by Paul Carr
J.T. stopped work and turned around. “Yeah, it was Senator Blaine, from Florida. He came from a wealthy family, graduated West Point, and became a war hero. Good credentials for politics.”
“Whitehall told us he's the one who got his medical ticket pulled,” Simone said.
Sam gave her a slow nod. “A guy like Blaine would have the kind of juice to get the psychiatrist blackballed.”
****
The next morning, they had breakfast in the hotel restaurant. As the server poured a second cup of coffee, Sam's phone chirped. He took it out and peered at the display.
“It's Lora Diamond.”
“Who?” J.T. asked.
“His reporter friend,” Simone said. She made a face.
“Oh.” J.T. gave Sam a grin and nodded approval.
Sam opened the phone and said, “Hello.”
“Hey, it's Lora. Where are you?”
“Why, what's up?”
“The police are looking for you.” She told him that three more people had been killed, two of them at the funeral home.
“Lonnie said the coroner told Chief Boozler that the murders were all linked somehow, and that it looked like they had all been killed by a professional.”
“A professional?”
“Yes. As in hit man.”
As in Black Palmetto.
“How were they killed?”
“Howard Tim, the undertaker, was stabbed with a trocar. You know what that is?”
“Yes, it's used for embalming.”
“That's right. I had to ask Lonnie what it was. Anyway, the other person, Mr. Tim's bookkeeper, died of a broken neck.”
“You said three. Who was the other?”
“Morton Bell. Jake's father. They found him in his car in a strip mall parking lot.”
Sam waited for her to say somebody had seen him dump the body, but she didn’t.
“Huh, how’d he die?”
“He was stabbed, too. They arrested a man named Ted Carter, after finding a bloody knife at his home.”
“Then what do they want with me?”
“Lonnie said something about of a hearse getting blown up with a body in it.”
“What body?”
“You remember when we met at the diner the other night, I mentioned a murder that happened two months ago?”
Though only a couple of nights before, it seemed like a long time ago.
“I showed you the clippings of my stories about it when we went to my house.”
“Yeah, I remember.”
She told him that Lieutenant Cates had said someone called the funeral home a few days ago and asked for the murder victim's body to be exhumed and transported to Fort Lauderdale for a funeral. It had happened the night before a parole officer was due in town to examine the body.
“The hearse got blown up on a bridge over Blackwater Sound, north of Key Largo. And it wasn't an accident. A military bomb was used. That's what led them to Ted Carter. He's a war vet, and they knew he had explosives out at his place.”
“That's when they found the knife with blood on it?”
“Yep. They're checking it for prints.”
“Okay, then, back to my question. Why are the police after me?”
“Oh, yeah. Lonnie said you have a background with explosives.”
“Why would he think that?” Sam asked, though he already knew the answer.
“He said they did some research on you. Something to do with the Navy. He wouldn’t tell me any more than that.”
So the murderer destroyed any evidence the parole officer might have found on the two-month-old corpse, and had killed the funeral home folks to cover his tracks. Very thorough. If the knife at Carter's place turned out to be a murder weapon, Sam doubted they would find any prints.
Silence on the line stretched into several moments.
“You still there?” she asked.
“Yeah, I'm here.”
“Well, you never answered my question. Where are you?”
He wondered if she might be funneling information to the cops.
“Not in Iguana Key, that's for sure.”
Another silence.
“It's okay if you won't tell me, but you need to call your lawyer. I guess you didn't give him your phone number. He called me asking about you.”
“What does he want?”
“He wants to keep you out of jail.”
Chapter Thirteen
Sam hung up the call with Lora and dialed Charles Ford.
“You need to make yourself scarce for a while,” Ford said. “The police don't really have anything on you, but they can make your life pretty miserable. I have a cabin on the back side of the Key that few people know about. You're welcome to stay there if you want.”
They left the restaurant a few minutes later and Sam drove, with J.T. following in his rental.
“Did he say how big this cabin is?” Simone asked.
“No, but we can take a look. If it doesn't work out, we can always come back up here.”
They met Ford two hours later in the parking lot of Chopin's, and he led them to his place. The trip took them over a state road through pines, palmetto and marsh, with a narrow waterway along one side as they neared their destination. Cranes and egrets fed at the water's edge, their bills spearing unseen prey beneath the surface.
When they finally turned off, they followed a shell-and-sand driveway, bordered on both sides with live oaks, to a home constructed of cypress and limestone. Less than a hundred feet through the trees lay the blue-green of the Gulf of Mexico.
Ford killed the engine and motioned for Sam to join him.
Inside the car Sam said, “Some cabin.”
“Yes, there should be plenty of room,” the attorney said, glancing at Simone and J.T. in the other cars. “Did you hear about the funeral home murders?”
“Lora mentioned it.” He added that she'd also told him about the police finding Morton Bell's body and arresting Ted Carter.
Ford sighed. “His mother called before I left the office and hired me to represent him.”
“Do you think he did killed those people?” Sam asked.
“Of course not. Carter's no fool. He would've disposed of the knife and explosives had he been guilty. Arresting him takes the heat off the police for a while, but he’s just a pawn.” He glanced at Sam. “They probably see you as the chess master.”
Chess master. Sam wondered if Ford really believed Carter to be innocent, or just said so because they were paying his bill. He also wondered if the jailed suspect might be one of the two Palmetto men from Florida, either of whom might be a champion game player.
“I told you before,” Sam said, “I didn't kill anybody.”
“Oh, I know that.”
After a few moments of silence, Sam said, “You have any idea who the killer might be?”
“Yes, but an idea is all it is at this point.”
Sam waited, but the attorney didn't say anything else.
“If you know something, you need to tell me.”
Ford shook his head. “Sorry. Maybe after I confirm my suspicions. I’m headed to Miami to do just that as soon as I leave here. I’ll let you know how that turns out.”
He started the car, and Sam got out and watched him drive away. The guy might know even less than Sam did, but at least they had a good place to stay, hopefully without the cops nosing around.
Using the key Ford had given him, he unlocked the cabin door and they went inside. Carrying their bags, they passed through a living room with tan leather furniture and prints on the walls of sailboats and marsh scenes. It also had a limestone fireplace, and Sam wondered if the weather ever got cold enough to use it. Down the hall they passed two bedrooms and a bathroom and ended at the room where Ford probably slept. It had a private bath and a walk-in closet.
Simone dropped her bag on the bed. “I call this one.”
“Fine with me,” Sam said.
J.T. grinned, a look that said, Guess y
ou two are on the rocks.
“You get those mug shots yet?”
“Hey, give me a chance,” J.T. said, moving back down the hall.
Taking one of the other bedrooms, Sam tossed his bag atop a trunk. He took off his shoes, lay down on the bed, and stared at the ceiling.
“You napping?” Simone asked from the doorway.
“Nah, just thinking about Spanner's car.”
“Yeah? What about it?”
“While J.T.'s running down those photos, I thought we'd ride around and make another search for it. I noticed the road outside follows the shore on this side of the island, and we didn't cover that area before.”
“I'm game.”
She climbed onto the bed and lay on her side. Propped on her elbow, she kissed him on the cheek. He could feel her warm breath on his neck.
“How about sleeping in my room tonight?”
“Sure.” Sam felt his heart kick into high gear.
“Just to sleep, nothing else.”
He tried to hide his disappointment, but it must have shown in his face.
“I just don't want J.T. to get any ideas,” she said.
“You think he'd do that?”
“Maybe.” She got up from the bed and stood there. “I'd hate to have to shoot him. He'd bleed all over everything.”
“That's considerate of you.”
She studied him for a moment, smiling at his sarcasm. “Your lawyer would probably appreciate it.”
****
Boozler sat with his eyes closed and his elbows on the desk, massaging his temples. He looked up as the mayor ambled past the empty desk of the chief’s secretary and rapped on the doorjamb.
“Did you get the message that I called?”
The chief scanned across his desk and picked up a yellow note.
“Yeah, I've been busy. I guess you heard about the murders.”
The mayor shook his head and took a seat. “It's bad about Morton Bell.” His feet didn’t quite reach the floor. Boozler had never noticed that before, the mayor normally in his own office behind the desk when they talked.
“He stopped by here last night. Wanted me to arrest Mackenzie. I told him I couldn't, and he left here on his way to your office.”
When he didn’t say anything, Boozler wondered if he had avoided the old man.
“I heard you found a murder weapon at Ted Carter's place and brought him in.”
“We found a knife with blood on it. The technicians are examining it now. Could be a murder weapon. He swears he doesn't know how it got there.”
“You think he did it?”
“Maybe, but I thought I'd question Mackenzie again, if we can find him. He didn't answer the door at the motel. We called his lawyer, and he said he didn't know where he was.”
The mayor shifted in his chair and crossed his legs.
“I'll bet Madame Zena was beside herself, finding Morton's body like that. I heard they had a thing going at one time.”
“That was the rumor.”
“It'd be a real shame if his company closed down. We'd lose a lot of jobs.”
Boozler shrugged. “Yeah, I suppose. Hadn’t really thought about that, yet.”
“Did you call in Tallahassee or the FBI?”
“What?” The chief felt his face flush.
Dale Edison stepped into the office. “Got a minute?” Then he apparently saw Boozler's face and turned to the corner where the little man sat. “Sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt.”
“No problem,” Boozler said. “We're just talking about Morton.”
Edison clicked his tongue. “Yeah, that was a shocker. I thought I'd watch behind the glass while you interrogate Carter, if that's okay with you.”
“Fine. It’ll be a while. His attorney just got here and he's in with him now.”
Boozler pointed at the chair next to the mayor, and Edison sat down.
“Let me guess. Charles Ford?”
“You got it.”
“What about the state guys, Rich?” the mayor asked.
The DA frowned. “Huh?”
“Oh, he was just asking about bringing in the Florida Department of Law Enforcement or the FBI,” Boozler said, flipping his hand as if shooing a fly.
The mayor didn’t seem to notice his brushoff. “It would be better if we called them, rather than them finding out from the newspaper. Could be a problem.”
“There's no problem,” Boozler said, his voice rising. “We have everything under control.”
“Yeah,” Edison chimed in, “Those guys would be in our hair for a month.”
“Okay, I want to go on record that I suggested calling them.”
The chief just stared, thinking the guy should go work on the garbage contract, or city PR, and stay out of the business of law enforcement. The little man seemed to read his mind. He frowned, hopped down from the chair, and hurried out of the office. Without Morton Bell around, he probably knew he wouldn’t be mayor long.
Edison remained in his chair. “What’s his problem?”
“He’s probably getting nervous since his sponsor is gone.”
“Oh, yeah. Hadn’t thought about that. On a different note, did you get any more information on Mackenzie?”
“No, why do you ask?”
Edison had a strange expression on his face. Boozler had seen it before, recently, when the powder had puffed out of the Bible.
“I’ve just been thinking, about the SEAL connection you mentioned, and I wonder if he might be here for something other than what he told you.”
“Like what?”
“Well, I don’t know, but maybe we could sweat it out of him if you brought him in.”
The chief wondered what Edison was hiding, and if it was something he himself should worry about.
“We’re trying to find him now. I’ll let you know when we pick him up.”
****
Sam and Simone rode out of the driveway onto the state road that followed the Gulf coastline of Iguana Key. The area turned out to be more developed than Sam had thought. Most of the houses along the road were as opulent as Ford's, but some were basic dwellings that appeared to have been there for fifty years or more.
Moving about thirty miles per hour into the sun, they scanned the driveways for Spanner's vehicle, and paid special attention to the undeveloped wooded and marshy areas between the homes for any unusual colors or reflections that might indicate a ditched automobile. After an hour or so of searching, they reached a bend in the highway and what appeared to be an abandoned marina. The old place seemed to signal a dead end of the coastal area, the road then heading back toward town. Sam turned the car around in the empty, weed-choked lot. A dock house sat at the head of several empty boat slips, and a faded tin sign nailed to its front wall read Captain Short's Marina. An aged cruiser about forty feet long lay berthed against the dock at the far end of the marina. Painted white, except for a sea-blue stripe around the top edge of the hull, it appeared as though it been well maintained. Maybe Captain Short's home. A shiver ran across the back of Sam's neck, but he wasn't sure why. Just a boat.
They headed back up the highway, the sun now at their backs. Though moving faster than before, they continued to scan the landscape.
As they crossed a bridge over a creek, Simone, said, “Stop. I saw a reflection over there through the scrub.” She pointed toward the Gulf side to a spot through marsh grass and palmetto. He eased the car to the shoulder. They got out and crossed the road.
Something glinted through the reeds, maybe thirty feet into the undergrowth. Could be glass or the bright trim of a car. Twin tire tracks led down the slope, getting progressively deeper into the marsh.
They trampled through reeds for several feet until the soil turned spongy. Water glistened ahead, and about twenty feet beyond that Sam got a closer look at what they had seen from the road: the rear edge of a car roof. The creek fed into the large pool around the vehicle, and floating weeds covered much of the surface.
�
�I'll probably need a light to see anything down there,” he said.
He hurried back to the car and got a diving light from the trunk. As an afterthought, he stretched on a pair of latex gloves, and went back and shed his clothes, down to his underwear.
“Watch out for snakes,” Simone said.
Sam raised an eyebrow. “Thanks, I never would've thought about that.”
“Yeah, well, you're the diver, not me.”
The mud bank descended after a couple of feet, dropping him up to his neck in the weeds. After filling his lungs, he flipped on the light, submerged, and swam down through the underwater jungle. The driver’s window had been partially lowered, probably so the car would sink faster. He peered inside through the greenish water at the front seats. No body. A quick scan of the rear seat revealed the same there. Shining the light back in the front, he spotted keys in the ignition and a large rock by the accelerator pedal. The engine had run wide open until the car hit the water and sank. He opened the door and pulled himself over the seat to the glove box, which hung open. Nothing remained inside it. A Florida map and an owner's manual floated in the water above it. A tire gauge, two ballpoint pens, and a gadget that included several miniature tools in one, lay on the seat. Someone had raked out the contents of the glove box searching for something. Sam's lungs felt as if on fire, and he surfaced for a quick breath. Returning, he found the trunk lid release and popped it.
He made his way around the rear bumper, which sat a few feet beyond the drop-off, and saw that the license plate had been removed. An unzipped overnight bag lay inside the trunk, clothing and toilet articles strewn around it. Though his lungs began to ache, he examined the bag, using the light and found no identification of any kind. Something slippery brushed against his leg and he jerked and bumped it with his knee. It came to life and wriggled against him as if electrically charged. A pain shot through his leg from a fin or a tooth, and a tail slapped him as the creature sped away.
Sam thrust to the surface and gulped in air, his heart pounding. His leg ached where the creature had cut him. Maybe a barracuda or a garfish. Either could have done him a lot of harm. Getting his breathing under control, he decided he'd seen enough. He closed the trunk and got out of the water. Using a stick, he stirred away his footprints in the mud as best he could.
