by Karl Tutt
I told myself it was a courtesy call to offer my sympathies and any assistance I could provide. But I wanted information. I wasn’t sure she had any, but I was following Miss Julianne’s directive. Keep my options open and trust the things I could feel.
I’d gotten Tracy’s address from Harry. Apparently he wasn’t crazy about Strait either, but he’d already called and sent condolences and flowers to the funeral home. “Too bad, nice kid,” he’d said about six times on the phone.
It was about ten when I knocked on the door. I thought someone might be with her. I hoped not. I heard the thumping of footsteps. She cracked the door just enough to see me, then swung it open. She wore a black skirt and white blouse not unlike the ones I’d seen her in a couple of days before. Stockings clung to her legs, but her shoes were neatly stationed in the hallway. Her dark hair had been curled and hung about her shoulders. She wore no perfume. Even through the make-up, her face was gray and swollen.
When people are under stress you often get a preview of how they might age. Tracy was simply lovely. Even into middle age and beyond, I knew she would be admired as a “handsome woman.” For right now, it was blurred by a shroud of grief.
The apartment was small, but not what you’d expect from the typical college student. It was clean. The furnishings were tasteful, even a bit elegant. Nothing expensive, but quality lithographs on several walls, nice fabrics on the furniture, everything muted. The entire place had a homey, but refined, feel to it.
“Thank you for coming, T.K. I was about to leave for the funeral home, but come in for a minute.”
Her voice was quiet and controlled. Her pupils were somewhat dilated. Some kind of tranquilizer, I suspected, but not too much. She offered me a chair and sat down opposite, legs together, hands on her knees, back straight. She looked me squarely in the eye as if to say, “Nice of you to come, but be quick and direct.”
“Tracy, I’m terribly sorry about your uncle. I know this is a tough time for you, but I think his death may be tied in with the killing of Alexis Lavalier. I’m sure you’ve already talked to the police, but I’d appreciate it if you could tell me what you told them.”
She dropped her chin, bit her lip and tried not to glare at me.
“T.K., I’ve been through this already. But I’m going to do it again because I know you’re trying to help. You better get what you can get while you can get it. I’m leaving right after the funeral tomorrow. Uncle Mal left me The Strip Search. I don’t know what I’m going to do with it, but I’m going to take a few weeks away to grieve and to think.”
I tried to listen like a cop, no emotions, just cold hard analysis. But she didn’t know much. Malachi Strait had been a man like most of us, true to his habits. There’d been no significant deviation from his usual patterns of behavior. No new contacts, business, women, nothing.
She told me he had thrown some guy out last week. Shoplifting. But he hadn’t called the police. Said it happens all the time. But the cops were checking the camera footage to see if there were any clear images. There was also a call not long after I left the store a couple of days ago.
“I answered the phone,” she said, “guy asked for Uncle Mal. I thought the vice sounded familiar. He got lots of calls from the same guys. I knew some of them, but I couldn’t put a face with this one. He took it in the back. I couldn’t hear exactly what he was saying, but he was mad about something. His voice got loud. It only lasted a minute or so. When he came out a little later, he was pissed, but it was nothing special. I’d heard him get mad before. Still, it seemed like the only thing worth telling the police. So I’m telling you. I’m sorry. That’s all there is and I’m running late.”
I didn’t think she was, but she’d obviously had enough. She stood up. I offered my hand and told her again how sorry I was.
“You know how it is, T.K. A lot of people looked down their righteous noses at Uncle Mal. The business, the way he made his money and all that. I guess some of them think I’m just a little whore, working there and all. But he was good to me. I haven’t seen my father since I was four, not sure I’d know him if he walked through the door. Uncle Mal treated me like his own daughter.”
She hesitated for a moment.
“Sure, he bought me lots of stuff, but that’s not all of it. He loved me. I could just feel it whenever he was around. I knew I could count on him. It made me strong. That’s what I know and that’s what I’ll remember.”
I nodded and left, feeling somewhat embarrassed. There was another side to Malachi Strait, a generous, caring side that embraced Tracy. But that’s true for most of us. It’s the good news and the bad news. Some people bring out the best in us. Tracy had done that for her Uncle Mal.
The interview hadn’t produced much. Neither did the rest of the day.
Sunny was working. I went by her place to pick up my bicycle. Then I rode to Land’s End. When I got back, Fritz was standing on the dock behind NO DECISION. He looked like Edward G. Robinson in “Key Largo.” But it was a Marlboro clenched in his teeth instead of a cigar and Robinson was missing the beard.
“You don’t look too good, Cap,” he growled, “I prescribe a sail. I got plenty of Diet Coke. If you need some serious drugs, I can even lend you a Marlboro.”
He was Don Corleone with the offer I couldn’t refuse.
He cranked up the Atomic Four and we slipped the lines of the old Grampian. I hanked on the 130 % genny, then hoisted the main while Fritz stood at the tiller looking like Captains Courageous. Despite NO DECISIONS’ bottom, which had developed its own ecosystem, she took to her heels and settled into a lively close reach into the Gulf.
Fritz gave me the helm while he fixed lures and set out a couple of Cuban reels. The lines danced behind the boat in a mad frenzy. Fritz opened a diet Coke and watched astern, trying to coax a cheap dinner out of mother ocean. I didn’t want to tell him, but I was rooting for the fish, hoping maybe they’d already had lunch.
He asked me a few quick questions about the investigation. I gave him quick answers. He said he was keeping his ear tuned, but he hadn’t heard anything new. After a while, we just settled for the sun, the water, and the wind. It wasn’t a bad bargain. We didn’t talk. Didn’t catch anything. But somehow I felt better.
Chapter 28
I had to see Beamon. I hoped he had new information. Something we’d overlooked or a mysterious clue that finally panned out. I wanted a “Murder, She Wrote,” ending. First the crime, the confusion, the action, then all of the redemption you could ever want tucked neatly into 50 minutes. Jessica would smile and Frank could arrest the murderer. Then I could drift back into the easy pattern I called my life. Unfortunately Jessica was nowhere in sight.
Frank and I agreed to meet for lunch at Havana Dream. It’s tucked into three rooms of a tiny house just out of downtown. Red plastic table cloths, unfinished ladder back chairs, hand scrawled menus and Maria. She’s a Cuban study in perpetual motion, taking orders, delivering food, and smiling like a blast furnace. She knows all of the regulars by name. She doesn’t skimp on the beans and rice and the Sangria is always ice cold. A dark young girl with a travel poster smile and hair that shimmered like onyx led us to a table in the corner. Frank grinned at her and said, “Gracias.”
Maria was at our side in an instant.
“Hello, Professor. Who’s this you got with you? Ah, Mr. Sherlock Holmes of Key West,” she laughed, “So Frank, you gonna solve all the crimes in The Conch Republic today?”
“No, Senora. I figured I’d leave some for next week in case I get bored.”
“Well you won’t be bored with Maria’s lunch.”
Frank and I both smiled and ordered the Special. When she left, he pulled his chair closer and began to talk.
“I didn’t get much from Tracy that you haven’t already heard. I don’t think she is holding out. Otherwise we wouldn’t let her leave town. We may have a lead on the shoplifter, but the tapes are sort of fuzzy. The tech guys are working on it.
Your photocopy. You blew it, T.K. Shouldn’t have carried it around in your pocket for days. Should’ve brought it straight to me. The ink is smeared. It might have come from Strait’s copier, but we can’t make a positive match.”
“But do you still think it came out of his office?”
“I do, but we’ll be smarter when we get something from the state police and the SBI. They’re checking on pornography rings that might be operating in south Florida. Looking for any ties to Strait. Those boys don’t like to share information, but I know a couple of guys that I trust. Helped them out on that big drug bust three years ago up near Islamorada. Lots of money in child pornography, plenty to spread around if the parties are willing. At least they don’t gun each other down like the drug thugs.”
“Anything else on the murder weapon?”
“The knife used on Strait was definitely similar to the one used on Alexis, but again nothing positive.”
There was a note of impatience in his voice, but no sign of surrender. Frank was exactly what they said he was. A bulldog. He wouldn’t quit until his teeth sank into the bone. I told him I’d come up with nothing. He shook his head silently. Fortunately the gloom didn’t affect our appetites. By the time we’d devoured our lunches, we needed wheelbarrows to roll out of Havana Dream. Maria came by the table a last time. She picked up our empty plates, beaming.
“What’d I tell you, boys? Now you strong. Them crooks better watch out.”
We ambled back toward the station. For no good reason I followed him up to his office and planted myself in the wooden chair.
“Frank, you’ve got the photocopy. But you know, I haven’t seen the original snapshot. That thing that Strait sent me was fuzzy to begin with, just black and white. Maybe there’s something in the color or the detail that will kick my mind into gear.”
He got a sad look on his face and picked up the phone. He punched two numbers and mumbled something into the receiver. A minute later a heavy set woman in uniform came in with a file folder. He thumbed through it and handed me a plastic bag with the photograph. The color lunged off the paper like a school of piranha. I knew why I was sick the first time I had seen it.
“So you see anything new?”
I had to force myself to stare at it. The color only made it dirtier and more vicious. She sat on the floor, the jet black curls, the lurid grin, the lost innocence leering like a cheap sideshow. I looked as long as I could, then handed it back to him. He shoved it among the papers, closed the yellow folder, and shook his head slowly.
“See you, T.K. Stay in touch.”
I tried all day to erase that picture from my mind, but it kept turning up. I tried to think about Sunny, sailing, anything to stay occupied, but the image hung around like a stray dog. Just when I thought it had disappeared, it was at my side, mangy, starving, howling for my attention. I couldn’t think. Couldn’t be rational. But what the hell did I expect? She was a child, my child, but she was part of all of us. I had to stop letting my emotions keep my brain in a blur.
There had to be more to that photo, something I’d missed. I started to tick down a short mental list. No way to identify the bastard in the picture. Nothing on the floor. No furniture or any details in the room. It could have been any one of dozens of cheap motels on the island. I knew it had to have been printed in a private lab. I remembered a road I’d driven in Texas. Deadly straight, flat, featureless, mile after mile leading nowhere.
Chapter 29
That night she came. I heard the wailing once more. Her pale image was suspended over the water like the last time. Her arms were at her side, but her palms skyward to question, to beckon. To me, to God, to any savior, no matter what form it might take. She turned her head slightly and raised her right hand as if to point. The outline of her body became indistinct. Then the shadow began to fade. It was replaced by bright colors. There was a whirling sensation. I was on a carousel. I sat on a wooden horse. His eyes were wild and his thick lips curled upward. He was painted in grotesque shades of green and pink. A crowd of onlookers leered at me. They pointed and shrieked with laughter.
Billy and Monique stood in the background. Monique wept. I knew they wanted to turn away, but they couldn’t. I had to stop this hellish spinning and go to them. But it grew faster. I was dizzy. My stomach churned. I tried to grasp the horse’s mane, but it was slick and wet. I saw the blood drip from my fingertips. Then I was falling.
I woke in a fetal position. I was nauseous and my muscles screamed. A swelling pounded and pumped at the back of my skull. I lay there for a moment dumb and helpless. Then I tried to uncoil. I listened. No wailing, no hideous laughter. I sat down in the salon and shook myself. Suddenly I heard Miss Julianne’s voice, “Listen and see, not with your ears and eyes, but with your spirit.”
I pushed to concentrate. Alexis was over the water in the same place. Again she cried and beckoned. But something was different. I closed my eyes and tried to recreate the vision. Nothing at first, but then it came to me. The position of her head, the way she had turned it and gestured with her hand. It was the Galleon Marina. She was pointing at the Galleon.
I thought of the HAT TRICK and Harry. He was one of her worshippers. He knew photographers, had contacts in the fashion industry. Maybe some of them got greedy, decided that a few candid shots of naked children wouldn’t really hurt anyone.
The next morning I walked over to the Galleon, but the TRICK was gone. The dock master told me Harry had taken a run up to Miami. He’d be back in a few days. If anyone was looking for him, he’d be at the Miami Beach Marina. I was looking for him, but it was a long shot. It could wait.
If I hustled, I could catch Sunny before she left for the beach. I could use a swim, myself, not to mention a warm smile and some sympathetic conversation.
When she answered the door she was still in her robe, a burgundy, satiny thing I gave her for Christmas. She was holding the front together, but when she saw it was me, she let her hand drop. The sleek material fell to either side and revealed a valley of tanned flesh. My eyes followed it down over her tight belly to a shadow of tight, thick curls.
She put her arms around my neck.
“I’ve been thinking about you, Cap. You look kind of beat up.”
“Yeah, I know. Maybe some sun, a swim, a little exercise. Might be good for me. Thought I’d try to catch you before you left.”
“I think you have the right idea. Exercise is a great way to relieve stress. Wonderful therapy. But I don’t know about a swim this morning. Big risk of shark attacks this time of year. Or maybe it’s jelly fish. Too much sun, bad for the skin. We ought to be creative. Think of something else to get your mind off all that gruesome stuff.”
I could smell the perfume in her hair as she led me back to the bedroom. She pulled my t-shirt over my shoulders and kissed my neck. Then she took the hem of the satin robe and began to rub it over my chest. I put my hand inside her robe. Her flesh seemed to meld with my fingers.
“Maybe I love you,” she said, “and maybe I don’t.”
She pulled me onto the bed and ran her hand from my neck down to my belly. My body quivered as she ran her tongue down the length of my body.
When it was over, we lay on the sheets in silence. I must have dozed off. When I woke she was sitting next to me with a tray on her lap. Two cups of coffee flanked by two jumbo jelly donuts. She grabbed the biggest one and mumbled through the thick dough.
“So you want to give me an update? Or we can talk about something else if you want.”
I wanted to forget, but I knew I couldn’t. Besides, I needed her input. She had been very fond of Alexis, but she wasn’t as close to things as I was. That was good. She could be more objective. Sunny was like a sniper. Once she had a target in focus, she was quick and deadly. She’d tell you what she thought, and it didn’t matter whether you wanted to hear it or not. Sometimes those words knocked you right on your ass. Today that’s what I needed.
I told her about my convers
ation with Frank after Strait’s murder and about our lunch.
“I don’t know about robbery as a motive for Strait’s murder. It seems like too many coincidences to be a mugging gone bad. Strait knew a lot of shady people. Maybe some of them were dangerous. I like the idea of checking in with Harry. You can trust him and Tracy told me he stays in touch with the pros that do those fashion shoots. He’d love to help if he can. Maybe he knows how to get a line on the pornography crap. I want to go when he gets back from Miami.”
She wiped a dab of jelly from her mouth and took a gulp of coffee.
“You know, I think Tracy has even more brains and more class than I gave her credit for.”
I nodded. I had just made the mistake of getting comfortable when she looked hard in my eyes. The tone in her voice was casual, tinged with a healthy dose of smug.
“Any more dreams?’
“I didn’t think you knew.”
“I know a lot more about you than you think, Sailor. You talk in your sleep,” she said and poked me in the ribs.
I told her about them all, from the first time to last night. And about my meeting with Miss Julianne. I didn’t want Sunny to worry, so I didn’t mention her last words.
“She’s right, T.K. You’ve got to listen and observe. So what’s the problem? You’re great at it. I don’t know about all this spirit stuff. Sounds a little hokey to me, but I think she’s just telling you to take it all in. Make sure you don’t ignore anything, take anything for granted. It will come together at some point. You and Beamon are on the same page and you’re both taking it personally. With those resources and that kind of brains, something will break soon. If I was the murderer, I’d be booking a flight to Brazil.”
“I hope that hasn’t happened already,” I told her.
She was finished. I’m not sure I believed it all, but it sounded good. She looked at me and snatched the other donut, no trace of guilt on her face.
“You just got to have a little faith, T.K.”
When I got back to Land’s End, I realized she was right. I started up the dock and waved at Jenny as she rocked in the broken chair, bare feet still propped on the same bucket, hair hustling out of the straw hat in several directions.