Death of the Innocent

by Karl Tutt

  I supposed I must have smiled because she smiled back.

  “Don’t hold out on me, T.K. whatever it is, you need to talk about it. It doesn’t have to be all at once, but you need to talk. Coffee’s almost ready.”

  I fumbled through the whole story, beginning with Harry’s arrest and the gunshot. She’d already heard about it. No one knew about the picture, yet. Bad news makes quick rounds in Key West, but at least Billy and Monique were spared another day of screaming angst. When I got to my brush with death in Mallory Square, her hands trembled though she tried to hide it with the coffee mug.

  “So I almost lost you,” she said and shook her head. “Hell, I’ve been thinking about finding a young sailor-boy with a bigger yacht anyway.”

  We both laughed a little. It was a lame response, but it was an affirmation. I was alive. Still shaky, but here. I was drinking coffee with Sunny instead of bobbing up and down in the harbor. Alive. I whispered the word. It slid off my lips with clean, comforting sound.

  “So did you get a look at the guy who grabbed Watts?” she asked.

  “I don’t know. It was dark. I was bleeding. The clouds kept hiding the moon. I can’t be sure of anything.”

  I really wasn’t sure and I wasn’t ready to make any guesses without more information. She told me there was nothing in the paper about the investigation, no body found, nothing unusual.

  “Look, I’ve got to call Frank and clean up. Why don’t you go for your morning swim? I’m okay. I really am.”

  It was a lie, but the daylight had eased the horror of the night before. I had slept. I was breathing air instead of inhaling saltwater and I had things to do. She protested mightily, but I finally got her to leave. As soon as I saw her disappear at the end of the dock, I called Frank. I gave him a quick rundown on the previous night’s events.

  “You should have called me immediately, T.K. But it’s done. Sounds like you came pretty close to fish-bait. I need to hear more details. Right now I’m headed up to Miami to check on that ‘business’ Watts was conducting the night of Alexis’ murder. Why don’t you ride with me? We can talk. In the meantime I’ll send a couple of patrolmen to scour the area around the square. Maybe we’ll find a body. If not, maybe get lucky on blood or footprints. Some kind of physical evidence.”

  He gave me thirty minutes. I showered, shaved, put on a fresh pair of khakis and a knit shirt. My hand throbbed, but I popped four Ibuprofen and freshened the bandage. Frank pulled up at the end of the dock and we drove toward A1A. Once we’d cleared town, Frank began to ask questions.

  I tried not to leave anything out. It’s not easy to come that close to death and have a clear, rational view of it all. Still I felt I could remember most of it in detail. The only thing I wasn’t sure of was the identity of the man who’d saved me from Watts’ blade.

  “Run it again, T.K. D id he say anything? You notice clothing, hair color, anything physical? Tattoos on the arms. What about his hands?”

  He used different words, but the questions were the same. So were my answers. I felt like a fool. There was nothing else I could tell him. Nothing for sure except I was glad I was alive.

  Chapter 36

  About an hour into the trip, his cell phone rang. It was the officer in charge of the search. They’d come up with exactly nothing. All we knew was that Watts was gone. Maybe dead, maybe not, but definitely gone.

  “Too much rain,” Frank said, “must have washed away any traces of blood or footprints. No weapons, no nothing.”

  When we got to the Miami police station, Frank told me to wait in the car. He came out later with a guy who could have been a linebacker for the Dolphins. He wore a rumpled gray suit and had a head of black hair that belonged in a Fuller Brush catalogue. They spoke briefly. Then Frank got back in the car.

  “Coffee shop over in little Havana,” he said. “The guy will be wearing a navy windbreaker and a Marlins baseball cap.”

  Five minutes later Frank parked the cruiser. He took off his coat, loosened his tie, and rolled up his sleeves. Then we walked four blocks to a small shop with a hand-painted sign that read Manny’s Donuts. A small dark man in a Mickey Mouse t-shirt and a stained apron nodded to us as we came in. There were four people sitting on chrome stools having a heated conversation in Spanish. I caught a couple of references to Fidel. They didn’t sound very nice. The smell of rich fried dough hung in the thick air. Frank ordered in Spanish. A couple of mugs and two glazed for each of us.

  Our man was sitting in the corner, hat and windbreaker like the cop said. He turned his back to the door as we sat down.

  “Glad you guys is here. Too damned hot for this jacket.”

  He slipped it off and hung it on the back of a white plastic chair. I could smell the cheap wine seeping out of his pores. There was a black hole on the left where a tooth should have been.

  “So you are Mr. Smith?” Frank asked as we sat down.

  “Yeah, if that’s what they told you.” He waved a race form at us and grinned, “Goddamned dogs are killin’ me. These forms would make better shit paper.”

  Frank took a fifty-dollar bill out of his wallet, folded it in half and placed it in his shirt pocket. Smith watched, his tiny eyes dancing like a mongrel following a milk bone.

  “So you know our buddy, Mr. Watts? Frank asked.

  “Oh yeah, I seen Cy a lot. I bet he is a pal of yours, right? You guys is real close.”

  He laughed and coughed. “Got a cigarette on ya? Nah, never mind, I’m tryin’ to quit. Anyway, some guys, nobody you’d know. I work for ‘em sometimes. Nothing heavy. All legit. Run a few errands, shit like that. They slip me a buck now and then. I feed it to the dogs. Small time stuff, wouldn’t interest you. Cy comes up every couple of weeks. Has a few drinks with my friends. Sometimes brings ‘em the mail. But the drinks is all I know about. Anyway he was here that night, the one you guys was wonderin’ about. I seen him myself.

  He coughed and grinned through the gap in his teeth.

  “You absolutely sure about that night?” Frank demanded.

  “Look guys. This ain’t no subpoena shit. Got that straight?”

  Smith hesitated a minute, cased the shop, then looked at Frank.

  “Yeah, Watts was here. Night you said. All night. Had a little filly. I know the broad. I kinda checked on it. She said he was small stuff, but he had the cash. Girls I know don’t take no credit cards. So this is what you call a favor. I like to help the boys in blue. But that’s it. I don’t know nothin’ else.”

  Gap tooth eyed the pocket. I knew Frank wanted more, but his instinct told him to quit while he was ahead. He pulled the bill out and placed it on the table.

  “Coffee’s on me,” he said.

  “Thanks, guys. Proud to serve. That’s me. The dogs will love you for this shit. By the way, you see your old pal, Cy, don’t say hello for me.” Smith snatched bill and buried his head in the racing form.

  On the way out, Frank bought a dozen donuts, all chocolate cream filled, and two large Styrofoam cups of coffee. He asked for a receipt. “Expenses,” he mumbled in my direction.

  Two of the donuts were gone before we reached the car. The ride back to Key West dragged. My hand hurt and the bandage was seeping.

  “Let’s go over the stuff on Chris Foster again.” Frank said.

  I didn’t like it. We’d done it before and I thought Chris was off the list. But Frank was a bloodhound. One trail had gone cold and he was looking for another scent. I told him all of the same things. He listened and said nothing. Near Islamoroda he picked up his cell and checked his messages. Then we went back to the creep show that was the night before. Same questions, same answers. He was silent for the rest of the trip. It bothered me. He was trying to work something out, but he wasn’t telling me.

  I was hungry. It was way past lunch time and I was hoping for a seafood platter at Marker 7 in Marathon. Instead we ate donuts and drank coffee. It was a good thing Felice kept an eye on him. If this was his reg
ular diet, the blood in his arteries was probably thick as tar.

  He dropped me back at the marina. “Keep in touch,” he said and drove off.

  It was late afternoon, late enough for a drink. I poured some Evan Williams over ice and sat in the cockpit. When this was over I was going to kidnap Sunny, take a run to No Name Harbor, anchor and hit the Boater’s Grill for the catch of the day. Then head over to West End on Grand Bahama. We’d ease through Indian Cay, make for Great Sale, then Green Turtle where we lay up for a few days snorkeling and subsisting on fresh fish and cold Kalik. If we had the time, Man-O-War and Hopetown would definitely make the itinerary. A few days at Harborview in Marsh Harbor and I think I’d feel human again. But it would have to wait. There was business to be done.

  Frank knew everything I knew. Almost. I had seen the face of the man who saved me from being cold cuts for Cy Watts and the crabs. I thought I knew who it was, but I hadn’t seen enough of his face to testify to it in court. I had to talk to Marcuse Durant.

  Chapter 37

  The house looked eerie, even more ominous in the dark. There was a ghostly light flickering behind a ragged curtain in the front window. I hesitated, wondering if I should be here at all. I didn’t think Durant would tell me anything. I pictured the cadaverous Joseph lurking about, brightly polished blade in his hand, ready to carve what was necessary to protect The Reverend. But I was here. And in some ways I already had the fear frightened out of me.

  A board creaked as I stepped up onto the porch. I noticed mounds of dirt in the yard for fresh plantings. I started to knock when the door eased open. Joseph’s gray face loomed before me. Suddenly a voice boomed form the inside.

  “Tell him to come in. It’s almost halftime, anyway.”

  The huge form of Marcuse Durant was perched on the edge of a ratty recliner reflected in the glare of a BigScreen Sony. The Spurs were leading Miami by 7. Tony Parker faked right, executed a lightning crossover dribble, and lofted a graceful arc that burned the nets. LeBron shook his head while Tim Duncan clapped wildly.

  “Ah, Doctor Fleming. It is a marvelous time to be alive. Don’t you agree? This Tony Parker is Baryshnikov in a basketball jersey, a veritable poet of the hard court. That is 17 and it is only halftime. But here, sit. We’ll talk a moment.”

  Through the last 24 seconds, Wade juked and jived honing in on the rim. His face was keen with concentration. His hands went up. He double-pumped and shoveled the ball to Bosch who slammed it home like a mortar going off. Durant’s hand slammed together like thunder.

  As the final seconds ticked off the clock, he hit the mute button and collapsed into the recliner.

  “So much energy, Doctor Fleming. I feel twenty again. But I am quite certain you did not come here to discuss basketball. Proceed, if you will.”

  I quickly related the events that took place at Mallory Square. He nodded his snowy head occasionally, but said nothing. I wondered it he had heard it all before.

  “So this is the source of the bandages that cover your hand? Quite interesting, Doctor. It would seem you are a man of great fortune. Key West would have been less lively without you and your inquiring mind.” There was a note of sarcasm in his voice. I hoped it wasn’t regret.

  “And who do you think may have been your benefactor?”

  “That’s why I am here, Reverend. I caught only a glimpse of the man in the moonlight, but he was about the size of Joseph.”

  “I must admit I am shocked. There is no violence in Joseph, but I will satisfy your wishes. I tell you that he has been with me many years. On more than one occasion I have trusted him with my life. He does not disappoint me. I will instruct him to tell the truth and he will, despite any negative consequences.”

  He called to the back of the house and Joseph appeared, tall, raw, humble, and I was convinced, dangerous. “Ask your questions. Answer them truthfully, Joseph.”

  I first asked if he knew a man named Cy Watts. His metallic eyes pierced mine as he shook his head. Then I asked if he had followed me on that night, been anywhere near Mallory Square. Again, no. Durant smiled at me and spoke.

  “There you have it, Doctor Fleming. Joseph’s word is a good as mine own. I have no idea what may have happened to your Mr. Watts, but certainly we are in no way involved.” The look he gave me told me I’d better be satisfied.

  “You may also remember, Doctor, my words at our last encounter. We do not murder the innocent. The guilty will meet their fate at the hands of the invisibles and our good Baron Samedi. It will not be pleasant.”

  Durant leaned into me, his face dark and ominous.

  “There are things in each man’s life that he is not intended to know. Be thankful for your good fortune and leave it at that.” He stood like a great Kodiak bear who had just eaten, but knew he must always be watchful for his next meal.

  “Thank you, again Reverend. I see you have some new plantings.

  ”Yes. Those things ugly can be made quite beautiful with the proper fertilizer in the dirt. But Doctor, please. Do stay for the second half. Joseph is not much of a basketball fan.”

  I actually considered it. Watching Durant’s childish glee might help clear my mind and he might let something important slip. But the image of Joseph in the next room waiting to fulfill the Reverend’s next wish made me more than uneasy.

  I got back to the boat, changed the dressing on my hand and collapsed on the settee. I didn’t wake until I heard the rumble of the charter fishing boats the next morning.

  Chapter 38

  I was deep into the newspaper when Fritz came down the dock, head enshrouded in a cloud of smoke. The Spurs had won. Parker had 36.

  “Mornin’ Cap. I can tell by your face you ain’t got the news, yet.

  “Come aboard, Fritz.”

  “They arrested Chris. Charged him with first degree murder. Happened last night.” That was all Fritz knew. I felt betrayed. Frank was planning all of this while we were riding yesterday. He though he’d pump me one more time, maybe put an extra nail in Chris’s coffin. I’d been used and I was angry. When I got to the station, I bolted into his office.

  “I knew you’d be here as soon as you heard. I’m sorry T.K. The witness’s memory improved. We’re picking up some guys right now. Gonna do a line-up. If we get a positive ID, your boy is nailed. Still a lot of circumstantial, but with the ID and the physical evidence we’ve got enough for an indictment and a trial.

  “So why the hell didn’t you tell me? Why’d you use me yesterday?”

  “I’d like to think we are friends, T.K. But what do you want from me? I’m a cop. I couldn’t take the risk.”

  I was mad as hell, but I knew that later it would make sense. What would I have done if I had known Chris was about to be arrested for murder? Warn him so he could run? Tell him to turn himself in? Or keep my mouth shut and wait for the cops to show up with the cuffs.

  And what if he were guilty? What if he had killed Alexis and left her blood stained body to be discovered by some doper using the house for a quick fix. I didn’t want to believe Frank, but he said they had a case. I was sure they did.

  “So you want to see him?”

  I nodded. He led me down a long yellow hall to a gray door with a grate in it. He motioned to the guard and I heard the magnetic key buzzing.

  “Frisk him. Then let him in the cell with Foster. Give him all the time he wants.”

  The smell of Lysol crawled up my nose while the guard patted me down. Chris was sitting on a fold-down cot hung from the wall by heavy chains. There was a stained porcelain sink and a toilet with no seat in one corner. A small vent near the ceiling struggled to keep up with the clammy humidity.

  “Hello T.K. Welcome to my new digs. Actually it’s bigger than the boat and maybe even cleaner.” He tried to laugh, but the sound stuck in his throat.

  “Sounds like you’re in a hell of a mess.”

  “Yeah, I don’t even think MacGiver could dig me out of this hole. They got me. I got a cou
rt appointed attorney. Says not to worry. They’ll never get a conviction on so much circumstantial crap. Might not even make trial. But you know something, T.K.? I don’t believe him. I’m just shit scared.”

  “You’d be a fool not to be, but maybe there are some things we can try. Maybe your alibi? They’ve got to have a motive. I guess you know about Watts, but he’s not a very good suspect if you can’t find him.”

  “Yeah, I do know and that Harry said Watts didn’t do it.”

  “I’ve got to ask you one question, Chris. Was it you? Did you kill her?”

  His eyes filled with menace and he bolted off the cot. He started to reach for me, but the guard suddenly appeared at the bars.

  “Fuck you, T.K. You. My great and true friend. Sure. I’d of thought you’d be the last one to sell me out. But no, you step to the front of the line. Fuck you and get the hell out of here. I don’t need this shit. Guard,” he screamed, “my ‘friend’ is leaving. Get his ass out of here.”

  I couldn’t think of anything to say and he wouldn’t buy it, anyway. I stood outside the bars and mumbled quietly, “I believe you, Chris.” He gave me the finger. He was crying.

  But if not Chris, then who? Malachi Strait was dead. Harry was dead and I didn’t think he could’ve done it, anyway. Cy Watts could’ve, but he had an alibi and he was missing. I was afraid he might stay that way. Marcuse Durant might have had a motive, but it was shaky. Somehow I believed him when he said “We do not murder the innocent.” Joseph? Maybe he was a zombie. Chris was the only one left on the list. It made too much sense.

  Chapter 39

  The witness picked Chris out of the lineup with no trouble. It was in the paper and all over the TV news. The District Attorney was pushing for a quick trial. He released a statement that “he was confident justice would be swift and unerring.”

  I saw Chris a couple of times. He thought he remembered that the girl at the bar was a blond from somewhere in the mid-west, maybe Iowa. He said he was sorry about the outburst. He understood. I didn’t think he did. He was trying to stay calm, but it wasn’t working. I hit the bars, questioning all of the regular bartenders who knew him. None could separate that night from any other. The faces, the laughter, the endless empty bottles in the garbage, they all ran together like a muddy river.