The Black Palmetto

by Paul Carr

  Howard motioned for them to follow him, and they went to her office.

  When the undertaker asked her, she seemed to concentrate for a moment. “I remember the guy calling. He had a nice voice. Now that you mention it, he did sound familiar.”

  They gave her a minute, but she couldn’t come up with a name.

  “Well, think about it,” Lonnie said, “and call us if it comes to you.”

  Back in the lobby, Boozler said, “I suppose this person promised to pay you for this illegal service you performed.”

  “Well, uh, yes, he did, but I didn't think it was illegal.”

  “You've pulled some good ones, but this one might just land you in jail. I'll let you know if the prosecutor wants us to bring charges.”

  Howard Tim opened his mouth to speak, but coughed and tried again. “You know,” he stammered, “I don't get enough from the city to bury a John Doe or an indigent. I do that as a public service. And this man said he would send me a check for two thousand dollars if I got the deceased there by morning.”

  “You get enough for those burials, or you wouldn't do them.” Boozler took a deep breath and let it out. “I suggest you get on the phone and find that body.”

  They hurried out of the funeral home, and the chief's face still felt hot when they got back to the station. Boozler went into his office and slammed the door.

  About an hour later, Lonnie knocked then let himself in.

  “What is it?” Boozler asked. He’d taken a drink a few minutes earlier and hoped the lieutenant couldn’t smell it.

  Lonnie frowned. “Got some bad news. I found out the call originated from a burner phone that can’t be traced.”

  Boozler shook his head. “We can’t seem to catch any luck today.” He got up from his desk. “I’m leaving for a while. There’s something I need to take care of.”

  Chapter Eight

  Sam and Simone drove away from Chopin's, headed toward downtown Iguana Key.

  “Do you believe her?” Sam asked.

  “The waitress?”

  He nodded and adjusted the rearview mirror.

  “No, I think she's holding something back.”

  “Me, too. I wonder if they talked more than she said, and maybe she met him after work.”

  “Yeah, Spanner's a good-looking dude. I could go for him.”

  Sam grinned. “You mean if not for Karl?”

  Simone gave him a stare. “Yeah, except for that.”

  “I'm thinking maybe you just made up Karl to keep us focused on this mission.”

  She smiled and raised an eyebrow. “No, that's your ego talking. Karl is real.”

  “Whatever you say.”

  “No, really.”

  “Okay, fine. Back to the waitress. Let's get a sandwich and go back and wait for her to take a break. I smelled cigarettes when she came in to talk to us, so she'll probably head out for a smoke every hour or two.”

  They stopped at a drive-thru and got burgers and fries. Doubling back, they pulled into the parking lot next door to Chopin's so they could watch the back of his place. An hour passed, the air conditioner lugging to keep the car cool, before the woman came out. She got a cigarette from a Toyota, walked to the shade of the building, and lit up. With the smoke in her hand, she stood there, taking the occasional puff and staring into space. A minute or so later she took out her phone and punched some buttons.

  Sam backed out and drove to within a few yards of where she stood.

  “Go get her,” Sam said. “She might feel more threatened by me.”

  “You got that right.” Simone got out and strode over.

  When the barmaid saw her, she closed the phone and dropped her cigarette to the ground. After stubbing it with the toe of her shoe, she turned to go back inside. Simone caught up and stepped in front of her. Whatever she said got lost in the car noise. The girl shook her head and started around toward the door, but Simone blocked her again and took her by the arm. She tried to pull away, but couldn't manage it, and after a few moments of dirty looks and what might be harsh words, she seemed to sigh and headed to the car with her captor.

  “I told you,” she said from the back seat, “I didn't talk to the guy.”

  “We think you did,” Sam said. “And if you care anything about him at all, you should tell us what happened, because he could be in a lot of danger.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You know about Jake Bell dying in front of the place last night.”

  “Yeah, sure. You mean whoever killed Jake might kill Sean, too?”

  There it was. First name basis.

  “You got it.”

  Silence.

  “Chopin wouldn't like it if he knew I took off early that night to meet the guy. I said I didn't feel well and asked if I could leave.”

  “Don't worry,” Simone said. “He'll never know about it. Just tell us.”

  After hesitating again, she said, “Okay, if he's in some kind of danger, I want to help. Just don't mention it to my boss. I left about 9:00 p.m. that night and he was waiting in the parking lot. We went to my place for a while and had some drinks. He kept trying to call whoever it was he wanted to talk to, and the guy finally answered.”

  “What did he say?”

  “I don't know. I went in the other room to give him some privacy.”

  “How do you know it was a man?” Sam asked.

  “When the guy answered, Sean said, ‘Hey, dude, this is your old buddy.’ That's when I left the room, and when I came back in, he was off the phone. He said he had to leave, and he'd come back in a couple of hours. But he didn't. I waited until after midnight before going to bed. I decided he probably just wanted to get out of there and came up with the call as an excuse.”

  A glow shone on the woman's face in the sunlight that Sam hadn't noticed inside Chopin's. Her big baby blues and full lips, framed by the Nordic hair, were all quite appealing. Spanner hadn't left because he didn't want to be with her.

  “Think back,” Simone said. “Surely you heard something else, even a word or two might be important.”

  The barmaid shook her head. “No, nothing else.” But then she cast her eyes down to her side, as if in concentration. “Well, there was something. I didn’t know what it meant, and I don't see how it could be important.”

  Like pulling teeth.

  “Tell us,” Sam said. “You never know.”

  “Well, as I was leaving the room, I heard him say, ‘Yeah, from the Palmetto.’”

  “Palmetto?”

  “That's what he said.”

  “Could be the town of Palmetto,” Simone said, “up on the west coast of Florida.”

  “Yeah, it sounded like he was talking about a place.” After a protracted silence, she said, “Can I go? Chopin's gonna rake me over for staying out so long.”

  “Okay,” Sam said, “but one more thing. Were you calling him when we just drove up?”

  “Yeah, I was worried.”

  Simone reached over the seat. “Let's see the phone.” She took it, punched some buttons, and wrote down the number.

  Returning it, Simone said, “I entered my number. Call us if you remember anything else. We'll let you know if we find him.”

  The door opened and she started out, but stopped. “I just hope he isn't in any kind of trouble, even if he did stand me up.”

  As she hurried toward Chopin's back door, Sam turned the car around and drove away.

  “We don't know much about Spanner, do we?” he asked.

  “Not really. All they told me is that he's been working at the research center in Miami for about a month, and all of a sudden he left, taking the flash card and the money with him.”

  “They would've done a background check on him.”

  “They did, but he came up squeaky clean. He didn't work in a high security area, so they didn't spend a lot of time and money on it.”

  “But what he took came from a high security area, right?”

  “Yes, top secr
et. I don't think they know how he got in there.”

  “What do they do at the facility?”

  Shrugging, she said, “It's a defense contractor site. Some kind of research, maybe weapons development work.”

  “Is it big?”

  “I'd say. It covers a couple of square miles out in the boonies near Homestead.”

  Sam shook his head. “They have to know something else we can use. Call your contact and mention the reference to Palmetto.”

  Simone shrugged. “I can give it a try.” She opened her phone and punched in a number.

  ****

  “I knew he wouldn't tell me anything else,” Simone said upon hanging up. “He made that pretty clear in the briefing.”

  “Nothing on Palmetto?”

  “No, he said he didn’t know anything about it.”

  “Huh. You think he’s lying?

  “I wouldn’t be surprised. He seemed pretty snappy about me asking.”

  That didn’t sound good.

  Sam took out his phone and called John Templeton Smith III. J.T. had served as an intelligence officer in the Navy and became one of their top computer experts. Now, about a dozen years later, he used his knowledge in various criminal activities. He’d tried honest work a few times, but it didn’t work out. Too boring and not enough pay. The FBI kept him on their radar all the time, but he somehow managed to stay at least one step ahead of them.

  “Sammy, what's going on?”

  “J.T., I’m on a guy’s trail, and I wondered if you could help me out.” He told him about Spanner and Palmetto and gave him the guy's phone number.

  “You think that's his real name?”

  “Probably not, but it's all we have.”

  “Who're you working with down there?”

  Sam glanced at his partner and grinned. “Simone.”

  She raised an eyebrow.

  J.T. whistled. “Is she as hot as ever?”

  “Yep, smoking.”

  Simone hit him on the arm, but smiled, her face flush.

  “Okay, I'll check this out, but something is nagging me about the Palmetto thing.”

  “What?”

  “Well, if I remember correctly, a few years ago there was a rumor going around about something called Black Palmetto. It was supposed to be an elite assassination unit. Not exactly government-sanctioned, so nobody ever owned up to it. But if a kill couldn't be explained away by the other groups, the rumors credited the Black Palmetto with it. It might have been just legend, though. Your guy probably couldn't have anything to do with that.”

  After Sam closed the phone, Simone said, “Do you think it's wise to bring J.T. in on this?”

  “Sure, why not?”

  “Isn't he a little light in the integrity department?”

  “Some people might think so, but he's never hung me out to dry.” He said it with a pang of guilt. While J.T. had always been pretty loyal, he could get greedy when a lot of money figured into the equation, and Sam always kept that in mind.

  Simone rolled her eyes. “Okay, but if this job turns upside-down because of him, it's on you.”

  “Hey, chill out. It'll be fine. You know anything about Black Palmetto?”

  She frowned. “Was that his explanation for the Palmetto reference?”

  “No, but he mentioned it. You didn't answer my question.”

  “Yes, I know about it. It got disbanded a year or so ago, after a couple of the operatives went off the reservation and killed their handlers.”

  “You're kidding.”

  “No, we had to go in and clean up the mess. We erased everything we could find.”

  “What happened to the assassins?”

  She gave him a stare. “Sorry, that's classified.”

  That probably meant they had died. He was about to ask why she hadn't told him all this earlier, but his phone chirped.

  Glancing at the display, he said, “It's Lora, the reporter.”

  Simone smirked.

  “Hello.”

  “The story's ready, and I'll be here until four if you want to take a peek.” She gave him directions to the place.

  “Okay, I'll be there in about ten minutes.” He closed the phone.

  Sam told Simone he wanted to go by there and check out what she had written. “Shouldn't take long, though.”

  “Do you think that's really necessary?”

  “Yeah. I don't want any attention I can avoid.”

  A smile grew on her face. “You really think I'm smoking?”

  “Did I say that?”

  “Yes, you said it.”

  He grinned. “Then I guess I do.”

  She reached across and ruffled his hair.

  ****

  They located the newspaper office, went inside, and found Lora Diamond's cubicle. She turned in her chair and handed Sam a paper copy of the story. After reading it, he gave it to Simone. She scanned it for about ten seconds and handed it back.

  He laid it on her desk. “Looks good.” She had kept his involvement to a minimum.

  Lora leaned back in her chair and smiled, her eyes locking on his a couple of beats too long.

  “I always protect my sources. Let me know if there's anything I can do to help you find your guy.”

  Though he didn't have much use for reporters, this one seemed to be growing on him. Simone elbowed him in the side. “Let's go.”

  He turned to her and she rolled her eyes, as if to say, Can't you see she's playing you?

  “Okay,” Sam said, “I guess that does it, for now.”

  Lora’s eyes widened, as if she just remembered something. “Oh, yeah. I went to the construction site up in Marathon, but didn't see anything out of the ordinary. It looks like they might be about half-finished with the shopping center. Nobody was working, probably because of Jake's death.”

  “We'll drop by there,” Sam said, “but not today.”

  “I’ll give you the address when you’re ready to go. Oh, yeah, I set up an appointment for you with the attorney. I know what you said about not needing one, but this isn't Miami. You might be in a precarious position. He said he'd see you at 4:30 p.m.”

  Sam glanced at the clock on the wall of her cubicle: 4:25 p.m. Sam didn’t want to meet with the guy, but he didn’t want to be rousted by the police, either.

  “You've got time. His office is right across the street.”

  ****

  Charles Ford seemed frail, had thinning hair, and stood only about five-two. He had a facial tic under his right eye, and wore an empty expression that seemed almost catatonic. Lora had filled Sam in before going over so he wouldn't be surprised. “Don't stare,” she’d said. “He hates that.”

  After introductions, Sam and Simone took a seat in front of Ford's desk. The lawyer wore a beige suit that appeared to be made of linen. He smiled at Simone. The tic rippled down the side of his face.

  “Okay, tell me what happened,” Ford said.

  Sam decided to play along. When he finished the story, Ford nodded. “That jibes with what Lora said. It's a good thing you came in.”

  “They didn't seem too interested in arresting me for it.”

  Between tics, Ford's face morphed into something that resembled a smile, like an expression on a cat with a mouse under its paw.

  “Wait until Morton Bell enters the picture,” Ford said.

  “What do you mean?”

  “His only son was murdered. After he pitches a fit, they’ll be glad to lock you up.”

  “I don't think they can do that,” Sam said.

  The attorney did the cat smile again. “They can do anything they want. You're a stranger in town. You made an appointment to meet Jake. An hour later they found him dead. That will be simple logic for Morton Bell.”

  “You paint a pretty dismal picture of the local law.”

  Shrugging, the lawyer said, “Left to their own devices, they’ll never find this killer, but they will need someone to blame.”

  Chapter Nine

  Ch
ief Boozler returned to headquarters shortly before 5:00 p.m. and passed Lonnie's desk on his way to his own office.

  “I found out about the hearse, Chief.”

  “What hearse is that, Lonnie?”

  “You know, the one the gravediggers used to move the body. The state boys said a vehicle crashed through the rail of a bridge up above Key Largo, over Blackwater Sound. It might be the reason those two clowns never made it to Lauderdale with that body. And that isn't all. A bomb of some kind was used. Maybe military. They found pieces of metal and human tissue. But most of it probably fell into the water.”

  The chief stared for a moment. “Okay, good work, Lonnie. Get me the details on that bomb. There aren't many places to get a military bomb around The Keys.”

  “I can't imagine why anyone would want to blow up a hearse.”

  “What if someone wanted to destroy the body? You know that call to Howard Tim was a phony.”

  “But why would somebody want to destroy a corpse?” Lonnie asked, smiling.

  The chief rolled his eyes.

  “Use your head. Remember the guy who's coming from Tallahassee to examine the tattoo? Maybe somebody didn't want him to see it.”

  “You really think so? Oh, oh yeah. I get the picture now.”

  About time.

  “Get Dudley to help you, Lonnie. No need in you shouldering all the responsibility on this.”

  “That's okay. I can handle it. Dudley's got other things to do.”

  “Yeah, well, get him anyway. That's an order.” He stepped away, headed for his office, leaving Lonnie to pout at his desk.

  Before entering the door, he asked his secretary if the parole officer had called.

  “No calls. I’ve been at my desk since you left earlier.”

  Scratching his head, he said, “Huh, he's supposed to be here by five.”

  Shrugging, the secretary grabbed her purse and stood to leave. “Unless you have something else, Chief, I'm calling it a day.”

  “No, that's okay. I won't be here much longer, myself.”

  Back behind his desk he turned his concentration to a budget proposal the city manager had left there the day before.