“Sure you do. Should I hire a nurse to look after you?”
I used my elbows to force myself into a sitting position. “There’s nothing wrong with me that a little breakfast and a lot of coffee won’t cure.” I patted the bed beside me. “And maybe a little encore of last night’s show.”
Serena shook her head. “Better save your strength if you expect to make it through the day. Do you know what time it is?”
I looked around the room for a clock.
“It’s almost one-thirty. I’ll make you some coffee and scramble some eggs, but I want to talk with you first.”
“One-thirty? Gawd, I’ve got to get moving.” I swung my legs around, planting my feet on the floor. Noticing my naked thighs, I asked, “Clothes?”
Serena lowered herself onto the bed next to me, an outstretched arm across my legs keeping me from getting up. “I have your clothes, but first I have to tell you something.”
I tried to read her face, but she wouldn’t meet my eyes. “What is it?”
“I haven’t been entirely truthful with you.”
I waited for her to continue.
“I told you I called the police last night, and—”
“And you saved my life.”
“Only because I called Buck Marrano.”
“I know, he told me you called the SAPD and he responded to the call.”
She shook her head. “No, Quint, you’re not listening. I didn’t call the police department, I called Buck Marrano at home and begged him to find you.”
Knowing Buck’s grandfather had crippled her uncle, I couldn’t imagine Serena asking help from any of the Marrano clan, particularly a closet racist like Buck.
“You’re saying you have Buck’s home number? You know him personally?”
She surveyed my ruined face for a moment before telling me, “In college, I discovered white men were as attracted to me as black men. When I returned home to St. Augustine, I opened myself up to the possibility that I could rise above the stereotypes. Help bring St. Augustine into the twentieth century.”
“And Buck helped you do that?”
“I thought so. For all his brashness and occasional arrogance, Buck has a surprisingly sensitive core.”
I snorted.
“I’ll admit he keeps it well hidden.”
“So you, what? Dated?”
“For a brief time. You have to remember this was twelve years ago. I was young, and I hadn’t heard Uncle Walter’s story yet. Someone told my father I was dating a Marrano, and he had Uncle Walter tell me how Bat Marrano and his grandson crippled him. I broke it off with Buck the very same day.”
This explained Marrano’s hostility toward me from the outset, and perhaps his less than forthcoming behavior at the hospital. I reminded myself that Serena’s life before she met me was her own business, and attempted to dismiss the graphic pictures of Buck and Serena flitting through my head.
“Thanks for telling me, but like you said, it’s ancient history.” I wrapped my arms around her and kissed her. “Today is what counts, and after last night, who knows.”
“Quint, you’re the first white man I’ve dated since Buck Marrano. I wanted you to know that. I do care for you, but last night was mostly a reaction to the trauma you suffered mixed with my own guilt.”
“Guilt? Guilt for what?”
“Guilt comes with the territory, I guess. What I’m trying to say is we should take this one day at a time and not jump to any happily ever after conclusions. Besides, I don’t want to worry about whether someone is going to kill you every time you go to work.”
“I know this doesn’t look good,” I said, pointing to my eye, “but it won’t happen again. Believe me.”
“How can you be sure? I’m sorry, but I can’t live with something like this hanging over my head all the time.”
Maybe last night’s lovemaking was exactly what she said it was—a visceral reaction to my trauma, but there must have been more to it than the sex. A connection had been made on a level I’d never experienced before. But then, near-death experiences probably have that affect.
Confused, I sputtered, “Fine, whatever you say. We’ll take it one day at a time. Now, can I get dressed?”
***
While Serena fixed me breakfast, I made a quick call to Charla and asked her to run by my apartment and take care of Dudley and Bogie. Next I visited the bathroom. Flicking on the light, I stared at the battered face in the mirror. It reminded me of a boxer after enduring ten-rounds of punishment with a young Mike Tyson. Last night, a small platoon of red had made inroads across the white of my eye. This morning, the red army had clearly won the battle. My entire eye was bathed in what looked like fresh blood, so thick I imagined it spilling out of the socket and pouring down my face. Dark, purplish bruises decorated both eyes and I wondered how Serena allowed such a creature into her bed.
“I have to run to the office for an hour or so,” Serena said when I entered the kitchen. “Breakfast is on the table. Take your time and we’ll talk later.” She kissed me before leaving.
While swallowing my last bite of eggs, the morbid thought struck me that if not for Buck Marrano’s heroics, I’d have ended my days as a crocodilian midnight snack. Dead as Clayton Ford Henderson.
That fleeting neural reminder of the dead poet sparked a quirky switcheroo in my line of thinking. Henderson must be involved with this puzzle. I didn’t know how or why, but like a giant wheel, the spokes all pointed in his direction. I thought about his abandoned children. About how he left them with Lester Sternwald, the sleazebag attorney, and turned his back on them forever. Jack Fuller told me only the barest details of the lawyer’s involvement with Henderson’s twins. Now I wondered if they played any part in the adoption scam leading to his arrest. Taking a chance Fuller might be in his office on a Saturday, I made the call. He picked up on the second ring.
After our greetings, I said, “Jack, you told me Lester Sternwald had served some time for an adoption scam.”
“Uh huh. In the Limestone Correctional Facility, as I recall.”
“What kind of scam was he working?”
“Sternwald had a source inside one of the adoption agencies who told him when couples were rejected for one reason or another. He’d contact them and say he represented an unwed mother looking to place her child in a good home. He showed them pictures of some of the babies he’d placed—”
“Wait, do you think he might have used the Henderson babies?”
“He could have.”
“So what happened?”
“He strung these poor folks along, sucking them dry for phony medical expenses, for food and board. Hell, I think he even got money for plane tickets so they could fly the mother in for a visit. Of course, in the end the mother had a change of heart and they were left with nothing but empty promises that he’d find another baby for them.”
“And these people didn’t complain?”
“Think how desperate they must have been. They’d tried all the legitimate avenues only to be told they weren’t suitable parents. This was before people flew all over the world adopting Chinese, Russian and Vietnamese babies. Legitimate agencies had turned them down, and even if they suspected something shady, Sternwald was their last hope. I’d heard he had a girlfriend who posed as the unwed mother when the couples insisted on meeting the girl. They even had a baby to show them, but, of course, they never got to keep the kid.”
“How many times did he pull this stunt?”
“Not sure. At least a half-dozen times before someone went to the authorities.”
“Did he use the same baby?”
“I still have the file on my desk. Give me a minute.” He returned shortly. “Doesn’t say. Is that important?”
“I don’t know. Does the report say what happened to the baby he used as bait?”
“No. He probably had more than one.”
“Do me a favor, Jack. Check Christopher Henderson’s death certificate and see when he di
ed.”
“You think he was one of the babies Sternwald used in the scam?”
“Could be.”
“Makes sense. And when the kid died, Sternwald probably found himself another one. I’ll check on it and let you know if I find anything.”
“There’s another thing. See if you can dig up some background on Amelia Faye—his sister. Including anything you can find on the adopted family.”
“Boy, you’re really straining our friendship,” he grumbled. “How about some professional courtesy for all this work I’m doing for you?”
“Sure. Whatever you need.”
“Cynthia and I are taking the grand-kids to Disney World in a few weeks and we thought we’d spend a day in St. Augustine.”
“That’s great. Dinner is on me. Just let me know when you’re coming in.”
“Well, actually, I was hoping you’d be able to get us some passes to the Alligator Farm. Scotty has this thing about gators and I promised him a visit.”
THIRTY-EIGHT
Fortified by another cup of coffee, I decided to take care of a few things in St. Augustine before returning home. My call to Fuller had further triggered my curiosity about Henderson’s past. If Erin Marrano was his daughter, as I suspected, I wondered if the old man had kept any ties to his past. Perhaps somewhere in that landfill he called an office I’d find the adoption papers he signed when he turned the twins over to Sternwald.
After a few knocks on the door of the Martinez House, Watts opened it and greeted me with a perplexed look.
“What the hell happened to your face?”
“Careless accident. Mind if I come in?”
“Of course not.” His blond hair was spiked haphazardly. He wore a pair of cut-off Levis and a red tank top exposing solid shoulders and arms ripped with muscles.
Inside, I offered my condolences on Henderson’s death. He hung his head for a moment before looking at me, his pale blue eyes gleaming with emotion.
“Thanks. I appreciate that. Guess I was all he had left in this world. Why did I have to pick that day to visit my cousin in Tampa? I should have been here for him when he needed me most.”
“Don’t beat yourself up over it. I know he appreciated your friendship these last few months of his life. I understand he left you some money and the use of his home.”
Watts nodded.
“Have you done any cleaning?” I poked my trigger finger toward the ceiling.
“As a matter of fact, I’m already working on the housecleaning. You want to help?
“Not really, but I’d like to check on something.”
Watts had made quite a dent in the piles of boxes and old newspapers that littered the room. I commended him on his housekeeping skills.
“Mr. Henderson had a hard time throwing things away,” Watts said.
“Did you find anything of value?”
“Not unless you consider ten years worth of old magazines and newspapers valuable. He had boxes of his poetry books, too. Take some, if you want. I plan to donate them to the library and local schools.”
“Do you mind if I look through the desk?”
He raised an eyebrow. “Looking for anything in particular?”
I didn’t want to tell him too much about Henderson’s less than commendable past as a father figure, or that I thought my client was the dead man’s daughter. “I honestly don’t know. It’s a long shot, but I wondered if his suicide had any connection with Commissioner Marrano’s death.”
“You’re kidding, right?”
“I said it was a long shot. But stranger things have happened.”
“Go ahead if it’ll satisfy your curiosity. But his attorney’s already been here along with one of the police detectives. I don’t think you’re going to find much of anything.”
He was right. I rummaged through stacks of bills, old correspondence, the usual assortment of office supplies, and a drawer reflecting his obsessive-compulsive habits. It overflowed with paperclips, rubber bands, pencils, some worn down to the nub. I found markers, rulers and scraps of papers with odd phrases that might have been ideas for poems, but no adoption papers.
I thanked Watts for letting me snoop around and wished him well. “What’s next for you?” I asked him at the front door.
“I’ll see if the hospital needs anyone on their rehab staff. There’s always private work with people like Mr. Henderson who need personal therapy. Might as well hang around. At least I don’t have to pay any rent for the next year.”
Walking to my car, my internal pinball machine began flashing again telling me I’d missed something. I waited for a spark of inspiration, but nothing surfaced in my battered brain.
***
I left my car parked near Henderson’s house after pulling out my sunglasses. I was going to walk to the SAPD on King Street to see Marrano and I didn’t want to scare any young children. Besides, the light hurt my eyes, even though the sky was overcast.
I owed Buck Marrano my life, but more than that he was another of the central figures in this case. William Marrano was Buck’s brother, which made him Erin’s brother-in-law. He was also the first cop on the scene after Henderson’s death, and now I learned he and Serena had once been an item. I wondered where the coincidences stopped and conspiracy began.
My head reeled with the interlacing connections. After last night, I could relate even more with Walter Howard’s savage beating in 1964. Bat Marrano had brought his grandsons along to watch the Klan deliver white justice to the NAACP leader. In their own way, the two Marrano brothers made their mark on St. Augustine. One of them would become a Detective Commander in the St. Augustine Police Department, while his older brother, the dead vice mayor, a successful realtor and politician. In my mind, there was no question that William Marrano was the eager boy who took the first whack at Howard.
Unless I misread the signals, Marrano knew a lot more than he’d shared with me. I asked for him at the front desk. In less than a minute, he walked into the lobby pulling sunglasses from his shirt pocket. He studied my face for a moment, but said nothing, only shaking his head
“I haven’t eaten yet. Do you want to grab a sandwich next door?”
“Sure, I can eat.”
We walked to Flavor’s Eatery, a little sandwich shop on the corner of King and Riberia Streets. Taking our baskets outside, we sat at one of the umbrella-covered tables. A dump truck rumbled along King Street, grinding through gears as we chewed our sandwiches.
“Anything on my assault?” I asked him.
“Apparently, the lock on the service door had been picked. No fingerprints, but we got some partial footprints. I don’t think they’ll come to anything.” He slurped a large sweet tea through a straw and wiped his mouth.
“Doesn’t sound very hopeful,” I said.
“Not unless something else pops up. We didn’t find the note or your piece. Sorry.”
“I have a spare, but I hate to think this asshole’s still walking around loose.”
“I don’t like this sort of thing happening in my city, either. Makes us look bad.”
Sometimes first impressions are difficult to overcome. Buck Marrano made the worst kind of impression on me from the moment he jumped all over Jeffrey Poe, sucker-punched me, and later accosted me in the parking lot. After that, I had him pegged as a racist bully. Yet Serena had been smitten with him at one time. And let’s not forget the man saved my life.
“Listen, Buck, I want to thank you again for saving my ass. It took a lot of balls to go into that alligator pen in the middle of the night.”
He colored and seemed genuinely embarrassed by my remarks.
“Part of the job. I’m glad I was around when Ms. Howard called.” He rubbed a finger over his nose and gazed away, taking a sudden interest in the Methodist Church across the street
“Uh huh, part of the job. Serena told me about dating you a while back.”
“She did?”
“Yeah, she did.”
“Damn, I wou
ld’ve liked to seen your face. Surprised?”
“You have to admit you’re not exactly the poster boy for racial harmony.”
“We were a lot younger then, and it didn’t last very long before we went our separate ways.”
We both knew the reason for their break-up. Walter Howard. Did he really think he could date Howard’s niece without having to face the ugly legacy left behind by his grandfather? Curious to hear what he’d say about Howard, I asked him, “This doesn’t have anything to do with the case, but you remember me telling you I’d met Serena’s uncle?”
“The N-double-A-CP guy?”
“That’s him. You know, he told me two kids were there when your grandfather crippled him. One of the boys even took part in the beating.”
Marrano stayed silent, gnawing at his lower lip. When he spoke again, his voice wavered and I strained to hear him. “He shouldn’t have done that.”
Was he talking about his brother? About Walter Howard? Or Bat Marrano? “Howard didn’t have much choice in the matter, if that’s what you mean. They tied him up and took him to a field where some maniacs crushed his knees with a club.”
Marrano’s eyes seemed to cloud over. Had his thoughts returned to that night in 1964? His memories must be filled with frightening bogeymen. But these monsters didn’t live under his bed or in the closet of his childhood imagination. One of them was his grandfather and the other his dead brother.
THIRTY-NINE
My cell phone drummed to life as I drove north on US 1 toward my Jacksonville Beach apartment. I expected to hear Fuller’s voice when I said Hello. Instead, another familiar voice said, “Mr. Mitchell, this is Pamela, Mr. Laurance’s executive assistant.” Voice clipped. All business.
“Yes, how can I help you?”
“Please hold for Mr. Laurance.” The line went dead and I held for Mr. Laurance.
Thirty seconds later, there was Kurtis Laurance’s unctuous voice. “How are you feeling, Mr. Mitchell? I understand you had a close call last night at the Alligator Farm.”
“That’s right, but I’m still above ground. I doubt if you’re really interested in my health, though, so why don’t you get to the point.”
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