Castle Cay (14 page)

“There, Joe, look!” yelled Will. “Check the
map, northeast!”

Joe could barely hear Will over the sound of
the rotor blades. He adjusted his headphones, cupping his ears more
securely. They were passing over a very large, crescent shaped
island, which encircled an innumerable amount of small isles to its
left. It was very developed, lots of pastel stucco homes.

“Not here. Ahead of us, to the left,” said
Will.

Joe could hear him better now.

“The small outer islands in a string, running
north and south. See that one with all the boats and buildings?
That’s Green Turtle Cay. Just past it…there’s Manjack …mostly
empty. Do you see it?”

Joe was following the names on the map and
looking in the direction Will was pointing. He saw the island named
Manjack Cay, and nodded.

“Okay,” Will said, “There’s Castle Cay,
straight ahead of us, northeast of Manjack. It’s the furthest
out-island. See it?”

“Yes, I do,” said Joe.

The island was shaped like an elongated
triangle from north to south. The western side of Castle Cay, which
they were approaching, stuck out toward them in a wide V shape.
There was a picture-perfect beach ringed with palm trees to the
right of the V point, and a long boat dock. A house sat up high in
the dense foliage.

The chopper climbed, scaling a high, rocky
ridge that ran the length of Castle Cay. As they cleared the top, a
broad terrace appeared below, dropping off to a long, nearly
straight edge sliced against the deep, cobalt blue ocean.

“Well, Buddy,” said Will, pointing. “You’re
in luck! There’s an airstrip over there. We can land, if you
want.”

“Can we get some pictures of the island first
and then come back and land here?” asked Joe.

“Sure. The camera’s all set to go. Hang on,
while I circle the place.”

There were a couple of small buildings near
the airstrip, and a rock/cement wall and pier. Joe could see the
waves, rolling against the land in a long, jagged line of white
foam. As they flew south, he noticed a small indentation, a beach,
protected by a reef. The far southern end of the island tapered off
into a string of shoals.

As they came back, heading north up the
Caribbean side on the west, there was a great deal more foliage.
They passed the ridge house again. It was shuttered and deserted, a
blind sentinel above a gorgeous beach. The long dock stretched out
over shallows so clear they could see schools of fish.

“Even you could catch one here, old Buddy,”
said Will.

Joe laughed, shaking his head.

Ahead, around the bend, they saw what looked
like an old farmhouse. There was a barn and some ramshackle
buildings, with no one in sight. They continued on, but saw no
other houses or structures. Castle Cay’s big central ridge led to
smaller, empty islands on its northern tip trailing like a rocky
green spine on a partially submerged alligator. They banked to the
right and headed south once more on the far side of the high
ridge.

The chopper lowered, gently swinging from
side to side, and settled on the cracked landing strip. They got
out and walked toward the cement block structures. There was
nothing much inside: one had a long, portable wooden table that was
damaged and falling apart, and there was some debris…pieces of
plastic wrap, paper, a soda can.

“Drug runners,” said Joe.

“Yeah, sure looks like it, Buddy. I saw
another empty island with a makeshift strip like this in the
southern Bahamas. I was flying a narc. He was looking for it. He
said they usually just did drops. But, you know that big ridge
there? You can’t see this set-up from the other side of this
island.”

“Looks like it hasn’t been used for awhile,”
said Joe.

“No,” said Will. “You say Holiday Cruise Line
is interested in this place?”

“Oh, yeah. Forty million interested.”

“That would be a hell of a deal for them,
Joe. The water’s deep on this side; they could bring a ship in
close. Plus they already have a sea wall and a pier for the
tenders.”

“Yeah. And it’s not too wide for them to cut
through to that beautiful beach on the other side.”

“Was there supposed to be a ‘caretaker’ or
somebody living on this island?”

“That’s what Julie told me. But those houses
we passed on the other side are abandoned…probably scared off by
the drug runners.”

“Hey…there’s an airport on Treasure Cay,”
said Will. “We’re passing right over it on our way back. We could
land and ask around about Castle Cay. A lot of these Bahamians,
particularly the fishing boats, they know everything about these
islands.”

“That would be great. Let’s do it.”

They climbed aboard, Will revved up the
chopper and they lifted off…leaving the shadowy ghosts of Castle
Cay behind.

•

They left the chopper at the airport on
Treasure Cay. While they waited for a cab, Joe picked up a brochure
featuring four fishing boats and their captains:

- FISH ABACOS -

Half Day or Full Day

Excitedly, he showed it to Will on the way to
the marina.

“Look at this guy, Will. ‘
Captain Al
Drum’
. He’s got the same name as the caretaker Julie mentioned.
She said his name was ‘John Drum’ and I think she said there was a
son, ‘Alfred’. I bet it’s him. Here’s his boat,
Wave Dancer
II.
Let’s see if we can find him.”

It was two in the afternoon when they located
Wave Dancer
’s slip.

“She’ll be back about four,” said a teenage
boy washing down a catamaran moored nearby. “Al had four guys, an
all day charter.”

They thanked him, and decided to go grab some
lunch at the Marina Bar & Grill and return a little later.

They took a seat in the restaurant and both
ordered “Fish N’ Chips” and cokes. When the waitress walked away,
Will grinned at Joe.

“Well, you sure have gotten yourself a case,
Joe.”

“Yeah, it’s a puzzle, all right.”

“I meant a case of the hots for Merlin,” said
Will.

“Yeah,” said Joe, smiling, “that, too.”

At half past three, they were sitting on a
wooden bench on the dock waiting for
WaveDancer II.
She
pulled in neatly, right on schedule. One by one, four sunburned,
happy guys shook Captain Al’s hand and left. The Captain himself
was dark haired and medium height, late twenties, maybe thirty. He
was deeply tanned, as was his mate, a blond fellow about the same
age. They started to clean up the boat.

“Excuse me,” said Joe, “Alfred Drum?”

“Al,” he said. “Yeah, that’s me. Can I help
you?”

“I wonder if your father is John Drum, who
used to be the caretaker out on Castle Cay?”

“Why do you want to know?”

Joe introduced himself and Will, and
explained that the owner of the island, Marc Solomon, had died
under suspicious circumstances. He told him that Julie O’Hara - a
close friend of Mr. Solomon - had hired him to investigate the
man’s death. Joe pulled out his wallet and gave him one of his
business cards.

“Yes, I’m John Drum’s son,” said Al. “I used
to live on Castle Cay. I’m sorry to hear about Marc Solomon. I
haven’t seen him in years, but he was a nice guy. And I’ll never
forget Julie O’Hara, even though she only came to Castle Cay once.
What would you like to know?”

“When did your family leave Castle Cay?”

“In 1994,” said Al. “Mrs. Solomon had a heart
attack while they were on vacation there in ’93. I think they kind
of thought the island was cursed or something after that. Anyway,
the family said they didn’t need us there anymore. They gave my
father a nice severance and we moved here. I have to tell you, my
mother and I didn’t mind. It was a lonely life out there.”

“So, do you ever go back?”

“No, never have. There were rumors about men
with rifles on the island. I never went near Castle Cay after I
heard that. There’s still pirates out here that’ll steal your
equipment, or your whole boat. You got to be careful, you
know?”

“Yeah, I guess you do,” said Joe. “One other
thing, Al. You mentioned that Julie O’Hara came here once. When was
that? Was she with Marc Solomon?”

Al Drum looked at him, surprised.

“No. She was with Dan O’Hara on her
honeymoon. He died there…you don’t know about that?”

* * * * *

S
pecial Agent Sherman Dixon had gotten
the call from the Executive Assistant Director’s office in
Washington, D.C. Thomas Wright, EAD, wanted to meet with him. Sherm
had no idea what it was about when he walked in and sat down, but
he found out fast.

“Good morning, Agent Dixon. Have a seat.”

“Good morning, sir,” said Sherm.

“I’d like you to explain what you know about
a man named Avram Solomon and why you inquired about him,” said the
EAD.

Uh-oh…

“I went to college with a guy, Joe Garrett,
who is a private investigator now. We were talking on the phone
about his girlfriend, who’s originally from Boston,” said Sherm.
“She was a good friend of Marcus Solomon. You recall that artist
who was murdered in Key West, sir?”

“Oh, yes.”

“Well, she mentioned to my friend that she
was suspicious of the victim’s brother, Avram Solomon. She told Joe
she knew some people who worked for this Solomon guy in Boston, who
thought he might be doing something illegal with his car dealership
business,” said Sherm.

“Some people
?
Who?”

“I don’t know their names, sir. I asked about
this Solomon guy out of curiosity. I thought he might be laundering
money, maybe, for the Tambini family. But no one recognized the
name and he wasn’t in the system. Sir? May I ask what this is
about?”

“Yes, you may. You are being temporarily
assigned to a Top Secret task force in Boston. It’s an ongoing drug
investigation. This individual, Avram Solomon, has recently figured
into it.

“You are to gather as much information as you
can from your friend, the detective, and his girlfriend,
too…especially the names of any people who work for, or with
Solomon, and who might have pertinent information that they are
willing to share with us.

“Then you are to fly immediately to Boston to
meet Special Agent in Charge, Robert Branson, who is heading up
this task force,” said the EAD. “And, Agent Dixon, you can’t tell
anyone about this investigation. You have to get this information
without divulging anything about the task force. Is that
clear?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. I don’t want any leaks from this
office.”

“No, sir.”

“All right, then. Good luck to you,” he said,
extending his hand.

“Thank you, sir,” said Sherm, giving his hand
a final shake. “Goodbye.”

Sounds like Joe’s suspect is up to his
eyeballs in illegal activities,
thought Sherm, as he walked
down the hall toward the elevator.
But
how the hell does
it connect with the brother’s death in Key West?

* * * * *

A
s exhausted as David was, it might
have been kinder to just let him go to bed. But Julie knew that she
had a better chance of getting the whole story out of him now…and,
besides, she was angry with him.

“Why did you lie about Rolly being here when
you found Marc?”

“I didn’t lie, Julie. Nobody asked me,” he
said.

“What?” she said. “You told the police that
Rolly left when Susan left!”

“Well, he did. They never asked me if he
came back
.”

“I don’t believe this! You’re charged with
murder
, and you’re protecting Rolly? What are you doing with
him, anyway? I don’t understand how you could do that to Marc.”

“That’s why we didn’t tell the police!” said
David, standing up now, pacing back and forth. “They wouldn’t
understand, either. Marc knew all about Rolly and me. He didn’t
mind, Julie! Marc and I loved each other, but we haven’t had a
sexual relationship for years.”

“How do you know that Rolly didn’t kill
Marc?”

“
I know
. He couldn’t. He
wouldn’t.”

There was no point arguing with him.
He’ll
be more rational after he gets some sleep. In any case, Jake
Goldman needs to know about this.

After David went to bed, Julie added to the
chart, under Rolly Archer.

Had opportunity. Jealousy? Money? Any
connection to Avram Solomon?

She had set the phone’s ringer on
Low
.
It rang periodically throughout the afternoon. She answered it
twice. The first time was when the Caller ID said, “
Jacob
Goldman
”. He asked to speak to David.

“He’s sleeping, Jake. This is Julie. I’ll
wake him if you want me to, but he was really wiped out and upset.
He may have taken a sleeping pill.”

“Yes, I know. Unfortunately, so do the
police, who found a lot of alprazolam in the deceased.”

Alprazolam…generic for Xanax?

“So, Julie, you seem to really care for
David. How long have you known him?”

“I was Marc Solomon’s friend for eighteen
years. I’ve been David’s friend since he met Marc, many years ago.
And, of course, I believe he’s innocent.”

“I think he probably is, too. But I get the
feeling he’s holding back something,” he said. “Do you have any
idea what that might be?”

“Yes, I do. But I think David should tell you
himself,” she said.

“Jake, I’m a body language specialist. I’ve
been a jury consultant on two murder cases. If there’s anything I
can do to help, I’m here. And you know Joe Garrett; he’s following
another lead we think is related to Marc’s murder. We hope to find
evidence that will exonerate David, at least provide reasonable
doubt.”

“I’m coming over there tomorrow morning to
meet with David, about ten. Will you be there? And can you have Joe
there, too?”