She blew her nose. Her eyes were puffy and red. “I know a way to help Rick. Maybe. That’s why I came over here.”
Dan looked down at her. “What do you mean?”
“It was Kelly’s idea. You asked me why she wanted to see you that night. I said I didn’t know, but I do know. She wanted you to help her get away from Victor.”
Martha fell silent. She stood up and walked toward the living room, stopping just beyond the opening. Dan heard footsteps along the walkway in front of the building.
“Is the door locked?” she said.
“Yes. Don’t worry.” His heart raced.
They stood without moving. A door slammed upstairs. Martha let out a breath. “I guess I’m just nervous.”
“Tell me about Kelly,” Dan said.
Martha turned around and said, “She had this tape recording of Victor shooting somebody in cold blood. She was going to the Miami Herald with it if they didn’t leave her alone. That’s what she wanted to tell you about.”
Dan stared at her. “What tape?”
“She played it for me. Last summer she was at a party in the Grove, this big house on the water, and the owner was a drug dealer—which she didn’t know. So on the tape you hear this party, and the band, and then you hear all this shooting and yelling. It was the police coming in. The police and the DEA. She was there. She told me about it. She said it was horrible. People died, like right there. She saw Victor running after some guy. On the tape you can hear voices, like, Halt! Drop your gun! It’s in Spanish, and it’s definitely Victor. Then the other man says okay, okay, don’t shoot. Then you hear bam, bam, bam! And Kelly said, Martha, if I tell Victor I have this, he’ll stop bothering me. So now I’m thinking maybe we could use it, you know? Right? The DEA would drop the charges. They’d have to.”
“Hold it.” Dan held up a hand. Her words had tumbled out so fast he couldn’t grasp the meaning. “Whose party was this?”
“I don’t know whose party. Some guy she knew. He wanted her to bring the band over so he could play with them. She had this band back then called Black Mango. Okay? So the DEA was going to arrest this guy, is what she said, but she didn’t know that. They came in and shot this other guy. I mean, Victor shot him. The first guy, the one who lived there, was recording the band, and when the police came in, the tapes were going.”
“Kelly had a tape recording of a DEA raid?”
“Yes.” Martha let out a breath. “That’s what I’m trying to tell you.” She turned her head toward the living room again.
“Martha—”
“Shhh!” Her palm rose to keep him quiet.
Dan followed her around the corner. He saw her walk quickly toward the window, the leather soles of her boots tapping softly on the wood floor. Only the one lamp was on, and the aquarium light. The curtains were drawn. Nothing was out of place in the apartment, and no unusual sounds came from outside, yet Dan felt a tremor in the muscles of his chest, as if Martha’s fear—and she was trembling with it, visibly shaking—had set up a similar vibration in his own body. “What did you hear?”
“A car. I know the sound of Miguel’s car.” She was breathing fast. “Look out the window.”
Dan put a knee on the sofa and opened the curtain a crack. He dropped it slowly back into place. “Good thing I locked the door,” he said quietly.
Martha spun around as if looking for somewhere to hide.
“I won’t let him in. He’ll ask if you’re here, and I’ll say no. Your car is down the street. He’ll go away.” Dan’s voice came out calmly, but when he heard the footsteps on the porch he involuntarily tensed.
She ran toward his bedroom as the first knock came.
He expected her to hide herself in the closet, but she reappeared a moment later carrying his key chain, fumbling at the mechanism that would release the fob from the ring. “What are you doing?”
Martha whispered, “I wasn’t here. Come to the marina. We can talk on the boat. He’d never find us.” She slid the keys to the Bertram off the ring from the others, then tossed Dan his own keys. He grabbed for them, caught them against his sweater. Martha hurled herself across the living room, caught the corner at the kitchen, and disappeared. He ran in that direction in time to see the back door close.
The knock came again at the front.
Dan looked into the darkness of the backyard, seeing in the weak light of a street lamp on the corner the pale outlines of rusty furniture the tenants of the building infrequently used. A line of trash cans stood along the chain-link fence. Then to his right, at the edge of the property, he saw the hibiscus bushes swaying. They thickly covered the low concrete wall on that side. A dog began to bark next door.
Dan wondered about going inside. He could pretend not to be home. But it might be wiser, under the circumstances, to go over the wall. He was on the point of making the decision when Arlo Pate stepped around the corner and into the light.
CHAPTER 34
Miguel Salazar stood in the middle of Dan’s living room, pivoting slowly.
Arlo Pate’s left arm circled Dan’s neck. The big man’s denim vest smelled like sweat and engine oil. Dan strained to keep his eyes on Salazar. “I don’t know where she is. I was taking out some trash and didn’t hear you at the door.”
Salazar walked into the kitchen. Came back with two mugs.
“I’m expecting company from upstairs,” Dan said. “My neighbor is a very nervous woman. She’s going to see you guys and call the police.” He pushed at the hairy wrist under his chin. “Let go, I can’t breathe.”
The mugs dropped to the floor. Thud. Thud. The handle snapped off one of them, and the mug rolled. Salazar kicked it aside with one low-cut woven leather shoe. His hair was untied tonight, falling forward slightly as he bent to look at Dan. “Where is she?”
“I told you, I haven’t seen her!”
Salazar’s black eyes shifted back and forth, white showing beneath the irises. “At the studio she went for a break and didn’t come back. Rick doesn’t know where she is. I’m worried what might happen to her, you know? Miami. On the streets alone.”
“She didn’t come here.”
Salazar glanced toward the bedroom, straightened, and went down the hall. Arlo let Dan stand up, but kept a hand on his shoulder, the meaty fingers digging in, the forearm bristling with red hairs.
“Kelly died in here, didn’t she?”
Dan looked at him.
The hand on Dan’s shoulder increased its pressure. He thought his collarbone might crack. Arlo said, “I’ve decided what I’m gonna do to the guy that killed her. I’m going to pull his guts out through his asshole, real slow. Make him watch.”
Dan heard the shower curtain rings slide across the rod. Heard a closet door open, then shut.
“Arlo, I didn’t kill Kelly.”
He let Dan go long enough to grab him again by the upper arms. Dan was over six feet tall, but he had to look up to see into Arlo’s face. Sun-bleached brows were a pale ledge over eyes the color of faded denim. The sun had turned his skin dark red. His short nose had a bend to it, the result of a fist or a beer bottle. Pushing thirty. Dumb as a stump.
“I found her body, Arlo. The police know I was somewhere else when she died. I have a witness.”
The faded brows drew together. “Miguel says you did it.”
“Miguel is the guy who beats up your friends. I saw him hit Martha across the face. What does he do when no one’s watching? You let that happen to her?” In the depths of those blue eyes flickered a glimmer of light.
Dan heard the slow, hollow sound of heels on a wood floor. Arlo Pate released him. Salazar came back out. He lifted his hand, thumb and forefinger set slightly apart. He showed Dan what he had. Silver glinted in the space. An earring.
“I found this on the floor in your bedroom. Where is she?”
Dan felt sweat around his hairline. “I think that was Kelly’s. She told me she lost an earring. That must be the one.”
Salazar looked at it. Frowned.
“No. I bought these for Martha.”
“She must have lent them to Kelly.” Dan’s voice was husky, his mouth was dry as dust. What had make him think he could handle this? He should have gone over the wall with Martha.
Arlo Pate’s hand fell on Dan’s shoulder, and he bent his neck to ease the pain.
Salazar said, “I don’t like when things go on behind my back.”
“I can appreciate that,” Dan said, “but I haven’t seen Martha since Thursday.”
“Yes. She came to your office. You told me she came for the keys to my boat, but she didn’t have them when I asked her where they were.”
“She accidentally left them on my desk,” Dan said. “I mailed them yesterday.”
“I love that woman. I love her.”
Dan nodded and pushed at Arlo Pate’s fingers.
“It bothers me when I don’t know where she is.”
“I’m sure she feels the same way, Miguel.”
Salazar dropped the earring into the breast pocket of his jacket and came out with a pistol. He stepped back and extended his arm. The pistol was a small black one, a silenced .22. “She was here. Where did she go?”
From raw animal fear, without thinking Dan dropped and ducked sideways. The sudden movement broke Arlo Pate’s grip on his shoulder. He saw a flash, heard a pop like a single hand clap. As he ran for the door, he saw Salazar turning, tracking him with the pistol. Saw Arlo Pate’s arm knock it out of the way. And behind them the shattered aquarium poured sea water and fish, a silvery tide that gushed to the floor.
The taxi driver who dropped Dan off in Coral Gables asked if he was all right. Dan said he was fine, gave him a twenty, and told him to wait.
He rang the doorbell on Elaine McHale’s front porch. Leaned on it. After a minute the curtain fluttered, then he heard the dead bolt click open.
“Dan?”
He waved for the cabbie to take off, and went inside.
“My God, what’s the matter? You’re sweating.”
“I had to jog a mile or so before I found a taxi.” He laughed, still out of breath, but from nerves, not exhaustion. “You like boats, Elaine? How would you like to go out on the water tonight?”
“I must be out of my mind,” Elaine said, clenching the wheel of her car with both hands. Her back barely touched the seat. “No, you’re out of yours. Dan, you shouldn’t talk to me. I’m the prosecution.”
“The prosecution fired you off the case, Elaine.”
She glanced at him. The street lights slid over her face. “I was not fired.”
Dan smiled at her. “Neither was I, after I lost the Barrios case. They didn’t fire me, they just transferred me where I couldn’t embarrass anyone.”
“Even if that were true, do you think I would switch loyalties so easily?”
“No,” he said. “It means you’re a person of integrity, and I could use someone like that right now.”
Her eyes moved to the rearview mirror. “How do you know Miguel Salazar isn’t at the marina waiting for you?”
“The man isn’t clairvoyant.” Dan looked behind them, then said, “Kelly never told me she was there when Luis Barrios was shot. It’s too bizarre to be real.”
“She was there. She couldn’t tell you about it because she would be talking about the DEA, and she was afraid of going to prison. Vincent Hooper was outraged when he found out she had been made an informant against Rick Robbins. He even yelled at me, although at the time I didn’t know the connection. Vince was right; it was risky to have her on the case. But the so-called Barrios tape doesn’t exist.”
Elaine took a right into Coconut Grove, going south from the highway onto a quieter, tree-lined street. It would dead-end at the bay. “Vince and I discussed it. And the reason we discussed it is because Kelly Dorff brought it up. Vince was at my house when he returned her phone call. He told me that she claimed to have a tape of his shooting Luis Barrios after Barrios threw down his weapon. Vince was angry about it, of course, but not because it was true. He said he didn’t like to be threatened by C.I.’s. Dan, the story about the raid was in the Herald. Didn’t you read it?”
“Yes. They didn’t mention Hooper, though, except to say he was there. A few witnesses at the scene claimed that the DEA shot without provocation, but it was all tidied up by a board of inquiry.” Dan looked at her. “Martha says Kelly’s band was recording that night. Is that true or not?”
Elaine lifted her hands from the wheel a moment, a quick gesture of acquiescence. “There was a tape recorder at the scene, but there was nothing on it but noise.”
“Where is the tape now?”
“Vince said it’s probably been destroyed.” She glanced to her right, then rolled her eyes. “Yes, it must have been a cover-up.”
Dan turned in his seat. “It doesn’t even make you wonder? Not the least bit curious? What if Kelly did have a copy of the tape? Maybe someone there had a portable tape player going. What then? John Paxton, your erstwhile boss, the man who presumably has something to say about your future, is going to stand in front of the TV cameras on Wednesday with the United States attorney and a bevy of high-kicking federal agents, and the first question from the press is going to be, ‘Is it true that the lead DEA agent on Operation Manatee committed murder?’”
Elaine shifted gears, not looking at him.
“Will you go to Paxton and say, ‘John, you know, I had a chance to check this out for you, but by golly, I just didn’t think there was anything to it.’ I guess if you want to see the office sandbagged, you could do that, but you’re supposedly the person with loyalties.”
“I wish you’d shut up,” she said unconvincingly. “You’re a scumbag defense lawyer.”
“This is true,” he said. “I am working for my client—who, if truth be known, did not go willingly into money laundering. Miguel Salazar took him out to the Everglades one sunny afternoon and put a pistol to the back of his head. This is true, Elaine. No, Rick can’t prove it, but Paxton himself told me what Salazar did to his wife and her lover. Ah. I see you’ve heard that story. You’re right, I’m working for Rick Robbins. And yes. If this tape proves what I think it does, then I, in my scumbag way, will probably take John Paxton aside and say, Here’s the deal: The government drops charges against my client, and I won’t take this to the Miami Herald. You and the DEA special agent-in-charge talk it over, let me know.”
Dan tugged Elaine’s right hand off the steering wheel. “I don’t mean to treat this lightly. I’m roaring on adrenaline right now. I’m sorry about you and Hooper. Not sorry for Hooper, because he is truly a vicious bastard, but sorry to bring you into this. I wish I didn’t have to, but I don’t know who else to ask.”
She pulled her hand away. “You want to even the score, don’t you?”
“You mean, I’m out to rub Hooper’s nose in it? Do you mind?”
“I thought you had more class,” she said.
“Well, I’ve been beaten up and shot at. Hooper and Salazar both hate my guts. And I’m pretty sure that one of them set me up with the police.”
Elaine looked around at him. “Why do you say that?”
Dan pointed. “Take a left.”
At midnight on a Saturday, the marina was still busy enough not to look deserted, although the parking lot had emptied out. There were spaces near the entrance to Pier Six. Elaine stopped under a tree, where the light did not reach them.
Dan took a breath.
“You think she’s on the boat?” Elaine asked.
“I hope so. And I hope she’s alone.”
Elaine looked out both passenger windows.
Dan opened the door. “Thanks for bringing me. There’s a phone on the boat, and I’ll call you at home in an hour.”
“Wait.” She took her keys, and her fingers were visibly trembling. “I’ll go with you.”
“No.”
“Yes.” Elaine gave him a look and got out of the car. “I want to speak to Martha Cruz myself.” She grabbed her purse and g
reen fleece jacket.
They walked casually along the covered, lighted sidewalk that curved around the water until they reached the gate to Pier Six. Her eyes darted around, aware of everyone. Dan touched the turquoise-painted bars. There was no way around or over.
Elaine said, “Wait here.”
A minute later she came back with the dockmaster. He flipped through a heavy key ring, then unlocked the gate. She thanked him and, with a firm grip on Dan’s arm, pulled him inside. “I showed him my badge.”
“Is that legal?”
“Shut up, Dan.”
The dock was well lighted, fifty yards long. As they hurried toward the end, the sound of low conversation or music came from a few of the motorboats, sportfishers, and sailboats in the slips on both sides. The Basilón was where Dan had left it a week ago, mooring lines still neatly cleated off and taut. There were no lights coming from inside.
“Nice boat,” Elaine said. Her fingers were clamped on his arm.
“Forty-six feet,” he said. “Two 740-horse diesel engines. Sonar, radar, a depth finder. You could catch a sperm whale with those outriggers.”
She looked at him. “Are we going on board or not?”
Dan loosened her grip, then walked along the side of the boat and leaned over the water to tap on the salon window. He waited, then tapped again.
He saw the curtain move, Martha’s face at the glass. Then her head, with its mane of black curls, poked out of the salon door. “Hey, you made it,” she said.
CHAPTER 35
Before starting the engines, Dan noticed the fuel level. Last weekend, taking Josh out, he had run the tanks nearly dry. The nearest marina with diesel fuel was five miles away on Key Biscayne, and it was now closed. At slow speed he steered south, then moored the boat a hundred yards offshore in shallow water. It was as far as he dared go at night. There were others in the area; no one would notice the Bertram.
He let the anchor go and cleated the line at the bow. With no wind the bay was calm, and the boat barely rocked in the diminished wake of a speedboat farther out. He went inside. Martha Cruz had made coffee, and now she and Elaine sat on opposite sides of the salon, their mugs in their laps. Martha had resented Dan’s bringing a federal prosecutor, but Elaine showed no sign of tension. She was good with witnesses, Dan recalled. He sat down in an armchair equidistant between the women.
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