Castle Cay

by Lee Hanson

  The family had certain cops and FBI agents who kept them informed about things. Avram Solomon’s name had come up in an FBI meeting. Apparently, an agent named “Dixon” was asking if anyone “had anything” on Solomon.

  “So? They don’t have anything on him,” said Guy.

  “Yeah? Well, they will, if they start looking,” said Silvio.

  Guy had first met with Avram Solomon in 1994 to talk about Castle Cay, and he had to admit that the arrogant bastard had balls. Avram had heard about the construction activity on the eastern side of the island from Drum, the caretaker. He’d immediately gone to the island and headed for the site on horseback.

  Of course, Guy’s armed guards stopped him.

  Avram blew a gasket.

  “I own the fucking place”, he said and demanded to be taken to the person in charge. As if he was in a position to demand anything, surrounded by guys holding rifles! But his audacity worked. They led him to Joey Tedesco, who was overseeing things.

  Avram never even got off his horse.

  “You tell your boss that I want to meet him in Boston. My family owns this fucking island, and I’m ready to make things a lot easier for him.”

  With that, he’d handed Joey a piece of paper with his name and phone number, wheeled his horse around and left… unimpeded.

  Guy had set up a meeting with him right afterwards. It was agreed that Avram would get a piece of the action for getting rid of the caretaker, and for allowing the Tambini family unfettered and unreported use of Castle Cay.

  By 2006, the Caribbean had gotten too hot, what with Homeland Security and the Bahamian government cooperating with the Feds. They’d shut the route down. It was easier to get the drugs in over the Mexico-California border.

  They were still dealing with Avram Solomon, though. They stored the stuff in an old, closed up gas station on a corner lot owned by him, next to Solomon’s Boston store. There was also a lab built into the back of a warehouse surrounded by woods, behind a storage lot Solomon owned in Waltham.

  It was worth it to the Tambini family not to have these places in their name. Avram Solomon had balls of steel and no scruples…and they paid him well for it. But he was a greedy bastard…too greedy for his own good.

  “You let Solomon know that he better keep a low profile if he wants to keep our business,” said Silvio in quiet voice that no one took lightly.

  •

  Avram was on the phone for some time, reassuring Guy Tambini that there was “nothing to worry about”. When he was finally able to hang up, he was thoroughly irked. He knew that, somehow, the inquiry at the FBI had originated with that bitch, Julie O’Hara.

  First, there was the problem of his brother deciding out of the blue to visit Castle Cay…and now this!

  I need to dump that fucking island. Why couldn’t the fag just sign the papers? Forty fucking million? This should have been so simple!

  The cruise line had no interest in Castle Cay’s history, other than the Blackbeard legend. They planned to build over everything, to convert the island into a pirate-themed port. From Avram’s view, that would physically and psychologically erase the island’s connection to drug trafficking…and to himself.

  At least the Keystone Kops arrested David Harris. I wish him a speedy trial.

  * * * * *

  Chapter 42

  Julie awoke to a soft tapping on her bedroom door.

  “Julie? It’s me…David.”

  “Hmm, c’mon in,” she said.

  David entered, closing the door behind him, and sat on the wicker chair near the bed. He was wearing light khaki shorts and a matching shirt. His blond hair was parted in the middle and it fell on either side of his face. With the electronic ankle cuff on, Julie thought he looked like a forlorn cocker spaniel with his collar in the wrong place.

  “I’m sorry, Julie,” he said. “I know it was lousy of me to lie to you about Rolly. We knew it didn’t look good, our being together; and we both thought Marc had killed himself.”

  “It’s all right, David, people do strange things under stress. But you have to tell your lawyer, you know. By the way, Jake called while you were sleeping yesterday. He’s coming over this morning about ten. What time is it? “

  “It’s eight o’clock,” he said.

  “I better get dressed,” she said, getting out of bed. “Oh, did you get my note about Joe Garrett staying here? I hope that’s okay?”

  “Oh, yes. It’s fine. He’s already up. Listen…there’s something else I didn’t tell you, Julie. About Rolly. He was convicted on a drug charge, ‘possession’, and he’s on probation. That was another reason that we didn’t want to say that he was here.”

  “Drugs? What kind of a person is he? What do you really know about this guy, David?”

  “It was only marijuana, and he didn’t even buy it for himself!”

  Oh, my God. Naïve doesn’t begin to describe you, thought Julie. Holding her tongue, she said, “Well, whatever he is, you’ve got to tell Jake Goldman.”

  “I know,” he said. “I called Rolly this morning and told him I was going to do that. I felt it was only fair to warn him.”

  Brilliant.

  “Hmm. Well, let me get dressed before Jake gets here,” she said.

  David left, and Julie sat for a moment just shaking her head in bewilderment. His innocence and trust were truly amazing.

  It would have made it easy for Rolly…

  Julie got up and took a quick shower. Afterwards, she put on some shorts and a tee shirt and joined David and Joe in the kitchen. The French doors facing the water were open, and a warm breeze filled the house with fresh, salty air. She noticed that there were a few clouds but, for the most part, it was sunny.

  “Good morning, Joe.”

  He had the thermal coffee pot in one hand and three mugs in the other.

  “Morning, Merlin. The weather’s calmed down; it’s a nice day! David suggested that we have our breakfast out by the pool.”

  She saw that David was already there, placing things on the table.

  “Well, this looks good!” she said, stepping outside. There was fresh fruit and juice, sliced ham and muffins.

  “Help yourself,” he said.

  Joe poured each of them a cup of coffee.

  “What a great spot this is, David. Are one of those yours?” he said smiling, indicating the two huge yachts at anchor across the canal.

  “I wish,” said David. “That’s ours, over there on the right,” he said pointing to a cigarette boat covered with canvas and secured to a lift. Boyz Boat, Key West was painted on the rear. “I’m glad it’s up out of the water; it’s pretty rough out there.”

  Julie had noticed that the yachts were rocking quite a bit.

  “What’s up with ‘Carlo’? Anyone see the forecast?” she asked.

  “It’s stalled over Haiti and Jamaica,” said Joe. “They’re getting inundated. They expect it to strengthen as it moves west.”

  “I hope it stays south of Cuba,” said David. He held up his leg with the ankle cuff. “I’m not allowed to e-vac-uate,” he said, drawing out the word.

  They all laughed.

  Julie was glad to see David’s droll, theatrical personality back in place. Perhaps it was a good time to ask him a question. “David, I was wondering…how did you meet Rolly?”

  “I think we actually met at the Sandpiper. Yes, it was at the gallery, when he was here on a vacation. He’s one of Susan’s artists now. Marc knew him from Boston. They went to the same art school up there,” he said.

  From Boston…does he know Avram?

  “Speaking of that,” said David, “would you like to see the studio, Joe?”

  “Sure,” said Joe, setting down his coffee.

  The phone rang just as they walked back inside and David picked it up.

  “Hi! Yes, I’m fine…Oh, yes. I’d forgotten all about it, what with everything… Can I call you this afternoon? My attorney is coming over this morning. Okay, good…talk to y
ou later. Bye.”

  “That was Susan,” said David, as he led the way upstairs. “I completely forgot about Marc’s New York show. She needs some more paintings. I’ll have to let her come over today or tomorrow. She needs time for framing and shipping.”

  “They’re still going ahead with the show?” said Julie.

  “Oh, yes. There’s a contract with Herzog Gallery in New York.”

  “What a view!” said Joe, stepping up into the loft.

  “Yes, it is beautiful…outside,” said David. “I don’t have to tell you that the cleaning lady doesn’t set foot up here. I’m even forbidden to touch anything.” Sighing, he said, “Well, not now, I guess.

  “Come on over here,” he said, walking toward the finished canvases on the rack. “Here’s some more of Marc’s work.”

  Joe began to go flip through, admiring them one at a time. There were some that Julie hadn’t seen, too. It was easy to recognize Marc’s style…the riotous colors, the bold brush strokes. There was a consistency, whether it was Key West storefronts and tourists, fishing boats or sunsets. At the end of the stack were two paintings that were clearly different from the rest. They were somber, done in shades of gray, from silver to black with deepening blues. Palms bent under dark clouds, and waves lashed the shore. Each had NFS - Not For Sale - on top of the canvas frame.

  “Are these Marc’s?” asked Joe.

  “Yes,” said Julie. “It’s Castle Cay. He did them right after his mother died. That was Marc’s last visit there, I believe,” said Julie, pulling out the painting. “Yes. See here, under his signature? 1993.”

  “They’re beautiful, haunting,” said Joe, looking at Julie.

  Does he know about Dan?

  “Uh, let’s go downstairs and finish our breakfast,” said David.

  Julie returned the painting to the stack. They followed David out the rear studio door to an open deck, which partially covered the master suite below. Descending the outside stairs to the pool patio, Julie noticed that the breeze had picked up and clouds were scudding by.

  “Joe, maybe we should go to the Sandpiper Gallery today.”

  It was shortly after ten when Jake Goldman arrived. Julie opened the door to let him in. The wind gusting through the open doors across the room slammed the front door shut behind him. The two of them jumped, startled.

  “Boy! That’s some wind,” said Jake. “I hope Carlo isn’t turning our way.”

  Julie rushed to close the French doors, while David offered Jake some coffee. They all took a seat around the dining room table.

  “All right now,” said Jake, opening his briefcase, “Julie and Joe, I want to know everything that you two have discovered thus far that may possibly relate to this case.

  “But first, David, I need to go over the whole sequence of events with you, and I want the complete truth. I’m going to take notes and also record this entire meeting. Of course, anything you tell me is confidential and we can turn off the recorder at any time, if you wish. Now, why don’t you start with the dinner party you and Marc were hosting the night before he died.”

  This time David told the whole story, including Rolly’s pretense of leaving with Susan and immediately returning. David stressed that they’d all consumed a lot of wine, and that both he and Rolly had slept soundly through the night. They had awakened with headaches. It was around nine o’clock and they had gotten up and started looking around for Marc. David said that he went into Marc’s bedroom and found him, and that he’d called out to Rolly to come in. According to David they were “both totally shocked.”

  Julie could tell that Jake Goldman was used to clients lying to him; he didn’t seem fazed by David’s latest account of the truth. But he did look puzzled.

  “Why didn’t you both stay there and wait for the police? Why did you cover for this man, Rolly, or Roland Archer?” asked Jake, clarifying the name for the tape.

  David explained about their affair being secret, and about Rolly being on probation.

  “David, do you realize that Rolly may have lied to you, that he may be a killer?” asked Jake.

  “I don’t believe that,” said David flatly.

  Jake quickly turned off the recorder. “We need to go to the police station and revise your earlier statement,” he said. “In essence, you didn’t precisely lie. They asked you when Rolly left and you told them. Your other guest, Susan Dwyer corroborated that. They didn’t ask you if Rolly returned.

  “Additionally, you did not discover the body together. You, alone, discovered it, just as you stated. The fact is that you called Rolly in, afterwards. Of course, you were embarrassed about his presence, but you’ve decided that, at whatever cost to you, they need to have all the facts.

  “Lying about sex is vastly more acceptable, David, than lying about the facts of a murder. Now, tell me again, did either of you touch anything before the police came?”

  “No. I touched Marc to see if he was still alive,” said David, tears filling his eyes, “even though I knew he wasn’t. That’s all. We went into the kitchen and talked, and then Rolly left and I called 911.”

  “Did Rolly have a car?” asked Jake.

  “Yes. An old Toyota Corolla,” said David. “I don’t know what year. It’s beige, I think.”

  “Could any of the neighbors have seen it?” asked Jake.

  “I don’t know. Maybe,” said David.

  Then Jake turned to us.

  “All right, Julie, Joe. What have you got for me?” he asked.

  “Marc was the owner of a private island, Castle Cay,” said Julie. “He owned it in a trust fund, managed by his brother, Avram Solomon, in Boston.”

  She told him that, coincidentally, it was currently in the process of being sold.

  “For forty million,” added Joe.

  “That is an interesting ‘coincidence’,” said Jake. “And who gets the money now?” he asked.

  “Eventually, Marc’s uncle,” said Julie. “But the important thing - I think - is that David has nothing to do with the island or its sale! As for him inheriting this house, David was a joint owner, who put his own money into the property. The taxes and insurance are high here, too, and David has very little income. He was better off financially with Marc alive…particularly since the demand for Marc’s work was taking off.”

  Joe leaned forward.

  “We have some suspicion about the dealings of the brother, Avram Solomon, in Boston, Jake,” he said. “I went to Castle Cay. It’s an outer island in the Abacos chain, in the Bahamas, and it’s obvious it was used for drug trafficking in the recent past…most likely while Avram Solomon was managing it, in the trust.”

  “But not now?”

  “No. But, whenever it was, we think Marc Solomon knew nothing about it.”

  “He absolutely didn’t!” said David.

  “And, Jake, Marc was planning a visit to Castle Cay before signing on the dotted line,” said Julie. “It seems that Avram Solomon, as trustee, now has the power to sign the deal.”

  “But he doesn’t get the money,” said Jake.

  “No,” said Julie.

  “David, does your friend Rolly know Marc’s brother, Avram?” asked Jake.

  “I don’t think so.”

  Julie felt compelled to speak up.

  “Rolly is from Boston originally, though.”

  “Hm-m. Very interesting,” said Jake. “Well…keep digging. You two are doing a good job. I’ll be looking into this, too. Keep me informed, okay?”

  They nodded.

  “Well, David,” he said, snapping his briefcase shut, “let’s go get this over with, shall we?”

  •

  Julie and Joe went with them to the police station, where David revised his previous statement. An all points bulletin was issued for Rolly Archer, who was - by that time - nowhere to be found.

  * * * * *

  Chapter 43

  Rolly was as scared as a squirrel halfway across a turnpike. He was out on the Gulf of Mexico in a th
irty-foot, fiberglass cabin cruiser named Miranda built in the early eighties. The wind was howling and driving the rain sideways, and the boat was dropping into twelve foot troughs. Rolly was an avid diver and a skilled sailor who had been caught in bad weather before, but he had never experienced anything like this.

  He laughed at his own stupidity, as the boat lurched and slammed into the waves. How could he have expected David to keep his presence a secret? He’d had no choice but to run. There wouldn’t be any bail or probation this time. He would go to prison!

  Rolly figured that he would never get out of Florida in his car, that his only hope of freedom would be Mexico. But now, it looked like he might not make it across the Gulf. What a fool he’d been. What a stupid fool!

  He wrestled with the wheel, struggling to stay on the southwestern course.

  I shouldn’t have taken the money!

  I shouldn’t have moved here!

  No. That was bullshit.

  No matter what, the Keys were the best part of his life. Rolly remembered how difficult it was growing up in Boston’s North End.

  His father had taken off when he was four, and he and his mother had ended up on welfare. She sank into a deep depression, from which she never recovered.

  •

  Rolly remembered her sitting there, mesmerized by the TV, in an apartment full of clutter. Paths wound through piles of junk from one darkened room to another.

  Once in a while, she spoke to him.

  He would have left, but there was no place to go.

  His school life had been another kind of hell, controlled by a macho Italian gang. To fit in and survive, he’d learned to act as tough as the rest of them, but he lived in constant fear of being exposed.

  When he finally graduated, he had immediately found a clerical job in a hospital and escaped to Brookline, far away from the North End.

  The Art Institute was nearby and he registered for a course in oil painting. It had been necessary to change his schedule and work nights, and it took every extra dollar he had to pay for the twice-a-week classes.