The officer looked up from her notebook. “Well, sir, people who get robbed are usually pretty frantic, demanding us to send our crime lab down here to dust for prints,” she smiled. “We don’t do that, but we will step up patrols in the area to keep an eye out for any suspicious characters or activity.”
“Right,” Pilate said. “I’m sure you have much more serious stuff to deal with, especially after a night like last night “
“Last night?” A look of recognition crossed her features. “Oh yeah. I wasn’t on duty then, but I hear the murder at the Hog’s Snout was pretty nasty.” After the short commentary, she went back to writing in her notebook.
Pilate noticed she had muscular legs, and he was sure she was packing a killer rear-end under her bulky police utility belt. “Yeah, it was. I was there,” Pilate said, tearing his eyes away from the officer’s ass to distract himself by replacing books on the bookshelf.
“Oh really?” she said. “Did you give a statement?”
“Yep,” Pilate said. He put down a book and slid a hand in his pocket, where he felt the smooth surface of the poker chip. “I sat next to the guy before it all went down…well, I mean he was at the next table. He passed me an ashtray.”
“Smoker?”
Pilate nodded guiltily.
The officer’s eyes flashed a hint of a smile at his reaction. “Well, I know it was a very disturbing incident, sir, but I want to assure you that it is not, by any means, a normal occurrence in Key West. We have a safe, fun little island here.”
“No doubt,” Pilate said. “Do you think you’ll catch who did it?”
“We’ll try,” she said. “Okay, Mr., uh…Pilate. Pilate? That’s an unusual name.”
“Not 2,000 years ago,” Pilate half-joked. “Second only to Judas on the Christian hit parade of biblical a-holes, I’d say.”
“Well, there’s the devil…” she began. “Wait a minute…are you famous?” Her eyes smiled more brilliantly this time.
“Famous?”
“I mean, weren’t you on the news a while back? Yes, that’s right! You’re from that college town out there in Iowa, right?”
“Close enough, and yeah, I guess you could say I was, uh, involved in that mess.” Pilate rocked back on his heels, jamming his hands in his pockets like a nervous schoolboy at a fifth-grade dance.
“You saved that sheriff’s life, didn’t you?” she said, her well-practiced cop facial expression morphing into one of an attractive woman making conversation.
“Well, it was complicated,” he said.
She nodded. “I get it. I’ve never been in a shootout—hell, I’ve never even drawn my gun in anger except against the cardboard targets at the academy—but I get it. Very brave, I’d say.”
“Well, I suppose the primordial need for self-preservation makes it seem pretty brave,” Pilate said, suddenly embarrassed about and pissed off at the wrecked kitchen. “So, whaddya make of it? You think it was a robbery? Some kind of mugging?”
She looked at him quizzically. “The Hog’s Snout murder?”
He nodded.
“No idea, sir,” she said. “All I heard was that the victim might have had somewhat of a shady past—links to piracy apparently.”
“Piracy? No way!”
“It’s not all Disney World stuff, Mr. Pilate,” she laughed. “Between you and me, one of the detectives said the guy had a history of hanging out with some suspected piracy operatives—guys who make their living robbing tourists out in the boonies.”
“Boonies?”
“Out past the Marquesas and Dry Tortugas. There are lots of small Keys out there, plenty of deserted places where unsuspecting vacationers can run into some sharks of the human variety. It’s a pretty area, but if you’re out there on your own, some nasty dudes may try to rip you off.” She rested her hand on the butt of her pistol.
“Wow,” Pilate said.
“In fact, a guy was murdered on his yacht out there a couple weeks ago, out near Duggan’s Key. Pirates—for lack of a better word—killed him and threw his body overboard, then stripped his boat of everything valuable.”
“Wow. I had no idea,” Pilate said.
“Doesn’t happen often, and of course it’s not something we like to talk about—not too good for tourism, as you might imagine. It’s more of the Coast Guard’s problem than ours anyway,” she said, ripping a piece of paper from her notebook and handing it to Pilate. “Anyway, here is my name and number. If you have any other problems while you’re in Key West, Mr. Pilate, do give us a call.”
“Thanks, uh…Officer Righetti. I really appreciate it.”
“It’s Kay,” she said, looking him over with a smile. “You know, if you’d ever care to, I’d sure love to buy you a beer and hear all about what happened back in Iowa.” She blushed.
Oh my God! Is she asking me out? This cannot be happening. I don’t need the complications. “I’d like that,” he said, smiling. “Just let me know when you have a night off.”
“Well, I’m off tomorrow night. Wanna meet me at the Green Parrot, around seven?”
“Sounds great,” he said. “In the meantime, any idea where I can get that window fixed, maybe get some bars put on?”
“Well, I’ve got some experience putting guys behind bars, but not this kind,” she said, and they both shared a laugh.
Pilate called Dr. Sandburg to make another appointment. “I know you’re very busy,” he said, “but I really appreciate you seeing me the past few times, especially since I don’t live here and you’re so highly regarded.”
“Hmm. Seems to me that flattery is a little beneath you, John,” Sandburg said, chuckling.
“Well, Simon says you’re great,” he said with a chuckle of his own.
“Very well. I can see you in two days,” Sandburg said.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Pilate had no illusions or preconceived notions about Officer Righetti. She was nice and certainly very attractive, but she was simply to function as a conduit to information on the Hog’s Snout murder. He had to find out what was up with that pink chip.
“Is she…research?” Simon asked. The query hung in the space between Pilate’s ears.
At the Green Parrot, he nearly failed to recognize Kay Righetti. Instead of her uniform, she was attractively garbed in a green linen blouse, khaki pants, and sandals. Her hair was down, brushing against her shoulders. She was seated at a table by the bar, but with uncommon hospitality, she rose when Pilate walked in.
“Well, hello, Officer,” he said smiling.
She blinked. “Oh, Mr. Pilate, please call me Kay.”
“Mr. Pilate? You call me ‘Mr.’ and expect me not to call you ‘officer’?”
She blushed and rolled her eyes, signaling the waitress. “I’m going to ignore that comment and have another drink.”
“What’s your poison?” Pilate asked, not sure yet if she was an umbrella drink kind of gal.
“Gin and tonic.” She pinched a wedge of lime from the glass and stuck it in her mouth, sucking it gently.
“Make it two,” he told the waitress.
He looked at the off-duty cop, and she smiled at him with sea-blue eyes and lime-green teeth.
“Sorry,” she said, taking the lime out of her mouth. “I love limes, especially the gin-soaked kind.”
“Well, I’m flattered you feel comfortable enough to, uh—how can I put this?—to suck fruit in front of me.”
She smiled, and this time her teeth shone in two perfectly pearly, perfectly straight rows. “Well, I figured if you really did what the papers say you did, you’re an okay guy.”
“The media does lie, you know,” he said, raising an eyebrow.
“True.”
The waitress brought the drinks, breaking Kay’s train of thought.
He held his up to toast. “Here’s to law enforcement.”
“To law enforcement and the writers who save their asses from time to time,” she said.
He smiled as they clinked
glasses. “So, Officer Kay, you from around here?”
“No, not at all. I’m from Caledonia, New York, a small town near Rochester.”
“Farmer’s daughter, eh?”
“Guilty as charged,” she said.
“So what brought you here?”
“That’s a long, boring story, I’m afraid,” she said. “Let’s just say I was chasing somebody.”
“A crook?”
“Yes he was.” Her eyes crinkled at the corners, and her smile was charmingly lopsided. “He was definitely that.”
“Most of the people here seem like they landed here after running away from something,” Pilate said.
“Yeah, that’s why most people who live here aren’t from around here. They’re all on the lam.”
“So, anyway, did you catch Mr. Crook?” He sipped his drink and fought the urge to smoke after the look she’d given him back when he’d first mentioned it at the scene of the crime.
“Yup.” She looked out over the restaurant. “And he set me free.”
“Wow. There’s a bit of poet in you, copper.”
“I suppose.” She looked at the table, her right hand gently pinching her left ring finger. “So, John…”
“Yes?”
“Tell me, did you really shoot the mayor of that town?”
“Yes.”
“Did you mean to kill him?”
“What I meant to do in that moment was to make sure he didn’t kill me. I did the only thing I could. I pulled the trigger.” He felt strangely comfortable telling her about the events in Cross, an unusual sensation indeed.
“What we call a righteous shoot,” she said. “And I apologize for being so direct. Comes with the job, I suppose. I do question people for a living.”
“Nah.” He waved her apology away and took another swallow of gin and tonic. “You warned me when you invited me out that you wanted to know more. Hell, I’m writing a book about it, so I better be able to answer questions. Please, feel free to practice your interrogation skills on me, Officer Kay.”
She smiled. “Thanks, John. You’d think I’d be less curious since I’m in law enforcement—desensitized to crime—but something about what I saw on TV got my attention.”
“What was that? The mystery? The decades of conspiracy?”
“No.” Her eyes locked on his, catching the gleam from the overhead lights.
“What then?”
“You, Mr. John Pilate. You.”
After dinner and three more drinks and some interesting conversation, Pilate—ever the gentleman—agreed to walk Kay home.
She lived close to the Green Parrot, and their walk consisted of chitchat and dodging foot traffic until she pulled him into a small alley, pushed him against the wall, and kissed him right on the mouth. Her tongue touched his, and her hands roamed over his chest and ended up on his butt, which she squeezed without the slightest bit of shyness.
“Now, now, Officer. You can’t frisk me until you read me my rights,” he said.
“Oh, come on, John. You have to promise me you won’t make cop jokes the entire time we’re screwing,” she said.
“Uh…deal,” he said, his words slightly slurred. “But that’s only if you don’t bring out the handcuffs.”
In the ever-diminishing self-control center of his brain, a voice told him to stop. At the controls, however, was Simon, cheering him on. “You’ve earned it! How many chances do you think you’re going to get for this in your lifetime anyway? Go for it, buddy!” Simon shouted.
Pilate awoke in a strange bed, beneath a wheezing ceiling fan with drooping blades. A chest of drawers with a cracked mirror was inches from Kay’s double bed. Making love with Kay the night before felt detached and mechanical somehow; when he’d caught a glimpse of himself in that cracked mirror, beneath her, above her, beside her, it was like watching a soft-core porn flick on TV while vacuuming the carpet.
He slipped quietly out of the sheets, leaving a nude Kay gently snoring into her pillow. She lay on her belly, with her legs tangled in the sheets, bikini tan lines demarcating her round, muscular rump that he’d first admired under her police uniform. Her skin was freckled at the shoulders.
Pilate admired her taut, young body; she was in great shape, and bicycle patrol was obviously kind to her figure. He considered sliding back in bed—and back into her if she were willing—but he couldn’t overcome the feeling of being a colossal jerk. He had no excuse but his own selfishness for fooling around on Kate with…
“You screwed around on your girlfriend with a cop? Really, John!” Simon said, his image reflected in the cracks of the mirror. “I warned you.”
No you didn’t! You encouraged it. You told me to go for it, damn it!
“Have you never heard of sarcasm?” Simon said. “Please.”
Pilate did his best to ignore his doppelganger’s annoying, haughty voice. His sessions with Dr. Sandburg had opened his eyes to the crushing realization that the antidepressants he’d gone back on six weeks earlier had little to do with Simon’s comings and goings. The guy was still around, antidepressants or not, and he usually spent his days being a total dick.
“Anger, negativity,” Pilate whispered. “Simon the Rat.” And with that, he quickly and stealthily dressed, picked up his shoes, and headed for the door.
“Freeze!”
He stopped and put his hands in the air. “You got me, Copper.”
“Turn around and drop ‘em,” Kay said.
Pilate turned and obediently dropped his shoes.
“I didn’t mean your shoes,” she said, smiling and running a hand through her hair.
“Sorry. I—”
“No need to apologize.” She languidly pulled the sheet up to her waist. Her breasts were as freckled and tan as her shoulders. Topless sunbathing was unquestionably a pastime of hers. “I want you again, even though you made those stupid cop sex jokes.”
“Well, John, you can’t un-ring a bell,” Simon mocked from behind him. “Might as well have another go.”
Pilate sat on the edge of the bed. “Kay, I, uh…well, there’s someone else, back in Cross.”
She regarded him a moment, her blue eyes kind and thoughtful. “And this someone else means something to you?”
“Yes.”
“It’s something good, right?”
“Well, yes. It’s pretty serious really.”
Her face changed from that of a lover into the hard visage of a police officer, right before his eyes. “Then why the hell are you screwing another woman 1,200 miles away?”
“She has a point, there, John,” Simon said.
“Because I’m a shit, I guess,” he said, standing. “Look, I enjoyed our time together last night, but I frankly don’t owe you or Kate or Simon any kind of expl—”
“Simon?”
“Never mind. I don’t owe anybody an explanation or an apology after all I’ve been through,” he said, his face flushed. “Besides, I just met you. You don’t really know anything about me.”
Kay moved closer. “John, I know the thing in Cross was rough, but—”
“Cross? Rough? You’re goddamn right it was rough!” he said. “I’m a fucking college teacher, not a detective, and most definitely not a damn killer. I just wanted to get away from all the crap in my life and start over. Unfortunately, from day one, I was dipped in shit and kicked in the ass by everyone with a chip on their shoulder in that greasy spot of a town.”
“Okay, but—”
“And who says I’m just talking about Cross? What about losing my job, my wife, my dignity? Why am I pushing forty with nothing to show for it but a so-called righteous shoot, an asshole imaginary rodent for a friend, and a line of greedy fucks waiting to screw me or take a chunk out of my ass?”
Kay’s face was a mask of palpable discomfort. She wasn’t scared, but she couldn’t help being shocked at the sudden ferocity of his temper. Nevertheless, in spite of her unease, she spoke very calmly, the way she would talk down a suspect holding
a gun on her or his own temple. “John, you’re need to sit down a minute. Take a deep breath, and let me get you some water, okay? Can you do that for me?”
Pilate looked at her, a white-hot piece of lead in his gut. “I’m so sorry, Kay.”
She went to the bathroom, filled a cup of water, and returned, naked but completely focused on him. “No apologies necessary.”
He took the water and drank it, then took a few deep breaths.
“Way to go, John. Way to make a goddamn fool of yourself,” Simon taunted with a hiss of delight.
“Shut up!” Pilate said into the glass as he finished off the water.
“What?” Kay said. “More water?”
“If it means watching you walk from here to the bathroom and back again with that naked ass of yours, then yes.”
Kay smiled and complied. “John?” she said, lying on the bed beside him. “I wasn’t making a judgment…well, okay, I guess I was. The thing is, I already knew you have someone else, and I did my best to get you in my bed anyway. Besides, we were both drunk. So it’s 50/50, you know? Or I guess we could split the blame three ways between us and the gin and tonic.”
“Thanks, Kay,” he said, placing the empty glass on the nightstand. “I guess I found you so attractive that—”
“Wait…you guess you found me attractive?” she said in mock outrage.
“I mean I definitely find you to be a very hot, sexy woman,” he said, smiling crookedly as if toothpicks were propping up his last reserve of charm.
“Admit it. It’s the gun,” she said, “and the handcuffs.”
He laughed, genuinely this time. “Maybe.”
“Look, John, I know you have someone. We were just the sum of two people, a mutual attraction, and a few too many drinks. It doesn’t have to be anything more.”
“I don’t want to use you that way,” he said.
“Who’s usin’ who?” she said, her hand on his. “I’m a big girl. Maybe I just wanted to sleep with a bestselling author.”
“I’ll need to write the damn thing first,” he said.
Pilate's Key Page 5