by Karl Tutt
“Hey, T.K. I got a message for you. Beamon was by, said he’d made an arrest in the Strait case. You supposed to call him ASAP.”
Chapter 30
I heard Frank’s voice on the line.
“Looks like we got the guy who did Strait. Really not much more than a kid. One Nelson Carmody, age twenty-one. Veins like pincushions. Drifter, originally from Cincinnati. Came down with some guys he met in Atlanta. Doesn’t know their names or where they got to. He’s the one who tried to shoplift from The Strip Search. Strait caught him, told him not to come within fifty yards of the store or he’d call the cops. Got it all on video. Mr. Carmody admitted all that. It squares up with what Tracy told us.”
“What about any hard evidence?”
“It’s like Blackbeard’s treasure. All buried in his backpack. Claimed he was broke, but he had four hundred dollars on him. Filet knife with dried blood on the blade. He blew it when he tried to pawn Strait’s Rolex yesterday. Owner got suspicious, called us.”
“What does the kid say?”
“Claims he was passed out on the beach when it happened. Says he met some guy in a bar. He didn’t know which one. Guy felt sorry for him, bought him a few beers and gave him some money and the watch. He doesn’t remember what the guy looked like except he was skinny. Typical junkie story.”
“So I guess that wraps it up, at least with Strait.”
“Open and shut. A jury will love it. Probably first degree, maybe he gets off with second. Easy conviction. It’ll get the newspapers off our backs for a while. Just one problem.”
“What’s that, Frank?”
“I don’t think he did it.’
I was shocked into silence. I waited.
“I got a bad feeling, T.K. It’s just too easy. Too many things that don’t make sense. There were no significant signs of a struggle on Strait’s body. No blood on the kid’s clothes. Our man Nelson is needle thin, undernourished, weak as a damned kitten. We think Strait knew the killer. He would probably have avoided this kid if he’d run into him. So they have a chance meeting near the water? What the hell is Strait doing there anyway? He stops for what? To give the kid a handout, direct him to the Christian Science Reading Room, help him find God? Not likely. This emaciated kid pulls a knife, slashes Strait’s throat, robs him, then drags the body over to dock and dumps him in. It doesn’t compute, T.K. I wish the hell it did. It’d make my job a lot easier.”
“So what do you do, now?”
“Officially, we book him for murder. Sweat him a little more. Maybe get him to sign a confession. Then we tell our story to twelve law abiding citizens. He goes down. Probably gets life without parole. Unofficially, we keep looking.”
When I got off the phone, I knew why I liked Frank Beamon. I didn’t know much else.
KAMALA’s topsides were looking a little rough. I decided to go back to my cure for an overwrought brain. Manual labor. I glanced at the sky. The cottony clouds were gliding lazily across a field of untainted blue. Breeze from the southwest, high 70’s. No excuses from the weather gods. I’d get to work.
I put on some cutoffs and a t-shirt that would probably have been rejected by the Salvation Army. I dogged the ports, inserted the companionway boards, and pulled my long handled brush out of the lazarette. Some Tide and a couple of old rags and I was ready to go. I was dousing the deck when I heard the faint rumble of twin diesels. It got louder.
I turned and HAT TRICK was rounding the jetty, brightwork glittering like 14 carat gold. Harry was at the helm. Cy stood in the starboard rail, a spring line in his hand. I saw Harry spin her on the twin screws, then ease the big Hatteras stern between the pilings. A dock hand waited with the lines. They tied her off and I saw Harry slip the kid a couple of bills.
I shut off the hose and went below. I switched on the VHF and hailed the TRICK on channel 16. The sound of Harry’s voice was with me in an instant. We switched to channel 17.
“Harry, hope your trip was okay.”
“You got it, T.K. She purred like a kitten all the way. What’s up?”
“Harry, I need some help. I wonder if Sunny and I could come by the HAT around six. I need to talk to you. Ask a few questions, maybe get you to make a couple of calls. I’ll even bring the booze this time.”
He laughed and sounded pleased. “You choose your poison, Cap. Bring that pretty lady and I’ll see you at six.”
I returned to my boat chores. The day continued to warm. Soon the t-shirt was gone. The sun felt good on my back. The sweat began to bead and run in rivulets off my body. I imagined each drop was draining part of the residue of evil and violence that had infected me a few days ago.
Still, I knew I was unclean.
Chapter 31
Sunny met me at the entrance to the Galleon just before six.
“You clean up nice, Big Boy,” she said in her best Mae West and kissed me on the cheek.
Harry greeted us at the boat steps. No Tracy this time and no Cy Watts. He mixed us a couple of drinks from the bottle of Evan Williams I’d brought. We settled into the main salon and listened to Harry rave about the performance of HAT TRICK on her run up to Miami and back. He wanted us to do the tour again, but I told him we had more serious business. His face grew dark when I told him about Alexis and the pictures.
“You got to be kidding me, T.K. Little baby doll like that. Porn? Jesus. What the hell is this world coming to? I’m glad you don’t have the damned picture. That way I don’t have to look at it. Makes me sick to my stomach. Those bastards will get what’s coming to them. I guarantee it.”
“Harry, I know you’re an expert photographer. Ever run across anyone in Kew West who deals in that kind of smut?”
“Hell, no. I wouldn’t give one of those creeps the time of day. Now I wouldn’t be surprised if some of those girls that work the topless joints are doing a little moonlighting. Some of them will do anything for a buck. But I don’t ask cause I don’t want to know. Sometimes it’s better that way. I’ve been pretty much retired since Uncle Mort left me set. I still miss the old guy.”
Harry did his “tsk, tsk” routine.
I told him Frank was trying to get a line on any pornography rings that operated in the area and how there was competition among the various law enforcement agencies. He smothered a little laugh.
“So the cops won’t trade information. I bet the players love that shit. Makes life a little easier and a little more profitable.” He scrunched up his face and looked at the ceiling. Then he spoke.
“I’ll tell you what I’ll do. I still got some friends, people who owe me. I’ll get on the phone. I got some numbers in Miami, Atlanta, New York. Gonna make what you call ‘discreet inquiries’. See if I can turn up anything worth telling.”
“Thanks, Harry. It sure won’t hurt and it might get us closer to the killer.”
Business done, we lightened up. Harry waxed poetic about the flounder stuffed with crabmeat at a new restaurant at South Beach. We promised to try it next time we were in Miami. Then he strong armed me for one more tour of the engine room with Sunny in tow. Still spotless enough for a candlelight dinner. I guess Cy Watts had his uses.
When we got back to the main salon, Sunny began to squirm. She smiled at Harry.
“May I avail myself of the facilities?” she asked with a gracious bow.
Harry grinned and offered a courtly nod of the head. “As you wish, Madam.”
We stayed a bit longer, but the conversation began to thin out. We asked Harry to join us for dinner. He slapped his belly and laughed.
“If I was a bear, I’d have enough fat stored to hibernate for the winter.”
I thanked him again and we left. We walked down the dock and Sunny hit me with the big news, she was ravenous. We decided to go to the Raw Bar for something quick. A fiery eyed brunette greeted us at the door. She wore khaki shorts and a black t-shirt with a cartoon figure of a shapely lass in a leopard bikini holding a huge platter of seafood. The caption below said “Eat it Raw
” in large burgundy letters. I waved at Louis and she led us to our table.
We ordered Sam Adams on tap. Sunny politely ordered a dozen raw oysters for an appetizer. “In a hurry,” she growled at the waitress. Then she studied the dinner menu like a hungry lioness eyeing a zebra who’d flunked out of Weight Watchers. I silently bet she’d go for the large fried combination seafood platter.
“Think Harry can really help?” she asked.
“I don’t know. I think he wants to. He loved Alexis like the rest of us. If I don’t hear anything from him in a few days, I’ll check back. Maybe we’ll get lucky.”
“That boat is a floating Taj Mahal,” I heard from behind the menu, “but he still needs to lose that tacky bedspread. Those colors, and the squares and triangles. It’s enough to make you sea sick before you leave the dock.”
I laughed, but bits of an image began to creep into my mind. I closed my eyes for a moment. It was a puzzle. The pieces were adrift near the corners of my consciousness. They stayed on the edges, dangling like wind chimes, swaying, teasing, waiting for the right breeze to strike their metallic tone. Suddenly I heard it. The image was clear. I locked onto it and bolted from the table.
“What’s with you?” she said.
“Gotta make a phone call. Quick.”
She shook her head indulgently as I rushed outside to make a call. I was back in an instant. He wasn’t there. I laid two twenties on the table.
“Go ahead and eat. I’ll meet you back at KAMALA in an hour or so. No time to explain.”
She looked at me, baffled, but the waitress had brought the oysters. She shook her head again, gave me a quick wave and reached greedily for the lemon butter sauce.
I picked up my bicycle and pedaled to the station. They wouldn’t give me Frank’s home number. The sergeant asked if I wanted to speak to the detective on duty, but it had to be Frank. I remembered him mentioning his house near the old cemetery. For some reason Francis Street stuck in my mind. I decided to ride around the neighborhood. It wouldn’t be hard to identify the unmarked Lumina he usually drove.
I stepped up on a clean white porch with thick columns and a freshly painted railing. I could smell the freshly trimmed shrubs. The yard was bordered with oleander, bougainvillea, and hibiscus in every color of the rainbow. It looked like something out of SOUTHERN LIVING.
A tall, striking woman came to the door. She was even more beautiful than the photograph I’d seen in Frank’s office. She smiled politely, but her eyes were those of a cornered timber wolf protecting her young.
“I’m sorry. Frank is not in. And he does not conduct police business in our home,” she added curtly. “You may leave a message at the station and I am sure he will return your call.”
I saw Frank’s head appear from around the corner down the hall. From the back of the house, he called to her.
“It’s all right, Honey. Tell him I’ll be out in a minute.”
She gave me a look that would have frozen the entire orange crop in Florida. Then she slammed the door and left me standing on the porch. I felt like a schoolboy who had been exiled to the corner for throwing spitballs. In a few minutes Frank came out carrying a couple of cans of beer.
“Don’t mind Felice. She’s real protective of the kids. Doesn’t want them exposed to any police stuff. Actually she does a damned good job of looking after me and that’s a tough assignment. It’s nice, gets me away from all of the bullshit at the station.”
He handed me a Bud Light and led me around to the side of the house. I commented about the rich colors.
“Yeah, the pinks are my favorites. But you didn’t come here to compliment me on the flowers. What’s up?”
When I told him, his jaw hardened, but he didn’t say much.
“Look, Frank. I know it’s not anything concrete, but you’ve got to admit it’s one hell of a set of circumstances.”
“I need a warrant, T.K. I doubt any judge will issue one on the basis of lousy taste and geometry. Anything else you can think of? Something I can use to persuade Your Honor?”
I shook my head.
“Okay, let me see what I can do. Don’t say anything, even to Sunny. I’ll call you in the morning. Maybe you can meet Felice and the kids sometime when it isn’t business. She’d like you.”
I handed him the empty can, thanked him, and got on my bike.
Chapter 32
When I got back to KAMALA, Sunny was sitting in the cockpit with Captain Sal. Sunny had a glass of Pinot Noir in her hand and Sal was deep into the bourbon. I could hear them howling all the way at the end of the dock.
I stepped on board. Sal threw a couple of thick arms around me and squeezed until she shut off the blood supply in my neck.
“Sorry, T.K. So you found a big, strong one who can handle me and THE TOUGH BROAD, yet?” she bellowed.
“I’m still working on it, Sal. But you’re a lot of woman. It’s gonna take plenty to please you. It may take me a little while.”
She cackled and cuffed me on the shoulder.
“How are Billy and Monique doing?” I asked. “I thought I might see him again by now.”
“Says he’s leaving you alone. Says he knows a Ghostcatcher don’t need no help. Just time. The man believes in you, T.K. He’s convinced you’ll know the killer soon.” She punctuated the sentence with a slap in my knee.
I hoped I didn’t already, but I was beginning to wonder.
Sunny was playing it cool. I knew she wouldn’t talk about anything we’d discussed without asking me first. We made quick eye contact. Then she asked Sal about the fishing. Smart woman. I wanted to kiss her for changing the subject.
Sal went through a full analysis of the changes in sport fishing over the last ten years. She lamented over the lack of “real men” in the Keys, cussed at the increases in slip rent, told us a coupe of jokes that would curl a bishop’s toes, and ran through nearly a fifth of my bourbon. I was convinced that if she slapped me on the back one more time, I’d need two weeks of traction.
All things considered, it was a merciful way to spend the rest of the evening. I didn’t have to talk much. I didn’t have to think. And I didn’t have to lie to Sunny.
Sal finally left around midnight. As she stomped down the dock, she turned and yelled at me.
“You keep looking, T.K.. He don’t have to be no George Clooney. Honest and well hung will get it. And don’t you forget about Billy.”
I knew everyone at Land’s End and most of the diners at Turtle Kraals had heard exactly what Captain Sal required of male companionship. But that was Sal. You never wasted time wondering what she thought.
When I got below, Sunny was already in the v-berth, fully clothed. She was snoring.
I remembered Sal’s last words. I wouldn’t forget about Billy.
Sunny got up early and made coffee. I lay in the v-berth feigning sleep. I knew she’d have some questions I didn’t want to answer until I heard more from Frank. She was banging around the boat, making more noise than usual. I heard her coffee cup slam down on the table. She was humming “We Can Work It Out” from an old Beatles album and drumming the rhythm on her thigh. Finally I heard her call from the main salon.
“It‘s all right, T.K. You can quit faking it. I guess you’ll tell me when you’re ready. I’m headed out for a swim. Come by the Parrot later on.”
I heaved a groggy “Sure Hon,” out of the berth and waited for her to leave.
I put on a pair of shorts and walked up to grab a USA TODAY. Tony Sporano was all over the sports pages. The Dolphins needed a reliable running back. Hell, they hadn’t had one since Ricky Williams left. They were also trying to beef up their defensive line. They still missed Marino. Nothing new. I was reading about possible trades when the phone rang.
“I got the warrant, T.K. Meet me on the Galleon docks in thirty minutes.”
When I got there, Frank was waiting with two uniformed officers. They had the dog with them. The Jag was gone. He pulled me aside.
“You’re going to have to back me on this. I named you as a witness. Told the judge I thought drugs were involved. Figured it was the only sure way to get him to sign it. Let’s hope like hell there is at least a joint or two on board. Otherwise my ass is in a sling. We also got to be real careful about anything else we find. It’s almost got to be in plain sight or some smart-ass lawyer will be hollering about illegal searches and inadmissible evidence.”
Harry greeted us in a silk housecoat. His thin hair was tousled and his eyes were barely open. They got wider when he saw the uniforms and the dog.
“Morning, Detective, T.K. What’s going on here?”
Frank requested permission to board. When Harry hesitated, he pulled the search warrant. The look on Harry’s face told us immediately that there was something on the HAT that shouldn’t be there. I hoped it was only a couple of joints. Cy Watts was conspicuously absent.
Harry led us quickly through the boat. He knew why we were there, but couldn’t resist doing parts of his familiar monologue. Frank listened, asking questions about the boat’s displacement and the cruising speed. He seemed to hang on every word Harry said. The bulldog could be patient. I jumped around like a parakeet in a python cage. When they were finished, the three of us settled into the aft salon.
Harry made coffee. While the uniforms searched, Harry and Frank talked about fuel consumption, the joys of twin diesels and the handling characteristics of a boat that size. Soon one of the officers came up from below and signaled to Frank.
“You’ll want to see this,” he said.
Harry and I were alone.
“I’m sorry, T.K. It shouldn’t be like this. Sure, I got things to hide, but doesn’t everybody? But believe me, I didn’t kill anyone. You know me. That’s not my style.”
I didn’t think so, but I couldn’t see him taking pictures of naked little girls either. I tried not to squirm on the sofa. I like to think I can read people pretty well, that I’m a quick and accurate judge of character. But I’d blown it with Harry. I didn’t really know the man at all.
Frank was back. He pulled a laminated card from his inside pocket and read while Harry cracked his knuckles.