Fitch Horner, in civilian clothes, was sitting with some of his old colleagues.
***
Scarne was waiting outside the church when the mourners followed the casket out. Chief Kummerspeck passed him and looked at him curiously, trying to place his face. When he couldn’t, he kept going and got into the squad car, pausing only to snarl at a TV cameraman. Horner came out of the church and walked up to an older couple, obviously the dead cop’s parents, standing just behind the casket. Both looked devastated but they nevertheless embraced their son’s former partner as the casket was placed in the hearse. They then got into the funeral car and Horner and the other mourners headed toward the parking lot.
“Officer Horner.”
Horner turned around just as he reached his pickup truck.
“Scarne. I spotted you in church. Nice of you to come.”
“Are you going to the cemetery?”
“Yes.”
“How about I ride out there with you. I think we should talk.”
Horner looked annoyed.
“I thought you came for Herbie. I told you everything I know about Herrera.”
Scarne moved in closer to Horner, so as not to be overheard by some people walking by.
“It’s your partner I want to talk to you about. He didn’t kill Cassie Mulloy. Someone murdered them both. Now, how about that ride?”
***
“You can’t prove any of it,” Horner said.
It was a statement of fact, not an accusation. They were sitting in the cab of Horner’s truck.
“Not yet,” Scarne said. “But I may. And if I don’t, I know you’ll follow up.”
“Who else knows?”
Scarne told him.
“That’s a lot of people.”
“Somebody on the carousel will get the gold ring. Maybe you.”
“You’re not telling Kummerspeck, are you?”
“No.”
“Good. He’d only fuck it up. Just like he fucked up the Herrera investigation.”
They got out of the truck and started following the small funeral party through the forlorn cemetery, which was located about five miles outside of town.
“What do you mean?”
“Herbie and me wanted to check out Herrera’s story. We didn’t believe it, mind you, but it seemed like we should at least look into it. Kummerspeck basically told us to mind our own business. He’d take care of it. Incompetent bastard.”
They had reached the grave site. Two men with shovels stood off to the side, ready to fill in the grave after everyone left. Some men started leaning a few floral arrangements against the casket. Kummerspeck stood behind the family, trying to look solemn. Scarne nudged Horner.
“Don’t be so sure he’s just incompetent, Fitch.”
The Sanibel cop stared at him. Then at his former chief.
CHAPTER 24 - BOARDING PARTY
“Nice car,” Sharon Ross said, looking past Scarne at his rental, which was parked behind her Maserati in her circular driveway. “Things slow on the investigative front?”
“Actually, appearances are deceiving,” he replied. “It has been quite hectic lately. I just don’t want to advertise my presence to certain people around here quite yet.”
“I could get you a gardener’s hat and some overalls, although I’m not sure any self-respecting yard worker would drive whatever that is. It won’t try to mug my car, will it?”
“If it does, it won’t get far,” he said, holding up his keys.
Scarne had called Sharon after the funeral service, telling her that he needed a favor.
“I assume it’s not sex,” she’d said. “Too bad. But I’ll probably do it anyway.”
She’d given him her home address, which turned out to be a modest mansion on Rum Row in Port Royal, which meant it probably cost less than $10 million.
“Come on in,” she said now, laughing. “I’ll fix us up some gin and tonics.”
A few minutes later they were sitting around her pool looking out at the Gordon River. A small cabin cruiser was tied up to her dock.
“Desiderio’s house is not far from here,” Scarne said.
“About a half mile,” Sharon replied.
“That’s by land. What about on the water?”
“Oh, it’s very close. As a matter of fact, you can see it from here. That’s his yacht, over there. The big white-and-yellow one, the Vaso di Miele. Tony loves it. Can’t say I blame him. She’s a beauty.”
Scarne laughed.
“What’s so funny?”
“Do you know what the name means?”
“No.”
“Honey Pot.”
Sharon laughed.
“I told you he was kinky. Do you speak Italian?”
“I used to know a lot more of it. Or, more accurately, Sicilian. My grandfather was born there and he basically raised me. I’m getting a bit rusty, though.”
“So, you’re Sicilian?”
“Part. Also a good bunch of English and Cheyenne.”
“Shut the front door! I slept with a savage?”
“If my memory serves me, I could say the same thing,” Scarne countered. She colored slightly. “But let’s change the subject. Something occurred to me while I was in a motel room in Calusakee. I was looking through the cable guide and came across some hard-core porno channels and it reminded me of something you said when I first met you.”
“This is your idea of changing the subject? You watching porn in a motel and thinking of me.”
“You mentioned that a couple of your girlfriends had been treated to some of Desiderio’s porn videos. You said they were more like home movies, right?”
“Yes. It was part of his foreplay, so to speak. They said they weren’t professionally done. The people in them looked like regular people, not actors. That’s what made them so erotic. What are you getting at?”
“Let me tell you a story.”
Scarne proceeded to explain why he’d been in Southwest Florida and had now returned. When he finished she got up without a word and fixed two more drinks from a small bar that was set up near the pool. She handed him his drink and sat down.
“Jesus!”
“Desiderio is mobbed up. I think he somehow took a video of Weatherly and Landon raping and roughing up Alva Delgado. They probably didn’t mean to kill her, but that doesn’t matter. If the video exists, the Stupachi family now has two of the nation’s premier football players by the short hairs. A guy I know in Atlantic City showed me some college game films and pointed out how they were shaving points. It convinced me. Now Weatherly and Landon are headed to the NFL, where the sky’s the limit, gambling-wise. Cassie Mulloy was killed to stop her from investigating Alva Delgado’s death. It was made to look like a murder-suicide. They were probably going to kill her anyway, but the fact that her boyfriend was one of the cops that arrested Manny Herrera sealed both their fates. Stupachi or Desiderio tried to kill me, too. That was a mistake.”
Scarne took a long pull of his drink.
“I thought Herrera might be innocent, but I couldn’t quite believe that the Touchdown Twins were involved. I told Cassie she had more work to do. The irony is that I don’t think she would have ever gotten hard evidence. Her boyfriend’s partner told me that the investigation was squelched by their boss. From what I know now, that may have been intentional. Didn’t matter. She really had no place to go with her suspicions. Her main sources, the girls who were at the party with Delgado, left town. Probably with some urging.”
Scarne looked pensive.
“There’s another irony. Had Cassie gone to a tabloid or a blog with the story, she and Robles would still be alive. Weatherly and Landon could have denied everything. Probably sued for libel. Stupachi would have hunkered down for a while and waited it out. He wouldn’t want to go near Cassie. She would have been ruined, but if something happened to her, people might get suspicious.”
Sharon put her hand on Scarne’s arm.
“You’re bla
ming yourself because you convinced her not to run with a story she couldn’t prove. That’s dumb, Jake. You didn’t start to put everything together until after she was killed. There was nothing to put together before that. And now you have to find that video, if it exists. And the obvious place to start the search is on Tony’s yacht.” She smiled. “Which, of course, is why you came here. I’m flattered. I trust I’m the only marine biologist you know who lives on the Gordon River and owns a boat.’
“Oh, is that your boat at your dock? I hadn’t noticed.”
Sharon Ross got up and took their glasses.
“I think we should stop drinking if we’re going to sneak you onto the Vaso di Miele. I’ll put on a pot of coffee and make some sandwiches.”
***
The Vaso di Miele seemed to be deserted as Sharon’s small Boston Whaler cabin cruiser idled gently in neutral about 100 feet from it in the channel. They had waited until almost 9 P.M. before setting out from her property. Desiderio’s yacht was darkened but the dock was illuminated at each end. Occasionally there was a violent swirl in the water near the spotlights.
“Snook,” Sharon said. “The light attracts baitfish and the snook gobble them.”
In the distance they could see only one or two lights in the house, although outdoor security lights bathed the grounds near the building itself.
“This is where I’m supposed to say that it’s too quiet,” Scarne said.
“There a lot going on at the university tonight,” Sharon said as Scarne, wearing only a bathing suit, prepared to go over the side. A black flashlight on a cord dangled from his wrist. “It’s graduation week. Tony is probably at one of the parties on campus.”
Scarne slipped over the side of the cabin cruiser that faced the channel. He looked up at Sharon.
“If you see anything you think I should know about, call me.”
His cell phone was in his suit in a small waterproof pouch that Sharon had provided.
“Be careful,” Sharon said, as he began swimming toward the Vaso di Miele.
***
Scarne climbed up a small ladder on the stern of the yacht. He crouched down on the deck and waited five minutes. The only sounds he heard came from the yacht bumping gently against the dock. He looked toward Desiderio’s mansion. Nothing. Staying low, he opened a door to an interior cabin. There was enough light streaming in from the dock so he could see that the first room was used primarily for dining. Once deeper into the craft, he was able to turn on the small flashlight that Sharon had also provided.
He soon located the main stateroom. There was only one small porthole in the room, and it faced out over the water. Scarne shut the door to the room and found a light switch. He then walked over to the large circular bed that dominated the room. He looked up. A smoke alarm on the cabin’s ceiling was centered directly over the bed. The aperture in the alarm’s center appeared larger than normal. It was dark, without a blinking red light to indicate a working battery.
A bitter memory stirred a grimly smiling Scarne, but he suppressed it as he climbed on the bed and unscrewed the alarm cover.
***
“How did it go?”
Sharon Ross passed Scarne a towel after he clambered back onto her boat.
“James Cameron probably used fewer cameras when he filmed Avatar,” Scane said. “In addition to the one directly over the bed in the main stateroom, I located others in bookcases and behind some paintings. There was even one in the wall behind a tacky ship’s wheel.”
“That’s sick. I noticed you didn’t bring back any videos.”
“If he shows them to his sex partners, they would probably be in his bedroom in the main house.”
“Another burglary? The house is probably alarmed.”
“I think I’ll go in the front door. In broad daylight.”
“And how do you propose to do that?”
Scarne smiled and reached into his waterproof pouch.
“With this,” he said, holding up a large watch.
“You stole Tony’s Rolex?”
“Business must be good. He had a couple of them in the drawer next to his bed.”
He turned the watch to show her the back.
“But this one will get us into the house.”
CHAPTER 25 - VANDALISM
“Here he is,” Scarne said, as a Sanibel police cruiser pulled up behind Sharon’s Maserati in Anthony Desiderio’s driveway. “Now remember, if anyone shows up while we’re inside, you just pull away and call me on my cell. We’ll meet you back at your place.”
Sharon leaned over and kissed him.
“Assuming no one gets killed,” she said. “This is kind of fun.”
Scarne got out and walked back to meet Fitch Horner, who was in uniform. He handed him the Rolex he’d taken from the yacht. Horner put it into an evidence bag.
“Who’s the lady?”
“A friend who is helping me out. Also, our early warning system. I’ll introduce you later.”
“Nice wheels.”
“Yeah. I figured a Maserati would fit in better in this neighborhood. My rental might draw some real cops.”
“Hey! I’m a real cop.”
“No offense, Fitch. I meant a local cop. I appreciate you doing this. I know you’re taking a risk.”
“If it helps get Herbie’s killers, I don’t give a shit,” Horner said.
“I only hope whoever is in the house doesn’t notice how far out of your jurisdiction you are.”
“There are so many jurisdictions down here, all he’ll see is cop.”
They reached the front entrance. Scarne, holding an attaché case he’d just bought at a Walmart, let Horner take the lead. The Sanibel cop rang the bell and then almost immediately began pounding on the door. It opened. It was the man Scarne encountered on his first visit to the house. He glanced at Scarne curiously but then concentrated on Horner.
“Yes, officer.”
“Are you Anthony Desiderio?”
“No. I work for him. He ain’t here.”
“Where is he?”
“At the school. Collier University. Graduation. He’s a big supporter.”
“When do you expect him back?”
“Not until late. Tonight. Parties, you know. What’s going on?”
They knew all this, which is why they’d come in the late morning.
“I’ll ask the questions. What’s your name?”
“Lucio.”
“Lucio what?”
“Lucio Russo. I think I got a right to know what you want.”
“We’re investigating a rash of boat burglaries, Mr. Russo” Horner said. “We’d like access to Mr. Desiderio’s yacht.”
“Nobody’s busted into Tony’s boat.”
“You sure of that?”
“Absolutely. It’s my job to keep an eye out for that kind of thing.”
Horner took out the Rolex.
“One of the guys we caught had this on him. Recognize it?”
The man took the watch and looked at its back. His eyes widened.
“Are those Mr. Desiderio’s initials?”
That was the reason Scarne had taken that particular watch.
“Jesus Christ. Yeah.”
“The perp said he got it last night. So, maybe, your eye was closed. So, maybe some other stuff is missing, too. Why don’t we go take a look before your boss gets back and has a hernia?”
“Jesus. Yeah, sure. Follow me, officer.”
Once they were in the house, Horner turned to Scarne.
“You stay here, Kardashian. In case the crime scene boys show up.”
Horner followed the man toward the back of the house and the dock. Scarne noticed a maid standing, cloth in hand, just off to the side. She looked frozen, like a statue. The police uniform had probably put images of deportation in her undocumented head, he realized.
“Do you speak English,” he said, gently.
She nodded.
“Please take me to the master bedroom.�
�
It was on the second floor and offered a magnificent view of the Gordon River.
“This is Mr. Desiderio’s bedroom?”
“Si.”
Scarne looked around.
“I don’t see a television.”
The frightened woman walked over to the foot of the massive bed and tapped a mahogany cabinet that was as high and as wide as the bed. Scarne walked over and saw the rectangular slots on its surface.
“How does it work?”
The maid walked to the headboard of the bed and pointed to a set of buttons. She looked at Scarne.
“Please,” he said.
She pushed one of the buttons and a large flat-screen TV sitting atop a DVD player whirred up from the cabinet.
“Terrific,” Scarne said. “Where does he keep his DVDs?”
The woman shrugged. Scarne assumed that she didn’t understand him. He pushed a button on the DVD player and a tray opened. He pointed at the empty tray and with his hand made a circle. The maid gave him a withering look.
“I know what a DVD is, señor. But I don’t know where he keeps them.”
Scarne stifled a laugh.
“I’m sorry, ma’am.” He walked over to her. “Listen, today might be a good day for you to go home early. And I’d stay away. There may be a lot of uniforms coming through here in a day or two.”
Her eyes widened. Then she said “gracias”.
She started to hurry out but at the door turned and pointed to a captain’s desk that sat facing the river.
“Maybe in that. Some drawers always locked.”
Scarne walked over to the hazel-brown-colored desk. It was a magnificent piece. The desktop, made of tooled leather, sat atop two pedestals, each housing three lockable drawers fitted with gilt brass handles. A small brass plaque inlay just above the center drawer identified the desk as originally belonging to “Lord Rupert Bascomb, Director General, East India Company Ltd.” Scarne, whose Greenwich Village apartment was near several dealers of antique furniture, recognized the black-striped wood as coromandel, which, a shop owner had told him, had been harvested to near extinction, presumably by some of Bascomb’s contemporaries in South East Asia.
PEDESTAL (JAKE SCARNE THRILLERS Book 5) Page 21
