The Whack Job - An Eamonn Shute Short Story
Page 2
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Forty-five minutes later, the bill was paid and Eamonn was stuffed with his artery clogging favorites.
Nicky, as usual, ate sensibly, favoring fruit and multigrain toast. “This was nice. Let’s go for a walk and plan the day.”
“Well, lass, I had a relaxing day in mind, sitting on me balcony reading the latest Dick Francis novel. You can join me. I’ve a full bookcase, fiction and non-fiction, and refreshing drinks on tap. Actually, I’ve got an especially nice beer from Nova Scotia I think you’d enjoy.”
She grabbed his hand and led him to the beach. “Take off your shoes and socks and roll up those pant legs. When will you ever wear shorts and flip flops?”
Eamonn assumed that last question was rhetorical. She’d seen his legs before. He didn’t think she’d want to see them naked again.
He complied though, and a few short minutes later they were barefoot, strolling north on Miami Beach, Eamonn wave side and Nicky on his left. Unlike him, she was in appropriate clothes: a shell print sundress and thin-strapped sandals that she carried in her left hand. The top of her head was about in line with his chest, making her about 5’ 4” to his 6’ 6”. He looked down at her auburn hair. Beautiful, thick, lustrous, shampoo-ad quality hair. He ran his fingers through it and rested his hand on her shoulder. A light onshore breeze kept the small waves lapping at their feet and her hair restlessly brushing against her neck.
“So, a relaxing day on my balcony is out of the question?”
“It is out of the question if you want to spend the day with me.” She looked up at him, shielding her eyes from the morning sun. “You do want to spend the day with me, don’t you?”
“Aye, lass. I do. So what shall we do, do you think?” They were approaching a breakwater, a spit of sand sticking about 100 feet into the ocean ending in a row of rock. A crowd was gathering.
It was an official looking crowd, with police, medical examiners and crime scene tape. “You know, I think we should head back the other way.”
“Why?” She looked up from her shell gazing. “Oh. What’s going on?”
“Don’t know. Don’t want to know. Best to stay out of it.”
“Huh.” She jogged up to the edge of the crowd, forcing Eamonn’s hand.
“Strong minded women, just like me ma. Shit.” He strolled to the edge of crowd and looked over their heads.
Miami Beach PD was in control of the scene, the Crime Scene Squad poring over the immediate area around a body on the beach. A white cloth covered the corpse. The sheet had either been placed carelessly or the onshore breeze had adjusted it. Eamonn should see the right foot, part of the left hand and the crown of the head.
“Bloody hell.” Eamonn turned to Nicky. “I know him. I’ve got to talk to the police.”
“Are you serious? You’re virtually a tourist here, and seem to get involved with every single big thing that goes on.” She craned her neck and stood on her tiptoes. “Who is it?”
“Wait here.” He pushed through the crowd until he reached someone who looked in charge.
“Ma’am? You’re with the Miami Beach PD, correct?” She nodded. “I think I know that man.” Eamonn pointed to the body on the beach.
“And you are?”
Eamonn held out his hand. “Eamonn Shute, ma’am.”
She smiled. “You’re kidding. Really? Aim-n-Shoot?” She shook his hand. “I’m Detective Shirley Jones. And I thought I got laughs with my name. Your parents must have really disliked you.”
“It is spelled E-a-m-o-n-n S-h-u-t-e. A good Irish name ma’am. And me ma loves me.” He smiled. “But back to what I was saying…”
“Okay, first, for God’s sake, stop calling me ma’am. My hair’s not in a bun. Shirley will do. And second, why do you think you know the victim?”
“The ring on his left pinky finger. It’s a jade signet ring. I have a friend with a ring just like that. It’s pretty unique. I’d be surprised if two males of roughly the same age, race, hair style and body size would own that specific ring.”
Detective Jones looked at the large Irishman for a couple of seconds, then at the covered body on the beach. Shrugged. “Okay. Let’s go see. Follow me.” She held up the crime scene tape. He still had to almost double over to get under it.
“When was the body discovered, Detective?”
“We got a call about three hours ago from a wake boarder out here for some early morning fun. Thought he hit a log. It was the back of the victim’s head.”
Eamonn winced. “Ouch.”
“Not so much. The vic was dead. The M.E. has made a preliminary estimate of the time of death.” She looked up at him. “Around 1:00 this morning.” She squatted by the body. “Ready?” Eamonn nodded and squatted beside her. She lifted the side of the sheet away from the crowd, exposing the victim to only her and Eamonn’s view.
Eamonn sagged. “Steve.” Steve Sheppard’s naked body was heavily bruised, long welts across his torso, bruises around his neck, face and forearms.
“So you do know him?”
He nodded “Steve Sheppard. First guy I met when I moved here a couple of years ago.”
“When did you see him last?”
“Last night, close to 11:30, about three blocks south on Collins. We had just left a club. I offered to give him a ride home and…”
Detective Jones was writing in her notebook. “Whoa. I think we need to talk to you in a bit more detail. Not here.” She checked her watch. “Can you come by the station in two hours? Around 11:00. I should be back by then. I need to help wrap things up here.”
“Where’s the station?”
“Washington and 11th. Sorry for your loss Eamonn, and I’ll see you in two hours.” She dropped the sheet, stood and escorted him back to the crime scene tape.
“Let’s go Nicky.” He took her hand and started back down the beach. “Our day’s plans have been set. I need to see the detective in a couple of hours at the station.”
“Why?”
“That was Steve Sheppard. Beat to death, by the looks of it. I’m one of the last people to see him last night, so they’d like to have a chat with me.”
“Whoa, whoa, Eamonn. Steve? You’re sure?”
He looked at her. “Sure that he’s dead or sure that I saw him late last night?” He stopped walking. “Sorry. I’m sure of both. He left me last night around 11:30 to go to a ‘meeting’. I thought it was a lady friend, but I doubt the bruises on his body were from a woman. He was well and truly flogged. ‘Course, if it was the lady friend I thought it was, she has a brute for a husband. I wonder what the little shit got himself into this time. You know, he asked if I wanted to go with him last night. I should have.” He scrubbed his face with his hands. “I need a shower. I’ve worked up a good bit of a sweat this morning with all of this to-ing and fro-ing in the sand. I don’t want to be too gamey in front of the coppers. Come back with me and put your feet up while I get ready. New Sopranos box set came in yesterday. Season 6. You might want to dig into it while you wait.”