by H R Jones
“He put on his shirt and hat, walked up to the bar at the White Shutters and asked Koko if he knew where this guy Ricky Sands lived. He told Koko he might like to take the guy up on his offer to stay at his place, seeing as how his girl wanted him to stay a little longer, and he needed a place to crash for a couple of nights.
“Koko warned him, “you be careful of this guy, he’s up to sumptin’,” but didn’t elaborate.
“Ryan headed toward the shack. When he got close enough, he observed Ricky from a safe distance for a little while. It appeared to him as if Ricky was packing it in, as if he were getting ready to leave. At one point, Ryan noticed he’d disappeared into the shack for quite a while.
“When he emerged, Ryan said, he was dressed fit to kill in long white pants, a fancy shirt, straw hat and sandals. He appeared to be carrying what looked like a ruck sack.
“There were clothes hanging on a line stretched between his shack and a palm tree. Ricky literally pulled them off the line and hurriedly stuffed the items into the sack. He certainly looked as if he were getting ready to go somewhere, and in a hurry. Ryan felt the guy was going to leave, and soon. That’s when he approached Mr. Sands.
“He said when Sands saw him, he was all friendly-like, a big smile on his face. He seemed to be in a big rush, though, telling Ryan, ‘Gee, man, sorry I can’t stop to chat, I have to get somewhere before dark.’
“Ryan says to him, ‘Oh, shit man, and here I was going to ask if I could take you up on your offer. You know? The other night, you said you had a place I could stay? I need a place to crash just for a couple of nights. My girl wants me to stick around, and her folks are a little old fashioned, if you get my drift, so I was hoping your offer was still open.’
“So Sands says to him as he’s putting more stuff in the duffle bag, ‘Okay, yeah sure, cool, you can stay here. I got to get out of Dodge, if you know what I mean?’
‘Yeah, sure, so you don’t mind? I’ll pay you, how much you asking? It will only be for a couple of days, three at the most, ‘cause I’ll need to be back to work’.
‘Hell, no, I don’t need your money. You make yourself at home,’ he says. Ryan said his eyes were darting every which way. ‘I’m going to leave some of my stuff here, but I’ll be back in a few weeks. I just need to get away for a while.’
“Ryan says, ‘Great. Well, I have to run up to my girl’s place, to let her know I’ll be around till the weekend. Damn, she’ll be happy’. He started to leave, stopped and added, ‘Whoa, I just had a radical idea. I could bring my girl here. We could do the nasty and her mom and dad will never know. Awesome.’
‘Cool, well,’ he said as he closed the duffle string, flinging it over his shoulder, a wry smile playing across his lips. ‘You two have one rockin’ good time, dude. No one will bother you here,’ and he tossed Ryan the key. ‘Here ya go, kid, just make sure you lock up when you do leave, and put the key on the table, just inside the door, before you walk out.’
‘Okay, wow, geez, thanks man, I appreciate it,’ he says, taking the key and tucking it in his pocket, and then watched Ricky as he headed down the beach.
“He said when Sands winked at him, he felt as if he were looking into the eyes of a serial killer. There was just something a bit off about the guy. He just couldn’t quite put his finger on what it was. He thought it was the way his eyes kind of glazed over, or maybe the sinister smile that play across his lips, especially when Ryan mentioned bringing his girl there. He said he got the chills after their conversation. Anyway, he casually strolled up the beach to the White Shutters Bar. He didn’t want Sands to suspect anything. As soon as he couldn’t see Sands any longer, he raced to the phone to call me. He didn’t want to take a chance of being made by going back to his unmarked car…besides, calling from the bar was quicker. He’d parked his vehicle quite a way from the White Shutters. Ryan told me he’d stick around to see if he could figure out where our guy went. Unfortunately, he’d lost sight of him with the scores of people and a huge traffic backup on Highway One. He will let Manning know as well, ’cause we’re his backup.”
Forty-two
Rory Star, aka Ricky Sands, was on the run again. He knew, after returning to the place where he’d disposed of Leaha’s body, it was just a matter of time before someone would be investigating the foul smell of death and discover the rotting Leaha. Koko would be sending someone ‘round to check on her whereabouts as well. She’d been gone nearly three days, and the authorities would be called. This gave him a very little time to get his things together and get out, fast.
There were so many people around. It would be hard to leave unnoticed. Cars filled with camping and swimming paraphernalia were bringing folks in for the weekend, and with limited places to stay and crowded beaches, it would be a zoo. Many folks would end up just camping on the beach, especially the young people. It would be the same all over, up and down the Keys.
I can’t leave now; there’re too many people. I’ll have to stick around, somewhere out of sight, ‘til I can get over to Pete’s to get my car. Lucky he’s the only one who knows about my car. There’s no way to make a break for it ‘til after sundown. It looks like the whole world is on the Keys this weekend, and it looks as if they’re all heading south. There shouldn’t be many, if any, going north. I’ll get out of here going that way.
He flung the duffle over his shoulder and headed out. Crossing the highway was a nightmare. He zigged and zagged between the slow moving crush of cars, trying to get across the road without being struck by one of the hundreds of vehicles queueing up. Traffic was bumper to bumper all up and down the congested highway. Finally, there was a break in the line and he made a mad dash the final few yards to Pete’s Auto and Storage, unscathed.
“Hey, Pete,” he called out as he entered the shop, the door slamming behind him. He could see Pete through the window in the door separating the front from the back work area. Ricky/Rory opened the door a crack, and called out again, “Hey, Pete? I was wondering if I could pick up the Buick today. I have an emergency back home and need to leave tonight.”
“No problem, Mr. Sands,” Pete said as he came around one of his ‘fixer uppers’ wiping his greasy hands. “Do you have a few minutes? I just need to move a few things around to get it out. Sorry, you said you wouldn’t need it for quite a while, and I guess I took you at your word. I’ve packed a few things around it.”
“It’s okay, Pete, I’ll go next door and have a beer while I’m waiting.”
“Okay, I’ll pop over and let you know when I have it ready. I’ll make sure everything is in good working order too.”
Ricky hung around the SurfSide Pier next to Pete’s, going on two hours before Pete finally came in to get him.
“It’s all ready for you, Mr. Sands, and she purrs like a kitten. All her fluids are up, I changed the oil, and I added a little air to the tires…otherwise, they were fine. She’s as clean and fresh as a daisy. Sorry it took me a little longer than I thought. Had a chatty customer stop in. I couldn’t get rid of the guy. Anyway, here’s your keys,” he said, handing them to Ricky. “Now, will you be wanting to store it when you get back?”
“Nah, I don’t think so. You know,” he paused, “I think when I come back,” he stopped again, “I think I’m going to try to sell the car and buy one of them fancy cabin cruisers. Find a port I like and live on the water for a change. I’d be able to travel all over, wherever I wanted to go, with no traffic or nosy people stopping by like they do at the beach shack. Then, I can go whenever and wherever the spirit moves, instead of being tied down to one spot. I think I’d like to do some traveling around. You know, sail down to the Bahamas, or Jamaica. It’s something I’ve always wanted to do. Get out and see the world, you know? What do I need a car for?” he said with a hollow sounding laugh. “So, how much do I owe you, Pete?” He took a wad of money out of his pants pocket, peeled off the amount needed and a little extra. “Thanks, pal, it’s been nice doing business with ya. If I do decide to keep th
e old thing, I’ll be sure to entrust it to your care again.”
Seeing how much extra he was paid, Pete almost fell over himself thanking Ricky Sands, pumping his hand in gratitude. “Anytime, Mr. Sands, anytime. I’ll be happy to store it for you. It’s been a pleasure doing business with you, thanks.”
Forty-three
Ricky Sands parked the car in the busy picnic area of the campground, down and across the road from his place, where he could watch for cops in case they would show up at the beach shack looking for him. He weaved his way between tents and campers, looking and watching. He was just a few yards from the shack, when he spotted a patrol car very slowly making its way south on Hwy. 1, when it turned into the campground. He quickly maneuvered himself behind a big rig, watching and waiting.
The cruiser slowly worked its way through the camp, as the cop behind the wheel checked out license plates and apparently was looking for anything he felt looked suspicious.
Ricky waited till he was assured the cop had left the campground, then moved slowly on into the public picnic area. As soon as he saw the cruiser turning left, heading south once again, Ricky, again dodging traffic, quickly crossed the road and made a beeline for the shack.
He’d forgotten a few things. He threw the items he needed into a paper bag and was just about to leave when there was a knock at the door. Struck motionless, sweating profusely, he froze where he was, hoping whoever was at the door would go away.
Then came a second knock and someone called out, “Hello, hello, I’m wondering if you might know of a rental, like your place, anywhere on the beach.”
“Yeah, just a minute.” He wiped the sweat from his brow with the sleeve of his shirt and went to the door.
A shirtless, pimple-faced, red-haired, pasty looking young man stood at the door. He looked a lot younger than he probably was.
“Hi, what can I do for ya, kid?”
“Well, I’m looking for a place to crash for a couple of weeks so I can see my girl. So, I was wondering if you knew of any other places like you got here,” he said, blushing with a nervous laugh.
“Well, I’ll tell you what, kid. I would have let you use my place here, but I just told another guy a little while ago he could have it. Sorry, kid.”
The young man, head down kicking the sand, slowly walked away, mumbling something incoherent under his breath.
Ricky took one last look around, stuck his head out the door. He scoured the beach through squinted eyes, making sure there were no other cops around, and no Koko. He didn’t see the cruiser, so he took the opportunity to thread his way back through the traffic to the campground and his car.
~ * ~
In the meantime, the officers who’d been watching for Mr. Sands, and finally had a bead on him, were keeping all the necessary people in the loop until they lost him. They’d seen him leave his shack dressed like a tourist. Then, it was as if he’d vanished. There was no sign of him. They left their hiding place, did another quick look around, checked the shack, and walked down the beach a way. Still no sign of him. They were dumbstruck.
There was much chatter back and forth between them and Sheriff Pines as they tried to discern how to proceed next.
Pines had already put one of his men on patrol on the busy Hwy.1 going north, and another squad was working the southern route. The rest of his deputies were distributed everywhere in-between, and it was getting late.
He conferred with Grutner.
John suddenly remembered something. He wasn’t sure if it was still relevant after all these years, but he felt it was worth mentioning to his brother law officer.
“Sheriff, I recall something that may or not be of importance, especially after so many years, but you might want to have your deputies keep an eye out for a big old black Buick. I don’t recall the year, but it has to be at least thirty years old or more, by now. He always kept it in tip top shape, so it shouldn’t be hard to spot down here among all these light colored, newer vehicles.”
“As well as the rust buckets,” Pines inserted.
“I’m sure there aren’t many cars down here like his. If his car is hidden, or stored somewhere, maybe he’s gone to get it. Have your men check gas stations, eateries, motels, wayside parks along the highway, or just off the highway. Any place someone could stay concealed, not to draw attention to oneself. I’m thinking he won’t try to make a run for it till after dark. It seems to be his favorite time to prowl. He’s made a fool of me before, but he’s not going to do it again.”
After listening to Grutner, Sheriff Pines agreed and sent out a BOLO on the older model, black Buick and an updated description of their quarry from the description Ryan gave him.
Forty-four
Ricky/Rory’d driven several miles north under the cover of darkness. He’d spotted a ramshackle, dimly lit watering hole on the Atlantic side of the Keys, The Conk Shell, and figured it was obscure enough to be able to hang out there until things quieted down on the highway. He parked in the rear, among other cars.
He wanted to reach the Everglades under the cover of darkness. He’d already observed a couple of patrol cars. One went racing by at top speed heading south, with sirens screeching and lights flashing. The other was pulled into a root beer stand on the opposite side of the road. The cops, hands on their weapons, sauntering up to get their freebie cones, he figured.
~ * ~
Grutner and Pines heard nothing from any of the deputies about seeing the black Buick. It was as if Rory Star/Ricky Sands, had just vanished into thin air. They asked Ryan to check out the White Shutters to see if he could find out about their fugitive from the people who worked there.
The only lead Ryan got was from Koko, who’d said he’d not seen Senor Ricky for a couple of days, but worse, his best waitress, Leaha, was missing.
When Ryan heard Leaha was missing, he had a very bad feeling. Bile began to rise in his throat.
He contacted Pines. “If he’s on the run, like I think he is, he’ll be going north, not south. I think he’s done something to the waitress, Leaha. I’d pull your men off the southern part of Highway One detail all together. Have them slowly beat the bushes going north. They’ll need to look into every dive, pull-off, café, along the way. If they find the car, they’ll find him.”
“Good work, Ryan. I’ll put an APB out for Mr. Rory Star, aka Ricky Sands, and steer the men north. Where are you off to next, Ryan?”
“Like I told you, I have a bad feeling about this waitress who’s been missing. From what I can gather, she’s responsible and wouldn’t be someone who’d not show up for work for three days without letting someone know. I’d like your permission to see what I can find out about her here.”
“Okay, you got it. Keep us informed as to what you find out.”
“Don’t worry, I will, Sheriff.”
~ * ~
After Ryan finished speaking with Pines, he went back to ask Koko if he knew where the girl, Leaha, lived. Koko pointed toward the water. He said he wasn’t sure, but thought she lived behind the White Shutters, near the beach houses rented out by the ‘Snowbirds,’ close to the shore.
Ryan also wanted to check out Ricky’s shack to see if there was anything incriminating there or if he had any papers with his real name on them he might have left behind. First he needed to check on Leaha’s whereabouts.
He headed off down the beach behind the White Shutters toward a cluster of little vacation huts. He knocked on a few doors. No one seemed to be around. As he approached one of the vacation units, he noticed the door ajar, and he called out, “Is anyone home?” He heard the flap of feet on sandals, as a large, older, pasty looking woman came to the door in Bermuda shorts, a very skimpy halter top, and of course, the flip-flops.
“How can I help you?” she asked, eyeing him up and down, hand on the door prepared to slam it on his hand if need be.
“My name is Deputy Ryan Parsons with the local police and I’m trying to locate a Miss Leaha… sorry, I don’t know her last name, bu
t she works over there,” he pointed at the White Shutters. “No one has seen her the last couple days and I want to make sure she’s all right. Would you know where she lives?”
Seeing her features relax, Ryan noticed she unclenched the fist she’d made with her other hand.
“I’ve been worried about her too. I haven’t seen her for at least two days. I did check her place. She wasn’t there. The door was open, though, and I did go in, but there was no sign of her. I didn’t touch anything or take anything.”
“I’m sure you didn’t. Well, okay, thank you, ma’am, I appreciate the information. Good day. Oh, one other thing, where is her place?”
“Just there…it is the only one down there in the palms.”
He made his way toward the neat little cottage. It was open, as the lady had said. He entered, looked around, and saw nothing that looked out of place, nor anything suggesting a struggle or anything ominous. As he was about to leave, though, he noticed the lanai at the back of the little cottage. When he went out, it became clear something had happened there. As he looked closer, he discovered something disturbing. The house itself was neat and clean, everything in its place, with definite signs of a woman’s touch. Everything seemed to be in place, but here, here…there were sofa pillows lying every which way on the floor, as if carelessly tossed, and the day bed was rumpled and looked as if there may have been some sort of struggle. He noticed there was what appeared to be a deep impression and something looked like dried blood on the linens, and on one of the pillows in the swing. Peering closer, he knew without a doubt something had happened there.
Ryan went back to his car and radioed in his findings to Sheriff Pines. He told him he was going to take a walk along the beach to see if he could see anything, or find anyone who might have seen anything unusual the last few days.
The sun was quickly fading as Ryan walked down along the beach. He did run into a few people, asking them if they’d seen anything out of the norm, or odd. No one had. He was getting further and further down the beach and decided he’d return to his squad and radio back to Sheriff Pines, when he happened to meet an old, leathery skinned man as brown as a coconut, and hair as white as the sand. He looked as if he lived on the beach. Ryan approached him, identified himself, and asked if he’d seen or heard anything disturbing the past few days. The man said he had not, but he sure couldn’t figure out what smelled so ‘goll dern awful’ down at the little cay just off shore. There weren’t any animals down this far south, and no fish big enough to smell that bad. He said it smelled worse than any fish he’d ever smelled. Ryan asked if he could guide him to where he’d been when he first caught a whiff of the rotting flesh.
