the sharks if he'd gotten what he wanted from you first."
"That's a damned lie," Drake said.
Zimmer ignored him and went on, "You said you had things here in your room that would verify your story, Thompson. If you mean these maps and books, that doesn't really help you. Even if you came down here to search for buried treasure – " The disdainful way Zimmer said it made it clear he felt the same way about the subject that Tom did. " – that doesn't mean you didn't kill Walter Harvick."
"We didn't even know that man," Sheila said. "We said hello to him, that's all."
"Then why did the two of you sneak off as soon as you heard he'd been killed?" Zimmer demanded.
"One thing didn't have anything with the other," Phil insisted. "I just didn't want to lose a day of searching. Today might have been the day when I finally found what I've been looking for . . . the gold of San Cristobal."
Tom winced. "That's just a legend, and not even a very good one."
"No, it's real," Phil said with the zealotry of the true believer. "The Spanish galleon San Cristobal went down somewhere here in the Keys, but the captain and some of the crew were able to salvage a chest of gold they were taking back to Spain and take it with them in a small boat. They buried it on the first island they came to, planning to come back and retrieve it later, after they were rescued. But they set out again in the boat because there was no food or fresh water on that island, and all of them died except for one crewman, and he was half insane from thirst and the sun when he was found by another ship. He was never able to lead anybody back to the island where they hid the gold."
"It's a fairy tale," Tom said.
"No, it's not." Phil stood up. Zimmer tensed, but Phil pointed to the books on the desk and went on, "I can show you. I found records of the old documents that contain the story. The crewman who survived remembered enough clues that I was able to put them together and use maps from the Sixteenth Century to narrow down the area where the treasure might have been hidden. Sheila and I, we've kept all that secret, but . . . but I suppose we can share it if it means we won't be blamed for killing that man. Anyway, when we left here this morning, we thought he had committed suicide. Nothing had been said about a murder."
"We just wanted to find the treasure and be able to retire," Sheila said wistfully. "To finally get away from all those horrible kids . . ."
Phil was still edging toward the desk and the stacks of research books. Zimmer put out a hand and said, "Forget about the treasure. Where were the two of you last night?"
"Right here," Phil answered without hesitation. "We worked on the maps and then went to sleep."
"But no one can confirm that."
"Well . . . no, I suppose not. We were together, so we, uh, alibi each other, I guess."
Zimmer's snort made it clear how much he thought of that alibi.
"Last chance," he said. "Convince me that you didn't have anything to do with Harvick's death, or I'm placing you under arrest."
"Just because we snuck out today?" Sheila said. "That's
the only evidence you have against us?"
"Flight can be presumed to be evidence of guilt."
"We weren't fleeing," Phil said. "We would have come back on our own." He glared at Drake. "That is, if we hadn't been double-crossed."
Drake just sneered and looked away.
While I wasn't quite ready to admit that I didn't think the Thompsons were responsible for Walter's murder, I was leaning toward believing their story. They both certainly sounded sincere. And Sheila was right: Zimmer didn't really have a case against them. There wasn't a shred of motive, and no physical evidence to link them to the case, as far as I knew. Of course, the police could have turned up a lot of things I didn't know about.
Were the two of them fanatical enough in their belief in the treasure they were hunting to regard Walter as a threat if he found out what they were doing? It was possible, I supposed, but I had trouble believing it. Again, making that case would require being able to prove that Phil had been outside the main house last night.
Zimmer sighed. "We're going to need to take your statements about what happened today with Drake anyway. The officers will escort you to the police department and somebody there will talk to you."
"We're not under arrest?" Phil said.
"Not yet." Zimmer didn't bother trying to hide his disappointment as he said that.
Drake spoke up. "I'm telling you again, this is all a misunderstanding."
"We'll see," Zimmer said. "Get him out of here."
The officers took Drake out of the room. Phil and Sheila went along, too, leaving Zimmer there with me, Tom, and Luke.
"This room is off-limits until we've conducted a thorough search of it," Zimmer told Tom.
"That's fine." Tom smiled faintly. "With everything else that's been going on, what's a little more crime scene tape?"
"I appreciate you being so understanding about it, Tom."
I said, "If you don't mind me asking, Detective, what happened out on Drake's boat? Did he really try to kidnap the Thompsons?"
"I wouldn't put it past him," Zimmer said. "We've suspected that he's dumped more than one body over the side in the past, but we've never been able to prove it. There might have been two more today if Mrs. Thompson hadn't called for help. Drake probably didn't count on her having a satellite phone or the guts to use it after he threatened them. A Coast Guard cutter happened to be close by . . ." Zimmer shrugged. "I think they were really lucky. That luck was the real treasure they found today."
For Whom The Funeral Bell Tolls Page 13
