“That’s how we both stay clean.”
“So, it’s Melinda Shaw you’re interested in?”
“I’d like to know how and where you got this photo of her.”
I’d taken a picture of the original with my phone and I showed it to him.
“That’s mine, all right. Not bad work, if I don’t say so. The important thing is to get as much of the face as possible so there’s no mistaking it. The other person, not so important. Unless, of course, the husband wants to take it any further. Sometimes that happens. Not this time. This guy just wanted out of the marriage and he wanted to keep as much of his dough as he could.”
“Nice work, Mattie.” I was guessing flattery would go a long way with a guy who’d change his name to Cohan from Cohen.
“Thanks. It wasn’t easy. I had to follow that broad for almost a week before I hit pay dirt. It was like she knew she was being followed. And if I do say so myself I’m pretty good at what I do.”
“I’ll bet. How long ago?”
He scratched his bald head. “Seems to me it was last summer. Yeah. August, maybe? You can tell the way she’s dressed. Nice legs, right?”
“Know who the guy with her is?”
He shrugged. “Not a clue. It didn’t matter to me. All my client wanted was a photo of her with another guy. In New York, you can’t shoot through a bedroom windows unless you’re Spiderman. Holding hands on the street with him was enough, but I even got them kissing. My client had money and didn’t want to part with it, so he figured photos like this would save him a nice piece of change. You looking for her or him?”
“Both.”
“Can’t help you with him. Last I heard they’re divorced and she was living somewhere on the Upper West Side. Shouldn’t be too tough for a guy like you to find her.”
“How about a guy like you finding her for me?”
He went silent. I knew exactly what he was thinking: How much can I get from this guy to find her? That’s the way these private dicks think. On a sliding scale of greed.
“Not too hard, but it would take time and I’m up to my ears right now.”
“What’s your day rate?”
“Seven-fifty.”
I laughed. “What’s your real rate?”
“You got me there, Charlie-boy. Five hundred.”
“What’s your rate for a colleague?”
“All’s you want me to do is get an address on her?”
“That’s all.”
“How about two bills?”
“You won’t have to leave this office to do it. How about the friends and family rate: one-fifty?”
“You drive a hard bargain, Charlie, but okay, just because we’re compadres now. And I know you’re a guy who doesn’t forget a new friend. You know, in case I should need something somewhere down the line.”
Yeah, he was an operator, all right.
I kept my mouth shut.
“How do I reach you with the information?”
I threw him my old card, which reminded me that one of these days I really ought to get around to getting new ones made up.
“Best to reach me at that number I wrote in. It’s my cell. And you’re sure you don’t have any idea who the guy is in the photo with her?”
His eyes moved away from me for just a split second. “Not a clue.”
He was lying. I wondered why.
Manny Perez
I had no official standing as a result of my suspension, and so it was necessary that I fly beneath the radar. That is why I did not identify myself as a Miami police detective when I met with Ms. Evelyn Kerns. Only my good friend and former partner, David Chung, knew what I was doing and he had sworn himself to secrecy. He had performed the legwork necessary in locating Ms. Kerns. He also supplied me with some helpful background information about her.
Ms. Evelyn Kerns was working as a cocktail waitress at one of the hipper hotel clubs that have sprouted up all across Miami Beach in the last two decades. Although at one time Miami Beach and its environs used to be associated with elderly retirees, or snowbirds escaping the northern climes for the sunshine and warm ocean breezes, this changed when the TV show Miami Vice suddenly turned the area hip. Today, the Collins Avenue area is dotted with condos, posh hotels, and nightspots, providing Miami with a much-needed renaissance.
Ms. Kerns was originally from the Midwest, a small suburb outside Chicago, and she had been residing in Miami Beach for the past two years. Prior to that she was a resident of Hollywood, California, where she went in hopes of making her name in the movies. Unfortunately, she only made it in so far as performing as an extra in several small, eminently forgettable films, as well as one commercial for panty hose. And so, after spending five unfruitful years on the West Coast, she decided she would try her luck in another city with a similar climate as well as a burgeoning film industry.
David Chung learned she was still a registered member of SAG, the Screen Actors Guild, and that is how he obtained a current address for her, an apartment complex on Wiley Street in Hollywood, Florida, just a quarter of a mile north of the Diplomat Hotel.
When I visited her apartment, it was mid-afternoon, and I found her in the pool area. There were two card games, one populated by four men, the other by four women, in an area at one end of the pool where shade was provided by an overhanging roof. There was an elderly woman doing laps in the pool while two younger women were practicing yoga at the other end of the pool. Ms. Evelyn Kerns was one of those women. I recognized her immediately from the photographs. She was a very attractive blonde with an athletic build. She was wearing a yellow bikini. From the data David provided me with, she was in her early forties. But from a distance she looked much younger.
I waited for her to complete the yoga exercises. When she was finished, she dove into the pool. She swam several laps, in perfect form, I might add. When she was finished, she grabbed a towel from her chaise lounge and began to dry herself. I approached her as she was rearranging towels on her chaise lounge. I identified myself simply as Manny Perez and asked her about Francis Hoyt.
“I am very much aware that you are under no obligation to speak with me, Ms. Kerns, but I would very much appreciate your voluntary cooperation in this matter.”
“Matter? What matter? Cooperation for what?” she said as she angled the chair so that it was more in line with facing the sun. “Hey, aren’t you hot in that outfit? It’s eighty-three degrees. See?” she pointed to a large round temperature gauge fastened to the wall of her apartment building.
I was wearing my normal attire: a short-sleeve, white, button-down shirt, black string tie, seersucker suit, and a Panama hat. And although it was quite hot and humid, I was not the least bit uncomfortable.
“I do not mean to contradict you, Ms. Kerns, but I hardly think that a suit that cost me this much qualifies as an ‘outfit.’”
“You talk kinda funny, but hey, that’s a real cute accent you got there. Where you from, honey?”
“Miami.”
“Nah. I know a Miami accent when I hear it and that’s not a Miami accent. You’re from south of here, that’s for sure. Let me guess. Venezuela? Bolivia? Costa Rica? Argentina? Colombia? Wait, the hat’s the tip-off. Panama, right?”
“No,” I said with a smile. I was quite pleased with how our interview was progressing. That she was engaging with me in conversation was a good sign. If you keep people talking and if you project an image of friendliness, they will more often than not bond with you and, as a result, provide you with the information you are looking to obtain. On the other hand, if you are aggressive, threatening, and hostile with them, chances are they will resist you and in some cases shut down altogether. You must work hard to win them over to the point where they want to help you, by making it appear as if you are not working at all.
“I am originally from Havana, Cuba.”
“You’re shitting me. Wow, I never woulda thought of that one. But I should’ve, of course. Miami’s filled with you people. Wai
t, I don’t mean that in a bad way. Did I just mess up? Did I offend you, honey? Because I sure didn’t mean to.”
“I do not take offense, Ms. Kerns”
“That’s good. How long you been here? In this country, I mean.”
“Twenty-two years.”
She whistled. “That’s a long time. Whaddya think about what’s going on now? I mean, soon we’ll all be able to visit your country.”
“You’re in my country, Ms. Keyes. I am an American citizen.”
“Oh, yeah. Sure. I didn’t mean anything by that. All’s I meant was, well, you probably still have family there and soon you can visit them. I mean, legally. That’s what I meant.”
“All my family is here now. Everyone in Cuba who was my family has regretfully passed away.”
“Oh, sorry. Look, like I said, I didn’t mean to offend you.”
“You are not offending me, Ms. Keyes.”
“Castro, he’s dead now, right?”
“No, I am afraid he is very much alive. Although I don’t expect he will live much longer. He will be ninety years old on his next birthday and I understand he is not in the best of health. In fact, he has appointed his brother, Raoul, to his former position as president.”
“Yeah? Gee, I really thought he was dead. My bad. Look. It’s hot. Maybe you want to take your jacket off and we can get a nice, cold drink. Whaddya say?”
“I think that would be very nice. Thank you for your kind offer, Ms. Keyes.”
“Why don’t you just call me Evie. That’s what everyone calls me.”
“Thank you, Evie.”
“Why don’t you take a seat over there, at that table with an umbrella, in the shade, where it’s cooler, and I’ll go upstairs and get you a drink. How about a margarita? Or maybe a planter’s punch. I love those drinks. I can drink a dozen of them, which is why I never order them. Between you and me, I don’t hold my liquor so good. You. Do. Not. Want. To. See. Me. In. That. Condition. Wait a minute. Wait a minute. What the heck am I thinking? A Cuba libre. That’s what they call it. Rum and Coke, right? That’s what you probably want.”
“Yes, that is what they call it. But if it is all the same to you, I prefer to have a simple drink of seltzer with lime.”
She shook her head. “I just love the way you talk, honey. Wait, you’re not offended because I thought you might like a Cuba libre, are you?”
“I am not offended at all, Ms. Kerns. Rum and Coke is a fine and satisfying drink. It is just that at this particular time I would prefer a seltzer with lime and ice, please.”
“Of course. Why didn’t I think of that? You’re a cop and you’re on duty. Of course, you can’t drink. What the heck am I thinking? Must be the heat getting to me. I am so sorry.”
“What makes you think I am a cop, Ms. Keyes? I did not show you any identification.”
She laughed. “Honey, I can smell the fuzz a mile away. I knew you were a cop the minute I laid eyes on you. I don’t need a badge or ID to know you’re a cop.”
I decided to drop the matter there. As long as I did not identify myself as being on the Miami police force, I was not misrepresenting myself. Allowing her to think this was an official visit would make it more likely she would cooperate, assuming she did not have the same disregard that Francis Hoyt has for authority.
I sat at the table under the umbrella while Ms. Evelyn Kerns went upstairs to her apartment. Ten minutes later she was back downstairs. She was now wearing a man’s pale blue, button-down shirt over her bikini. She carried a tray that held two drinks, what appeared to be a mojito for her, and for me a seltzer with lime. On the tray she had carefully arrange a plate with a slab of cheese, perhaps it was Jarlsberg, surrounded by a variety of crackers, and a knife.
“I thought you might be hungry,” she said, as she placed the tray on the table and sat down across from me.
“Thank you,” I said. After she had gone to the trouble of preparing the cheese and crackers it would not have been polite to refuse her hospitality. She was now taking care of me as if I were her guest. I suspected this attitude might change once she learned why I was really there.
I started to reach for the knife to slice off a piece of cheese, but she stopped me by gently placing her hand on mine.
“That’s my job, honey,” she said. She cut off a couple of slices, placed them each on a cracker, handed one to me and she took the other.
“Thank you,” I said.
“So,” she said after taking a bite of her cheese and cracker and washing it down with a sip of her mojito, “you’re here about Francis.”
“Yes, I am. I have information to the effect that you are a good friend of his.”
She laughed. “Friend. Gee, I’d hope we were more than that. How do you even know about me and Francis?”
“We have been watching him for some time.”
“Why would you be doing that?”
It was at this moment that I realized Evelyn Kerns might not know the kind of man Francis Hoyt was. She might not be aware of the criminal enterprises in which he was involved. She might not know that he was a dangerous, notorious criminal. Or she might be acting as if she did not know anything about his life.
“Would you mind telling me what you know about Francis Hoyt?”
“I’m not quite sure what you’re looking for, what’d you say your name was?”
“Manny Perez.”
“Of course. Manny. I like that name. It’s very…manly.” She smiled at her little joke. I smiled with her.
She threw up her hands, as if under arrest. “Okay, Manny, you don’t have to use the rubber hose. I’ll admit it. Francis Hoyt is my boyfriend. So, what?”
“How long have you two known each other?”
“Jeez, it’s gotta be a couple years, at least. Let’s see, I met him not long after I moved here, so it must be two and a half years. Yeah. Two and a half years, going on three.”
“When was the last time you saw him?”
“Oh, gee, it’s been a while. A couple months maybe. But that’s not unusual. He does a lot of traveling for business. Besides, he goes up north this time of year, but he always comes back down to visit me a couple, three times. But I don’t want you to get the wrong idea. We’re not exclusive or anything.”
“Are you aware of what business he is in?”
She cocked her head to one side. This was not a good sign. She was getting ready to shut down.
“You know, I’m not so sure Francis would like me talking to a stranger, especially if that stranger is a cop. Especially about his personal affairs.”
“You do not have to answer anything you do not wish to answer, Ms. Kerns. And besides, there is no reason you need tell him about this encounter. I repeat, do you know what kind of business he is in?”
“You know, that’s something I probably should know the answer to but the truth is he doesn’t talk about it and I just haven’t thought to ask.”
I knew from the way she shifted her eyes away from me that this was not the truth. I had my answer. She knew Francis Hoyt was a criminal. But I could not accuse her of lying. If I did she would become defensive and she would shut down completely.
“Do you not think that is not a little strange? Do you not think that a woman should know what the man she is sleeping with does for a living?”
“Hey, Manny, you’re getting a little personal, pal. How’d you like it if I asked personal questions about you and your wife,” she said, nodding to my left hand on which I wore my wedding band.
“You are a woman, a very attractive woman, a very intelligent woman.” She blushed. “And so you must have become suspicious about what Francis Hoyt does when he is away from Miami, away from you.”
“There isn’t a woman in the world who isn’t curious. We want to know all kinds of stuff and the stuff we don’t know we make up. But we also have to know our place. What Francis does is his own business, not mine. Why are you so interested in him? He’s not one of those serial killers, is he?”
She laughed but I detected a hint of uncertainty. She knew Francis Hoyt and whether she admitted it to herself or not, she knew what he was capable of. I would guess that is why she does not ask him too many questions. She is afraid of the answers she might get.
“No, to my knowledge Francis Hoyt has never killed anyone. But that does not mean he is not capable of doing so. The Francis Hoyt I have become acquainted with is capable of anything.”
“This is getting a little heavy.” She took a sip of her drink. “More cheese?”
“No thank you. I would like to be honest with you, Ms. Kerns.”
“I think honesty is the best policy.”
“Francis Hoyt is a very bad man. He has done some very bad things. I am sure there are things about him you do not know. Perhaps you would not like to know them.”
“You know, Manny, I think we’re about finished here. No matter how charming you are, and you are charming, I don’t think you’re going to get what you came here for. Francis is very important to me and whatever he’s done, well, I’m just not interested.”
“Would you possibly be interested in what he does with his time when he is not with you?”
Her expression changed to one of anger. “I don’t know who you’re talking about and even if I did, I don’t have to talk to you or anyone else. So, get lost, buster.”
She stood. “I just remembered an appointment I’ve got to get to. I’m already running late. It was a pleasure meeting you.” She said with more than a hint of sarcasm in her voice.
“The pleasure was all mine, Ms. Kerns. But perhaps I might leave my card with you?”
“You could leave it, but I wouldn’t expect to hear from me if I were you.”
I removed a card out of my wallet and handed it to her. “I would hope that is not true, Ms. Kerns. But please do contact me if you would like to know more about Francis Hoyt.”
She took the card and stuck it in the bra portion of her bikini. “I don’t think that’s going to happen, honey.”
I could do nothing more and so I left. Although she was not aware of it, I knew I was not finished with Ms. Evelyn Kerns.
Second Story Man Page 17