“That’s very interesting, Mr. Barrington,” Corelli said. “Does he have any other explanation for why the drugs were present on his boat?”
“No, but I can posit an answer to your question.”
“Please do so,” Corelli said.
“It seems likely that drug smugglers, who work regularly in and out of Key West, spotted Evan’s boat, which is well known on the island, having been previously owned by the local tennis pro, Chuck Chandler. Perhaps this person or persons thought the drugs might arrive in Key West with less chance of being found if they entered the harbor on a well-known local boat instead of whatever drug-running rocket ship they were traveling in.”
“I do know of a couple of cases where smugglers tried to move drugs on the boats of unsuspecting owners,” Corelli said, “so your supposition is not entirely beyond reason. However, I will still need to question Mr. Keating and his girlfriend, Ms. Jones.”
“If you’ll give me your card,” Stone said, “I’ll arrange a meeting as soon as Evan arrives back in Key West.”
“Tommy,” Corelli said, “you know this gentleman. Is his word to be trusted?”
“Yes,” Tommy said.
Corelli stood up, and so did everybody else. “In that case, I’ll look forward to your call,” he said, handing Stone his card. They all shook hands, and Tommy and his party left.
“You up for some conch fritters?” Dino asked.
“Always,” Stone replied.
45
STONE AND DINO were polishing off their usual dessert of key lime pie.
“I think we should go to Miami,” Dino said. Stone blinked. “Why?”
“To talk to our erstwhile colleague Manny White.”
“Why?”
“Because we don’t have anything else to do, and visiting Manny will keep us busy.”
“What do you hope to learn from Manny?” Stone asked.
“We already have our suspicions about Manny,” Dino said, “but even if they aren’t true, he probably knows more about all this than we do.”
“That wouldn’t be hard,” Stone said. “But first I need to call Evan.”
He did so.
“Hello?”
“It’s Stone. Where are you?”
“Still in Connecticut. We’re taking a morning flight from LaGuardia tomorrow, and we’ll land in Key West at two o’clock.”
“Where are you staying?”
“At the Marquesa again. We can’t stay on the boat, can we?”
“Not yet. A DEA agent came to see me earlier today. Naturally, he’s anxious to talk with you about the drugs found on your boat.”
“Naturally,” Evan replied.
“I’ll set something up with him tomorrow afternoon, and we’ll go see him.”
“All right. Not before four o’clock; you know how flights are these days.”
“That will be good. See you then.” Stone hung up, called Rocco Corelli and made the appointment. “All right,” he said to Dino, “let’s go to Miami. Do we have an address?”
“He’ll be in the phone book,” Dino replied. On the way to the airport, Stone got a weather forecast and fi led a fl ight plan. Half an hour later they were winging their way north.
They landed at Tamiami Airport and got Manny White’s address from a phone book, then took a cab.
Manny White Investigations was housed in an elegant little Art Deco office building in South Beach, on the top floor. There was a nicely furnished reception room with a pretty receptionist, and they were shown into Manny’s office right away.
Manny didn’t rise to greet them. “Well,” he said, deadpan, “to what do I owe the thrill of this visit?”
“We were in town and thought we’d drop by to say hello,” Dino replied, offering himself a chair.
“Hello,” Manny said. He turned toward Stone. “You too.”
“Hi, Manny,” Stone replied.
“So how long you been in business here?” Dino asked.
“Since I retired, seven years ago.”
Dino looked around the office. “Business must be good.”
“Not bad,” Manny said. “It took a while to build it up.”
“What sort of investigations do you do?” Stone asked.
“Skip tracing, employee embezzlement, divorce and child custody, you name it.”
“How many operatives do you employ?” Dino asked.
“Half a dozen, all freelancers.”
“Who are they?”
“Ex-cops, mostly. Now and then I run across somebody who’s just smart, and I hire him.”
“Manny,” Dino said, “you were helpful to us when a client of Stone’s was in danger of getting shot. Suppose we wanted a little wet work done. Could you send me to somebody good?”
“What kind of wet work?”
“Do you really want to know?”
“How can I send you to the right guy if I don’t know what kind of work you want done? Everybody’s a specialist these days. You want somebody burgled, I recommend one guy; you want a debt collected, I recommend another guy.”
“Suppose we wanted somebody’s clock stopped,” Stone said.
“Could you handle that?”
Manny regarded him evenly. “You guys wearing a wire? Maybe you should be in your underwear for this conversation.”
“I’ll be happy to strip for you, Manny, but neither of us is wired.”
“This is just an informal discussion,” Dino said. “Very hypothetical. Could you handle a clock-stopping?”
“I don’t handle nothing,” Manny said. “I just pass along instructions.”
“You sound like the Happy Hooker, Manny,” Dino said.
“That’s not an unfair comparison,” Manny replied. “I’ll need to know whose clock we’re talking about and where he is, something about his habits.”
“Maybe we should talk directly to your contractor,” Stone said. Manny shook his head slowly. “You never meet him; he’s funny that way.”
“What’s the going rate for clock-stopping these days?” Dino asked.
Manny shrugged. “Depends on distance, difficulty and whether the guy has protection.”
“Ballpark number?”
“Could be twenty-five big ones, if it’s local and easy; two, three times that if travel is involved and if he has security. What part of the country we talking about?”
“Key West, maybe,” Stone said. “Maybe Connecticut.”
Manny became inert.
“Manny, you still there?” Dino asked.
“I’m still here,” Manny said, “but you guys aren’t.” He nodded toward the door. “Take a hike.”
“You’re a little sensitive, aren’t you, Manny?” Stone asked.
“What’s the matter?” Manny said. “Don’t you guys know when you’re getting your chain yanked? I don’t do that kind of business. Now get out of here—I got no more time for you.”
“I’ll bet you’d have time if I put twenty-five big ones on the desk right now,” Stone said.
“Then do it, or hoof it,” Manny said.
They hoofed it, thanking Manny for his time.
IN THE AIRPLANE on the way back, Stone tuned in a jazz station on the satellite radio, switched on the autopilot and sat back. “So Manny’s the arranger, you think?”
“Oh, yeah,” Dino replied. “Not that you could ever nail him. Not even if we’d been wearing a wire today.”
“Manny’s a shit, but he’s not stupid,” Stone said.
“Anyway,” Dino replied, “we know how he’s paying for that offi ce space.”
“You betcha,” Stone said.
46
STONE MET EVAN Keating and Gigi Jones at the airport. Gigi rented a car and left for the Marquesa, while Stone drove Evan to the Federal Building in Key West, near the Monroe County Courthouse.
“Now, listen to me carefully, Evan,” Stone said. “It’s important that you answer all of Corelli’s questions truthfully.”
“Why not?” Evan sai
d. He didn’t seem concerned.
“I’ll tell you why not. It’s a federal crime to lie to an FBI agent, a DEA agent or any other federal law enforcement offi cer. Corelli is going to be investigating this incident with your boat from more than one direction, and if he finds something that contradicts your testimony, you’ll find yourself doing jail time.”
“Just for lying to a DEA agent?” Evan asked. “It doesn’t seem all that important.”
“Remember Martha Stewart? They didn’t get her for insider trading; they got her for lying to an FBI agent. She did a year for that. You might keep that in mind if you start to fudge an answer.”
“Why are you letting me talk to this guy?” Evan asked. “You’re my lawyer.”
“I’m letting you talk to him because I think you’re innocent of a crime and you can be truthful with him without hurting yourself. If that’s not the case, tell me now, and I’ll cancel the appointment.”
Evan was quiet. “Why is it to my advantage to talk to him?”
“Because you’ve been caught in possession of drugs—that’s a felony. The amount found and its purity indicate intent to distribute—
that’s another felony. If you can truthfully convince Corelli that you’re innocent, we may be able to make this go away. If I tell him you’re not going to answer his questions, you’re liable to find yourself charged and on trial, and they have a lot of evidence. Do you fully understand your situation now?”
“Yes, I think I do.”
“Do you still want to answer Corelli’s questions?”
“Yes.”
“All right. Now, we’re likely to be seated in a room with a mir-ror on the wall. Behind that wall is certainly going to be a video camera, and probably several other DEA agents, including Corelli’s boss. Everything will be recorded, and they’ll play it over and over again, so your demeanor will be important. Give full answers; don’t be terse. It’s not like you’re taking a lie detector test; you’ll be talking to human beings who will make judgments about you.”
“Are they likely to give me a lie detector test?”
“It’s a possibility. Does that make you nervous?”
“Of course.”
“If they suggest it, I’ll tell them no,” Stone said. “That won’t sur-prise them. If we feel they need more convincing, then we’ll suggest a polygraph.”
“How good are those things?”
“Pretty good, if the operator is experienced and neutral.”
“I think I could pass it,” Evan said. “Suggest it, if you feel it’s in my interests.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” Stone said.
Rocco Corelli came to a reception room to get them, then put them in an interrogation room—just a table and four chairs. Another man joined them, and Corelli introduced him as John Myers.
“Are you a DEA agent, Mr. Myers?” Stone asked him as they settled at the table.
“I’m an assistant U.S. attorney,” Myers replied. Stone nodded as if that didn’t bother him.
“Mr. Barrington,” Corelli said, “first I have a few questions for you for the record, given your presence on Mr. Keating’s boat.”
“That’s fine with me,” Stone said.
“Are you acquainted with a New York City police detective named Dino Bacchetti?”
“Yes, he was my partner when I was with the NYPD.”
“Please explain the presence of the two of you in Key West.”
“A law firm with which I am affiliated in New York was asked to send someone to Key West to find Evan Keating, in connection with a family business matter, and I was asked to go. Lieutenant Bacchetti came along as a sort of vacation.”
“And how did you come to be aboard Mr. Keating’s boat on the day in question?”
“I received a phone call from Chuck Chandler, a local tennis pro, who was the previous owner of the boat. He said that while cruising on his new boat, he saw Mr. Keating’s boat anchored near Fort Jefferson. He didn’t see anyone aboard, and he didn’t fi nd anyone ashore, and he was curious as to why the boat seemed abandoned.
“There had been a previous attempt on Mr. Keating’s life by a person or persons unknown, and I became concerned for his safety. Lieutenant Tommy Sculley of the Key West PD came with Dino and me in a seaplane, which landed near the boat. Tommy and I swam to Mr. Keating’s boat, broke into it and searched it, fearing that he and his girlfriend might be aboard, injured or dead. We also broke into the stern locker of the boat and found what appeared to be a large quantity of drugs.
“At that moment, a Coast Guard cutter arrived and the captain joined us aboard. We had a conversation, then we left the boat in the charge of the Coast Guard, and they impounded it.”
“Did you call Mr. Keating immediately?”
“No, there was no cell phone service that far out. I called him after we returned to Key West.”
“Thank you, Mr. Barrington,” Corelli said. “Mr. Keating, how did your boat come to be anchored and abandoned at Fort Jefferson?”
“My girlfriend, Gigi Jones, and I cruised out to the fort, where we snorkeled and went ashore to see the fort. We had dinner aboard and spent the night. The following morning I called my grandfather, Eli Keating, in Connecticut, and he told me that my father, Warren Keating, had been found shot to death a short time before.”
“Mr. Keating, Mr. Barrington has just told us that there was no cell phone reception at Fort Jefferson. How did you call him?”
“I have a satellite telephone, which works very well at Fort Jefferson.”
“I see. What did you do upon hearing the news of your father’s death?”
“I called a seaplane service at Key West airport. They came and fetched us and flew us to Miami, where we got a commercial fl ight to New York, then rented a car for the drive to Connecticut.”
“And you just abandoned an expensive boat anchored at Fort Jefferson?”
“I didn’t feel I had a choice; my grandfather needed me. I locked it, and when the seaplane arrived, we took the small rubber dinghy from the stern locker and used it to paddle to the airplane. The plane couldn’t come alongside without a wing hitting the superstructure.”
“Did you lock the stern locker after removing the dinghy?”
“No, there was no padlock for it. The old one had corroded and was no longer workable, and I had not yet replaced it.”
“What else was in the locker besides the rubber dinghy?”
“Just fenders and lines for the boat, and a second anchor. Miscellaneous boat stuff, nothing else.”
“And you did not lock the stern locker before you departed?”
“No, I had no lock for that purpose.”
“You didn’t have a combination padlock?”
“No, I didn’t.”
“While you were anchored at Fort Jefferson, did another boat approach yours?”
“No, we didn’t see another boat for the whole time we were there, which was, I guess, around eighteen hours. We did see an airplane once, shortly after sunrise, flying low—sightseeing, I suppose.”
“What kind of airplane?”
“A small Piper, I think, something like the Warrior.”
“A seaplane?”
“No, I didn’t see any fl oats. It circled the area a couple of times, then flew away in the direction of Key West.”
“Did you see anyone at Fort Jefferson when you went ashore?”
“Not a soul. The circling airplane was the only sign of life we saw out there, until the seaplane arrived for us.”
“What happened to your rubber raft?”
“It’s still at the Key West Airport, I suppose. I haven’t had time to retrieve it.”
Stone was impressed with Evan’s composure and the clarity of his responses. “Agent Corelli, Evan is willing to take a polygraph test, if it would be helpful to you.”
Corelli glanced at Myers, who shook his head almost imperceptibly. “Thank you, that won’t be necessary at this time,” Correlli said.
/> “Maybe later.”
“Is there anything else, gentlemen?” Stone asked.
“Yes,” said Myers, speaking for the first time. “I have some questions about Evan’s relationship with Charles Boggs and the death of Mr. Boggs.”
Stone didn’t like this a bit. “How is that relevant?” he asked. “I haven’t had time to consult with my client about that situation.”
“Its relevance will become apparent,” Myers said. Evan spoke up. “It’s all right, Stone,” he said. “I’m willing to answer their questions about Charley.”
Stone still didn’t like it. “All right, gentlemen, but I reserve the right to stop the questioning and consult with my client, if I think it’s necessary.”
“Certainly,” Myers said, then he turned to Evan. “What is your full, legal name?” he asked.
Stone held his breath.
47
EVAN KEATING REGARDED Assistant U.S. Attorney John Myers calmly. “My name, since birth, is Evan Harold Keating. I was named for my great-grandfather, Evan, and my father’s brother, Harry.”
“Why did you approach the Key West police and the county attorney and tell them your real name was Charles Boggs?”
“I believed that my father, Warren Keating, had poisoned my Uncle Harry, and that he might want to kill me as well.”
Stone interrupted. “I should tell you that the FBI lab has confi rmed that Harry Keating died of thallium poisoning, a source of which was found in Warren Keating’s garden shed, and that prior to Evan’s visit to the police, he received a gunshot wound from a sniper, so he had good reason to fear for his life.”
“I thought that if my father heard that I had been killed, as Charley had been, he would stop trying to kill me,” Evan said.
“How did you come to be acquainted with Charles Boggs?”
Myers asked.
“We attended prep school together and were close friends until after we left college. After that, we lost track of each other, until I came to Key West and ran into him.”
“Where did you run into him?”
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