by Paul Carr
“Do you know Wilbur Hess? Used to be a roadie for the band.”
She shook her head. “Must’ve been before I knew them. You think he killed Riley?”
Ignoring the question, he glanced around the bar. “Looks like business is picking up.”
“Yeah, they start pouring in about this time of night. I’ll be slammed for a couple of hours before going home.”
“Must be good for tips.”
“It’s okay. I’m not getting rich.” She glanced down the bar. “Gotta run for a customer.”
When she walked away, he laid a bill on the bar and headed for the door. Turning back, he saw her watching him leave. She fixed him with a mock pout, and he gave her a wave. Something about her…
Before heading home, he stopped at the office and checked his email. CSI Tarver had sent his report of the Gunn murder scene. In the living room and bathrooms, the team had found fingerprints belonging to Gunn, Colin Casey, and Ana Kovich, as well several they couldn’t identify. Those of Kovich and Casey were on file from visa applications. The housekeeper’s visa had expired two years earlier without a renewal. In Gunn’s bedroom, where Dalton guessed the murder had taken place, the CSI team had found the victim’s prints and those of Ana Kovich. They’d also found partial prints belonging to Gunn and Casey on the drug paraphernalia.
The prints didn’t help much, other than to confirm Casey’s admission that he had used the cocaine along with Gunn. The housekeeper had a logical reason for her prints to be found in the victim’s bedroom.
Tarver’s report indicated that several samples of blood at the scene had been sent to the lab for DNA analysis. They had located the kill slug buried in the wall and identified it as 9mm. Nothing else in the report seemed beneficial in identifying a killer.
Remembering the disc from the security company, he loaded it onto his computer and started it up. It began two days earlier. Few vehicles came and went the entire time. The housekeeper arrived mid-morning each day and left seven or eight hours later. As shown on the video earlier, she remained longer the day of the party. Also that day, a landscape crew came and worked on the lawn and shrubs. They left a little past noon. Another car drove in and out of the garage a number of times over the course of the two days. Dalton checked the motor vehicles database and verified that the car belonged to Riley Gunn. His departures were always in the afternoon, except for one, two days before, when he left at 9:00 a.m. He returned a couple of hours later. Dalton wondered if he might have visited the law office for a meeting about his lawsuit. That reminded him that he needed to talk with Hilda Wright again the next day and get more details about the case. He made a note to visit her, and also the defendant in the suit, Raven Gardner. Finding nothing suspicious about any of the footage, he closed the video.
He wondered if the medical examiner was still in the office. A vehicle had occupied the ME’s designated parking spot a few minutes earlier, so he wended his way down the dimly lit hall and found Dr. Bragg at his desk working at a computer.
Bragg turned when he approached the open doorway. “Yes, Detective?”
“I wondered if you’d finished the autopsy of Riley Gunn.”
“I have. I’m compiling my findings.”
“Anything of significance you can share with me?”
The little man gave him a condescending smile. “No, you’ll have to wait for my report.”
Dalton’s face felt warm. “When do you think you’ll get around to sending it?”
“When I’m finished, Detective. I’m not sure how you operated where you came from, but you’ll learn that I won’t be rushed with my analysis. Now, if there’s nothing else….”
Touchy. Muttering unseemly names for the doctor, Dalton went back to this work station and turned off his computer. There wasn’t anything else he could do at the present, so he headed toward Little Torch Key. On the way, he stopped at a restaurant on Stock Island and had grilled hogfish, a Key West delicacy.
Dalton lived in a guest cottage at his uncle’s marina, where renters of several other cottages and a couple dozen boat slips also called the place home. When he had arrived in the Keys from Chicago, Uncle Eric had invited him to stay until he found a place of his own. Several months had passed since then. The setup was so good he’d had little incentive to move. Eric didn’t seem to mind, though, since Dalton compensated him for lost rent and helped with work around the docks.
At that time of the evening, Eric burned tiki torches on the deck overlooking the marina. Guests often showed up with drinks to relax with friends. As Dalton approached on the winding driveway, his uncle waved. He parked the car and ambled over.
“There’s beer in the cooler,” Eric said.
Geraldine Beale, a boisterous fifty-year-old and a long-time guest, sat with her husband Charlie. Dalton said hello to them, pulled a bottle from the ice, and took a seat. Cupcake, their fully-grown pet cougar, stepped out from the shadows and nuzzled the side of his face. He scratched the cat’s ears and took a long drink from his bottle. Dalton had rescued him from Florida Fish and Wildlife, where he would have been euthanized. His previous owner, who raised him from a cub, had been killed.
Geraldine said, “He’s been bumming beer since we got here an hour ago.”
As if the cat understood, he went to her chair and rubbed against her arm. “Rowww.”
“He’s so cute.” She poured beer into a bowl at her feet and Cupcake lapped it up. “But I think he’s had his limit.” Shifting gears, her brow furrowed as she said, “I saw the sheriff on TV today, talking about Riley Gunn getting killed.”
“Yeah,” Dalton said, “I heard about that. Did he say who did it?” Geraldine could be a busybody, and he didn’t want her peppering him with questions.
She just stared for a moment, maybe wondering if he knew more. “He said they didn’t have any suspects yet.” She drank down her beer, said something to her husband that Dalton didn’t catch, and stood. “I guess we’ll call it a night.” She scratched behind Cupcake’s ears and she and Charlie stepped off the deck. The cat watched as they made their way down the walkway toward the dock, maybe realizing he’d had his last drink for the night.
“You caught that case, didn’t you?” Eric said.
“Yeah, sure did.”
“Good. They need to find the killer quick, and you’re the one to do it.”
Both Eric and Dalton had worked homicides with the Chicago PD. Eric had stayed an entire career. Dalton’s career had been cut short. The chief of police had asked him to leave or be fired, fearing his testimony in a corruption case would lead to prosecution for him and other higher-ups in the department. Dalton went back later for a deposition, at the request of state’s attorneys, but his testimony had little, if any, effect on the case. It was his belief that dirty cops would hang themselves, and didn’t need any help from him.
“It’s been a long day,” Dalton said. “I’m going to turn in.” He headed to his cottage, with Cupcake following. After feeding the cat a pack of ground meat, he brushed his teeth, showered, and got into bed. He lay there only a minute or so before fatigue tugged at his consciousness, and images of a beautiful woman with purple hair crept into his dreams.
His phone chimed, maybe many times, until it brought him up from a deep sleep. Sheriff’s Office, 4:18 a.m., appeared on the display. He answered.
“Hey Detective, this is Snyder, the watch commander. Sorry to bother you, but I thought you should know we found the stolen car belonging to a man named Jimmy Earl. You indicated you wanted to be notified when it turned up.”
Dalton took a deep breath and let it out with a sigh. “Okay. So why did you think I’d want to know about that at four in the morning?”
“We found it near Riley Gunn’s house. There’s blood inside.”
Chapter 4
The sun had not risen by the time Dalton reached the site where deputies found Jimmy Earl’s car. Just around the block from Riley Gunn’s estate, the lot was overgrown with palmetto and wi
ld shrubs. He parked behind sheriff’s cruisers on the street. A tow-truck driver hooked the car up as he approached a couple of deputies.
“Who found the car?” Dalton asked.
One of them said, “I did. When I drove by, one of the taillights reflected in my headlamps. I saw the blood on the steering wheel when I shined the light inside.”
The tow truck driver started the engine and eased Earl’s vehicle out of the brush. Dalton hurried over to the cab. “I want to take a quick look inside before you go.”
The driver, who looked half asleep, nodded. “Yeah, go ahead.”
It was a vintage Camaro with dark green paint. Probably worth a lot of money. He shined his Maglite inside at the wheel and saw the blood. Not much there, but enough. Could be anybody’s, including Riley Gunn’s. He rounded to the other side and peered through the passenger window. No key in the ignition, and no wires hanging underneath the dash. That made him wonder how the thief, maybe the murderer, had started the engine. Maybe it wasn’t stolen at all. Maybe Jimmy Earl parked in the brush, ran over and killed Gunn, and returned to a car that wouldn’t start. In that case he would be reluctant to get a tow truck out there so near the murder scene.
Dalton went back to the deputies. “This vehicle might be connected with the Gunn murder. It needs to be impounded.”
“Roger that,” one of the deputies said. He spoke with the driver and then they got into their cruisers and followed the tow truck out of the neighborhood.
Dalton went to an all-night diner and had breakfast and a couple of cups of coffee. It bothered him that there was no ignition key and no sign of a hotwire. After the CSIs poured over the vehicle, he would need to verify whether or not the ignition had been hotwired. If not, Jimmy Earl would have to explain how someone else got his car key.
He arrived at the office a little after six o’clock and left a note on Lucas Tarver’s desk to call him. Tarver phoned a half-hour later. Dalton briefed him on the situation. The CSI lead said they would get right on it.
Lt. Springer walked through the office at seven and stopped by Dalton’s desk. “I expected a progress review yesterday evening on the Gunn case.”
“We were pretty busy. I can brief you now if you want.”
“Yes, please do.” He strode away toward his office.
Taking his time, Dalton stopped by the break room for a cup of coffee to carry in with him. When he arrived, Springer gave him a smirk. “I thought you were right behind me.”
Ignoring the comment, Dalton took a seat and set his cup on the edge of the lieutenant’s desk. He told him about their interviews with Gunn’s party attendees, about the drug connection, finding the dealer’s dead body, and the stolen vehicle with blood inside. He took a sip from his cup and leaned back in the chair.
“I suppose you didn’t think finding a dead body was important enough to report to me.”
“We called it in. I thought the watch commander would pass that on.”
Springer waved away the comment, which probably meant the watch commander did relay the information. “I got a call on my way in this morning from Detective Ringo of the Key West PD. He said you and your partner went inside the house and fouled his scene.”
“We didn’t foul anything.”
“He also said you failed to alert him about a dangerous snake in the house.”
Dalton furrowed his brow. “There was a snake in there?”
Springer shook his head. “I don’t like getting calls like that. I expected you to brief me on it rather than hearing about it from the Key West PD.”
Routine reporting to the LT sounded like a good duty for Buddy. Dalton stood. “Sorry, I have a meeting.” He picked up his coffee cup and left. Back at his desk, he thought about the discussion with the lieutenant. The guy had been too preoccupied with the lack of an update and the call from Ringo to realize the significance of finding Jimmy Earl’s vehicle.
Time to talk to Earl. Dalton passed by Crook’s desk on the way out and told him where he was going. “While I’m gone, how about checking around with taxis and hired cars that Jimmy Earl or someone else might’ve called for a ride after ditching the Camaro in the woods.”
Crook nodded. “Okay, I can do that.” He looked hung over, his eyes a network of crimson.
****
Jimmy Earl lived in an aging, waterfront house in Marathon. A late model sports car sat in the driveway. Dalton parked behind it, went to the door, and knocked. Earl peeked out a minute or so later, his hair disheveled, eyes puffy. The detective flashed his badge.
“It’s only eight o’clock,” Earl said. “I thought you were coming at ten.”
“That was before we found your vehicle.”
“You didn’t need to come so early to tell me that.”
“Yes, I did. Let’s go inside.”
Shrugging, Earl stepped out of the way and waved for him to enter. The room looked tired, like the house: furniture past its prime, dingy drapes, cheap reproductions on the wall.
“Have a seat on the sofa. I’ll be right back.” He went around a breakfast counter into the kitchen. “You want coffee?”
“No, thanks.”
He returned a couple of minutes later carrying a cup and took a seat. “I heard about Riley. He must’ve gotten into something really bad.”
Like Casey, ink swirled up both of Earl’s arms. Dalton supposed that was the case with most musicians. “We found your car around the corner from his house. It had blood on the steering wheel.”
“Huh.” A moment later his eyes widened. “You think whoever stole the car could’ve killed him?”
“Maybe. The blood analysis might confirm it. When did you realize the car was gone?”
“Day before yesterday. I hadn’t driven the Camaro in a few days. Thought I’d take it into town. When I went to the garage it was missing.”
“You have the keys for it?”
“Yeah. Why do you ask that?”
“Can I see them?”
The drummer got up and stepped down the hall. He came back and showed Dalton a set of keys.
“Do you have a spare set?”
Earl raised an eyebrow. “This is the spare set. I couldn’t find the ones I usually have hanging in the kitchen.”
Dalton took out an evidence bag and asked him to drop the keys inside. “I need to take them for analysis.”
“Why all the questions about the keys?”
“Because whoever took your car had the ignition key. Who’s been in your kitchen?”
“I have a housekeeper who comes a couple of times a week.” Earl scratched his head and took a sip of coffee. “Some girlfriends have been over. That’s all I can think of.”
“Any of them in the kitchen when you weren’t?”
“Just the housekeeper, but I don’t think she would’ve taken the keys. She’s a little Cuban lady who has grandchildren.”
Dalton just nodded and stared for a moment. “Tell me where you were night before last.”
“You think it’s me? You think I killed Riley?” The volume of his voice rose, his tone pitched higher.
“Just tell me.”
“I was with my ex-wife in Miami.” He shook his head and sipped his coffee.
“What time did you get there and leave?”
Earl shrugged, took his time answering, as if pouting. “Got there around 7:00 p.m. and left the next morning about six.”
“Will she corroborate that?”
“Yeah, of course.”
“Okay, I’ll need to speak with her.” Dalton got her name, address and phone number. “Any bad blood between you and Riley?”
“No more than normal. We got along like cats and dogs. It was always his way or the highway.”
Glancing at the threadbare furniture, Dalton said, “You own this place?”
“No, it’s rented.”
“Did you know about the insurance policy Gunn took out for the band members?”
The drummer smirked. “Sure. He went out of his
way to let us know how well he was taking care of us in case something happened to him.”
“You gamble, have expensive habits?”
“That’s none of your business.” He stood. “Maybe it’s time you left.”
“Sit down. I’m not going anywhere. I’m guessing you need your part of the insurance proceeds.”
Earl didn’t reply, but sighed and dropped back into his chair.
“I’ll take that as a ‘yes.’” Dalton made notes in his pad, and then said, “In case you haven’t heard, Riley’s cocaine connection, Wilbur Hess, got murdered yesterday.” He watched Earl’s face for any sign that he knew.
“Huh, that’s too bad,” Earl said, his expression not giving away anything.
“Were you a customer?”
Earl eyed him for a couple of beats, maybe deciding whether or not to lie.
“I’m not interested in busting you for using.”
“Yeah, well, I had a bit of a problem, mainly because of Wilbur. That’s why Coleen left me.”
Dalton told him he had enough information for the time being. “Don’t go anywhere. We might need to talk again later.”
Earl gave him a smirk and ushered him out the door.
In the car, Dalton sat there and called CSI Tarver. “Did you find any prints on the steering wheel?”
“We found prints that match the owner, Jimmy Earl, which could’ve been there before the vehicle was stolen. We didn’t find any prints in the blood.” That meant the murderer wore gloves. Earl’s prints being on file indicated he had been charged with something in the past. He made a note to ask Buddy to research that.
“You send off the blood for analysis?”
“Yes, a courier took it. It should be at the lab in an hour or so.”
“Can you get them to put a priority on it?”
“I can ask, but they’re always busy.”
“Do your best. I’d bet a paycheck that it’s Riley Gunn’s blood.”
He hung up, phoned Earl’s ex-wife, and asked about his alibi.