by Tom Turner
“What do you think?” he asked Dominica, pointing at the kettlebell. “Got hit over the head with that?”
“Yeah, but I’m trying to figure out why he was here,” she said. “I mean, based on what he’s wearing, he wasn’t working out.”
Sheila chimed in. “More like he was showing someone around. Whoever it was, musta got behind him and smashed him over the head with that.”
“Except it weighs a lot,” Dominica said. “How would a perp raise it over his head, then bring it down on him?”
“Got hit on the back of the head, not the top, maybe?” Crawford said. “So if the perp was behind him, he could swing that thing like a baseball bat. Grip it with two hands even.”
“I buy that,” Dominica said. “He—assuming it’s a he—still has to be pretty strong.”
Crawford nodded. “Let’s also assume that if Bard and his killer were walking around on the boat, the killer wasn’t wearing gloves.”
“Meaning there’re either prints on the kettlebell or he wiped it clean,” Dominica said.
“Yeah, we’re not seeing anything—” Sheila started.
“So they probably got wiped,” Crawford said, turning to Shepley. “You got here first, right?”
“Yeah.”
“Who called it in?”
“Pretty sure it was the boat’s captain.”
“Where’s he now?”
Shepley shrugged. “I don’t know. He met us when we first got here.”
“Hey, Charlie?” Ott said, getting up from a crouch beside Bard’s body. “Maybe the killer snuck on board, then ambushed Bard.”
Crawford thought for a moment, then shook his head. “A yacht like this, I can tell without even looking, has sensors all over the place. Deck-vibration detectors, motion detectors, you name it. Guarantee you they got high-tech stuff everywhere.”
“Yeah, probably right,” Ott said.
A man in a white uniform and a captain’s hat came to the door and hesitated. “Can I come in?”
“Sure. Come on in, Captain,” Crawford said. “Watch where you step.”
“I’m Jeb Peroni,” he said, staring down grimly at Asher Bard. “I was just making a call to his boys and one of his business partners.”
“Sorry about what happened,” Crawford said, standing up and introducing everyone. “We’d like to ask you a few questions.”
“Sure. I’ll do whatever I can to help.”
“Thanks. First of all, how did you come across Mr. Bard? I mean, did you hear something or what?”
Peroni shook his head. “No, see, I live on the boat. I’m the only one who does. I had gone to Publix to get some groceries, and when I came back, I went to the gym for a workout. That’s when I found him. Called you guys right away.”
“How long were you at Publix?” Crawford asked.
“Not long, fifteen minutes maybe, but since I was close, I had a quick lunch at Green’s … You know, on North County.”
“Oh, yeah, we know Green’s,” Crawford said with a nod. “So, it happened in that timeframe. What was it, an hour, roughly?”
“Um. Call it an hour fifteen.”
“What time did you go to Publix?” Crawford asked.
“Twelve thirty.”
“So you got back from Green’s at around one forty-five?”
Peroni nodded.
“Is it possible someone either was waiting for him on board or snuck on while he was here?” Ott asked.
“Possible but highly unlikely,” Peroni said. “This ship’s got every security device known to man. Asher and I used to talk about the ship’s security, and I told him the only way anybody could ever get on board undetected was if they dropped down from a helicopter.”
“So, the obvious question is, have you checked any of the cameras to see what they caught?” Crawford asked.
Peroni sighed. “I was just going to tell you,” he said with a shrug. “Asher called me earlier and told me to shut off the whole security system.”
“He did?” Crawford said. “Did he say why?”
Peroni looked down at the two techs and lowered his voice. “No. I just assumed he was going to have a … visitor.”
“A woman, you mean?”
Peroni nodded. “Which … was, obviously, not the case.”
“So, it would seem as though Bard let the killer on board?”
Peroni nodded slowly. “That’s what it seems like. Yes.”
“Why do you think they’d go into this room?” Ott asked.
“All I can think is Asher was giving whoever killed him a tour of the boat. That is, someone who’d never been on it before.”
“So probably not a friend?” Ott asked.
“I wouldn’t think so, but probably someone he knew,” Peroni said. “I know he had some enemies, but this is just terrible.”
Crawford nodded and took out his pocket recorder. “Tell me about those enemies you know about.”
“Well, I heard he had issues with a rival in the media business, but I guess that would be kind of normal.”
“Remember a name?”
“Sorry, I don’t,” Peroni said, shaking his head. “Then I heard the state attorney here was out to get him.”
“Harlan Brody?”
“Yes, and I heard a father of one of those girls from ten years ago.”
Crawford nodded. “You mean the girls he had … relations with?”
Peroni seemed to shrink a little at that. Then he said: “And I’m guessing maybe some other men in business. I heard it could be pretty cutthroat, the business he was in.”
“Anyone else?” Crawford asked.
“Not that I’m aware of.”
“So, he never mentioned anyone, or you never overheard him talk about other … enemies?”
Peroni thought for a moment. “No, but if I think of anyone else, I’ll give you a call.”
Crawford reached into his wallet, took out a card, and handed it to Peroni. “Thanks for all your help.”
“Yes, we appreciate it,” Ott added.
“Happy to help,” Peroni said, then took one long look at Bard, slowly shook his head, and walked out.
Crawford walked over to Dominica and bent over. “So, no viable prints on the kettlebell?”
“Actually, I got a partial, but I don’t know. I’m not too optimistic about it,” Dominica said. “What are you thinking?”
“That the only explanation for Bard to tell the captain to turn off the security system was that he had someone coming on board after the killer.”
“Like who?”
“Like maybe the wife of a Broadway producer Balfour told me about.”
Dominica nodded. “That would make sense.”
Crawford heard footsteps and looked up. Two big black men blotted out most of the sun that had been brightening the room. It was Tyrell and Darnell.
One of them, Darnell, looked like he’d been crying. Both of the men’s eyes shot to Asher Bard prone on the floor.
“Oh, Jesus, no,” Darnell said, choked up.
Tyrell knelt down beside Bard’s body, unintentionally shoving Sheila Stallings aside.
“Oh, my God, my God,” Darnell said, joining Tyrell and gently touching Bard’s face.
Tyrell turned to Crawford and fixed him with a hostile look. “How did it happen? What the hell happened?”
Crawford stepped closer to the brothers. “We don’t know. We’re trying to figure it out.”
Darnell put his hand on Bard’s arm and lowered his voice. “Oh, Daddy, Daddy. Who coulda done this?” And, unashamedly, he started to weep.
Crawford glanced over at Dominica, not sure what to make of Darnell’s inconsolable reaction. He turned to Tyrell. “I’m sorry about your loss. I didn’t realize how close you were to Mr. Bard.”
Tyrell shot him a look, the hostility undiminished. “Close? Didn’t you hear my brother?”
“Yes, but I—”
“Asher Bard was our father. You never bothered to find out our las
t names, did you?”
Darnell looked up and said through tears, “We’re Darnell and Tyrell Bard.”
In a rapid-fire monologue, Darnell explained that their mother had been Bard’s cook and the three had lived in the maid’s quarter of Bard’s house. One day, when the boys were two and four years old, respectively, their mother was broadsided in her car by a drunken driver on her way home from church. Bard, unmarried and childless, stepped up and adopted the boys.
Tyrell held up a hand to his brother. “Enough, man, they don’t want to hear our life story.”
Crawford turned to Tyrell, then Darnell. “I know it’s painful, but do either of you have any thoughts at all about who might have killed your father?”
Tyrell nodded. “Right before he came over here, I heard him say on his cell, ‘I got you cold, motherfucker. Those #metoo broads are gonna hang you by the balls’”—he glanced over at Dominica and Sheila—“excuse the language.”
Ott looked up from taking notes in his old leather notebook. “Is that pretty much verbatim?”
“Yeah, I got a good memory,” Tyrell said.
Crawford glanced over at Dominica, who was paying close attention.
“That call will show up on his cell,” Dominica said, reaching into Bard’s pants pocket for his cell phone.
Crawford looked back at Tyrell. “But I’m assuming you don’t know who he was talking to?”
“If I did, guy’d be dead by now.”
Crawford believed him.
“So, after that call, your father left?”
“Yeah, about five minutes later.”
Dominica held up a cell phone to catch Crawford’s attention. “Looks like a burner,” she said.
Darnell seemed perplexed. “What’s a burner?”
Tyrell turned to his brother. “Like a throwaway phone.”
“What does what your father said on the phone mean to you?” Crawford asked Tyrell.
“Pretty obvious, I’d say,” Tyrell said. “‘I got you cold’ sounds like he’s threatening someone. Same with that #metoo thing, like he had something that would harm the guy he was talking to. Problem is, I got no clue who that was.”
Crawford turned to Darnell. “And neither do you, right?”
Darnell shook his head. “Sorry, man.” He reached down and held the cold hand of Asher Bard.
“Well, I’d just like to say again, we’re sorry for your loss,” Crawford said, and Ott, Dominica, and Sheila all nodded. “With your permission, we’d like to come to your house and investigate. See if we can find some evidence that’ll help track down the person who did this.”
Darnell looked at his older brother.
“Yeah, sure,” Tyrell said. “When?”
“How’s tomorrow morning?”
“That’s good.”
Crawford nodded. “In the meantime, do me a favor: don’t go into his bedroom. I don’t want any evidence contaminated.”
“Understand.”
“And what about … Did Mr. Bard have a home office there?”
Tyrell shook his head. “No, he just went to the office on Royal Palm Way.”
“Okay,” Crawford said, “my partner will go there and investigate.”
Ott nodded and smiled.
Crawford knew the reason for the smile.
Tyrell and Darnell left a few minutes later, and Crawford turned to Ott. “Pretty incredible, huh?”
Ott nodded. “Never saw that coming. Bard being their father.”
“Yeah. So, the big question is, is it the same killer for both?”
Dominica looked up. “You couldn’t have two more different MOs.”
“Yeah, I know,” Crawford said. “A stabbing and a bludgeoning.”
“A stabbing, then throwing a woman off a roof after cutting out her tongue,” Sheila added.
“All I can say is this perp is pretty strong,” Dominica said. “To swing that forty-pound kettlebell like a baseball bat?”
Crawford nodded. “My hunch is it’s the same guy, but I got nothing to back it up with.”
Ott shrugged. “I don’t know,” he said. “Could be two.”
Crawford nodded. “Yeah, definitely could be.”
Ott got up from the crouch he was in. “Well, I’m gonna go around the rest of the ship, see if I find anything else.”
“I’ll go with you,” Sheila said, glancing over at Dominica, who nodded.
“All right,” Crawford said. “I’m heading back to the station. See if any of Bard’s friends know who the guy he had that conversation with might be.”
“See you back there,” Ott said.
“Can I hitch a ride with you, Charlie?” Dominica asked.
“Sure. You done here?”
She nodded and got to her feet.
A few minutes later they walked down the gangplank of the Mandalay. A TV news crew and a reporter waited at the end of the gangplank. A beefy uniform stood between them and boarding the Mandalay. The reporter recognized Crawford. “Hey, Charlie, is it true Asher Bard got killed on his boat here?”
“I don’t have any comment,” Crawford said as he and Dominica brushed past them.
The reporter was, as reporters are, insistent. “I hear he was killed with a barbell or something. Can you confirm that, give us a few details?”
Crawford just kept beelining toward the Crown Vic. As he approached it, he went around the passenger side and opened the door for Dominica.
“Thank you, Charlie,” she said, getting in.
The reporter was right behind him. “The gentleman detective,” he said. “C’mon, Charlie, gimme something here.”
Crawford turned to him. “It’s a big boat.”
The reporter shook his head and chuckled. “Thanks. How newsworthy.”
Crawford got in, turned the key, and left the reporter and his crew behind.
“Still can’t get over it,” Dominica said. “Those two being Bard’s adopted sons.”
“Yeah, guess it just shows nobody is all bad. I mean, I had that guy pegged as just a complete scumbag, but those boys loved him.”
“Seemed like he did a good thing. Adopting them.”
Crawford nodded. “And I guess he treated ’em well,” he said, glancing at the parking lot. “Hey, do me a favor: when you get a chance, will you check out the surveillance cameras here?”
Dominica nodded. “Sure. I should be able to get to that later this afternoon or first thing tomorrow at the latest.”
“Appreciate it.”
Dominica gazed out the window. “I wonder what exactly Bard had on the guy. #metoo could be just about anything.”
“Yeah, sure could,” Crawford said, tapping the steering wheel a few times. “Speaking of which, did I ever tell you about my #metoo incident?”
Dominica’s head swung around hard. “No, but I’m all ears.”
“So, it happened just last year … I’m not quite sure where to start.”
“How ’bout the beginning,” Dominica said.
“Okay, so I got a call from my ex-wife”—he stopped at a light—“who married a doctor after me. I told you that, right?”
“Yeah, the rich surgeon.”
Crawford nodded. “Well, early part of last year they got separated; then one night he—the doctor—showed up at the apartment where she was staying and, apparently, was really drunk. She lets him in and he starts trying to kiss her and she fends him off. But he’s not taking no for an answer. Backs her up in a corner and tries to take her top off. So she starts screaming at him. He puts his hand over her mouth and keeps going. Puts his other hand up her skirt, and she breaks free and runs into a bathroom and locks it. Finally, after pleading with her to open up or he’s gonna break the door down, he goes away.”
“Jesus, that’s pretty scary.”
“Yeah, no kidding. Then, like a week later, he comes back. She won’t let him in and he’s talking through the door saying he came to apologize. How he was under a lot of stress and he’s feeling really bad abo
ut it now and wants to apologize face-to-face. So, after a while, she lets him in.”
“Uh-oh.”
“Uh-oh is right. Long story short, he’s drunk again, tries to kiss her and actually rips off her top until she knees him you-know-where and escapes to the bathroom again.” Crawford took a deep breath. “But this time she’s got her cell on her and calls me.”
“Oh, Jesus, just what you want to get dragged into.”
“Yeah, actually, I did,” Crawford said, pulling into the parking lot at the station and turning off the engine. “I mean, this guy was dangerous. So what happens is she tells me the situation—completely freaked out—then puts me on speaker, wanting me to say something to the guy.”
Crawford shook his head at the memory.
“And?” Dominica was riveted.
“So, I didn’t know what to say. I mean, here I am, a thousand miles away. What am I gonna say, ‘You’re a bad boy, knock it off?’”
“So, what did you say?”
“Well, fortunately, I had just read this article somewhere about the woman who started #metoo. And I go, ‘Listen, Dan’—that’s his name—‘I know Tamara Burke, and I’m gonna call her right now unless you get the hell out of Jill’s apartment and never come back.’ And, of course, he goes, ‘Who the hell’s Tamara Burke?’ And I go, ‘The woman who started the #metoo movement.’”
“Except it’s Tarana, not Tamara,” Dominica said.
“Yeah, I know, Jill told me that later. But what the hell does Dan know?”
“So, did it work?”
“As drunk as he was, he beat it out of there. I could almost hear his footsteps over the phone.”
“Good for you, Charlie. I’m impressed.”
He shrugged. “I didn’t tell you the story to impress you.”
“Yeah, I know. So, what finally happened to Jill and Dan?”
“The next day she filed divorce papers and is now a rich woman going out with a guy in advertising ten years younger than her.”
“Good for her. I’m glad it had a happy ending.”
Another shrug. “Well, sort of.”
25
Crawford was fully prepared for a tedious rest of the afternoon. He’d need to make a lot of calls and ask the same question over and over again: As a friend of Asher Bard, did you ever hear him mention a man he knew who had skeletons in his closet relating to the mistreatment of women?