Daiquiri Dock Murder (10 page)

“Using Pablo’s drums?”

“That’s right.”

“With Pablo’s permission?”

“Don’t know anyone ever asked for his permission. The trap set is there. We need a player, so we call Dolly. She’s not a trained musician, but she can keep a steady beat.”

“And Jessie Vexton plays string bass?”

Kane started to speak, but Jessie interrupted him.

“I play at playing the bass,” Jessie said. “I just perform often enough to keep my fingers calloused so they won’t blister. Years ago, I strummed guitar with a garage band while attending high school. I know the one, four, five chords well enough to get by on the bass for an evening at The Frangi.”

“And you have your own instrument? Chief Ramsey asked. “That’s the one that looks like an oversize violin, right?”

“Right.” Jessie didn’t smile at the chief’s description but his desultory shrug showed his opinion of it. “Mama G understands about musical instruments and so does Rafa. They let the musicians cover their instruments and keep them on the combo stand between gigs. The Frangi’s in an open-air setting, and the maintenance crew keeps a plastic roof and drop-down walls in place during daytime hours. The outdoor dampness wreaks havoc on drum heads, and it’s even harder on strings and wood, so we keep our instruments covered after The Frangi closes.”

“And you get paid for playing?” Ramsey asked Jessie.

“Yes.” The corner of Jessie’s mouth curled downward. “A pittance. I play mostly for the fun of playing.”

I raised an eyebrow. That was the first time I knew Jessie considered his evening’s take a pittance. Mama G and Pablo always seemed eager enough to collect their paychecks. Neither of them had asked for a raise.

Now Ramsey looked around, gathering all of us into his gaze. “Can anyone tell me where Pablo Casterano is at the moment? Detective Lyon?”

“I was unable to locate Mr. Casterano, Sir. I could find nobody who had seen or heard from him this morning. All leads led nowhere.”

“Where does he live?”

“My understanding is that he’s a homeless person,” Lyon said. “Many times he sleeps on the beach, and many times he appears at Mallory Dock’s sunset celebration, offering tourists Tarot card readings.”

Ramsey cleared his throat. “I wanted everyone connected, even remotely connected, with the victim to appear at this meeting. That certainly includes his son. Does anyone in this room know anything concerning the whereabouts of Pablo Casterano?”

“I haven’t seen Pablo lately,” Jessie replied. “Sometimes he hangs out with friends either at Smathers or the state park beach—the one here on Key West.”

“Once he disappeared for almost two years,” Kane said, a frown punctuating his words. “During that time nobody saw him or heard from him. Not even Diego.”

“Pablo doesn’t surprise us when he doesn’t show up for work,” I said. “The surprise comes when he does show up.”

“Where did he go for two years?” Ramsey asked.

Jessie shrugged. “He wouldn’t say. After some of us asked the question once, Pablo made it clear he didn’t want to hear it again.”

No one else spoke up and Ramsey looked again at Kane. “Mr. Riley, you’re a writer, are you not?”

“No, Sir. I am not. I make my living here in Key West as a commercial shrimper—and I moonlight at The Blue Mermaid as a security person—no pay.”

“But lately I’ve seen your name on several letters to the editor—in the
Citizen
and sometimes in
The Keynoter.
Isn’t that correct?”

“Yes. I’ve written a few letters, but I certainly don’t consider a couple of published letters makes me a writer.”

“Your letters showed your deep concern for commercial fishermen working in the Key West area.”

It wasn’t a question and Kane made no response.

“You feel strongly about Monroe County’s interest in what the commissioners refer to as our island’s working waters?”

“I do.”

The steely look in Kane’s eyes bespoke his interest in the subject more than his clipped words.

“Perhaps your thoughts and Diego Casterano’s thoughts concerning the working waters differed.”

“They did, Sir. They differed a great deal.”

I wanted to signal Kane to hush. Surely he could see that to reveal a conflict of interest with Diego was unwise at this point. Why was Ramsey going out of his way to try to connect Kane to Diego’s murder?

Chapter 11

(Still Sunday Afternoon)

Ramsey changed tactics and let his gaze touch on all of us again—one at a time. “Since Dolly Jass says she saw the victim alive late yesterday afternoon, I’m led to believe his murder took place sometime between five o’clock and midnight when Rafa Blue made her 9-1-1 call for assistance. This’s tentative. The Medical Examiner will announce the official time of death. This may not happen until tomorrow. But until we hear from him, I’m going to assume we have a seven or eight hour time frame in which the victim died. Do you agree?”

Nobody responded to his query.

“Does anyone disagree?” Ramsey asked. Again, no response. “Since nobody disagrees with this time frame, I’ll ask each of you to tell us where you were and what you were doing from five in the afternoon until midnight last night. Brick Vexton. What do you have to say?

“Not much, Sir. I spent most of the day and the evening helping with the parade and I worked at many places, marking the route, erecting barriers across some of the major street intersections, posting signs—that sort of thing. That work took me nowhere near my marina.”

“You have witnesses to corroborate your statement?”

Brick blinked and hesitated. “Of course I saw a few friends and acquaintances now and then. But I doubt that I can find anyone who will vouch for my whereabouts for all of that time, actually most of the day. Threnody and I did meet friends who managed to get seating for four for a late supper at Red Fish, Blue Fish
.”

“Threnody Vexton. You said you were home practicing your vocal solo and working on your costume. Was there someone at your house who can vouch for your late afternoon and early evening hours? Dolly Jass has quarters at your home, does she not?”

“She does. Dolly lives there. She works for us, but not on Saturdays. That’s her day off. Her room has a private entrance and I do not keep track of her comings and goings.”

“And you saw nobody else during the day?”

“No, Sir. Well, nobody outside the family. Brick stopped by for a sandwich around noon. He stayed only a few minutes. Nobody else called or checked on my whereabouts until I arrived at the parade’s starting point. Lots of people saw me on the parade float at that time.”

“And after the parade? Where were you then?”

“As Brick told you, he and I joined friends at a restaurant for a late supper. Bernice and Clayton Johnson. I’m sure they’d vouch for us for the few hours we spent together. As I remember it, service was slow due to the huge crowd, but even so we were home shortly after midnight.”

“Jessie Vexton, where were you from five o’clock until midnight yesterday?”

“I was on call at the marina during some of that time. Dad gives the employees, including Diego, time off on parade night, so I remain on duty in case a boater arrives late and needs help. Last night was a slow night. Guess everyone was attending the parade. Around seven, I closed the chandlery and went home.”

“You didn’t mind missing the parade and the festivities on Duval Street and elsewhere on the island?”

“No Sir. We’ve lived here a long time and I’ve seen lots of Fantasy Fest parades. During my teen years, nude women with their clothes painted directly onto their skin held a certain fascination for me. Even today I sometimes enjoy seeing the drag queens in full regalia looking more beautiful that most of Key West’s women. But last night I left the marina and went home.”

“Got anyone to vouch for you?”

Jessie shook his head. “At the marina, customers come and go—most of them strangers. Last night, few people stopped by. And nobody called me or came by my home.”

“Rafa Blue? I have an account of your 9-1-1 call around midnight, but what were your activities earlier in the evening?”

“I attended the parade for a short time, went home around ten o’clock, and stayed in my suite alone until I drove to the Vexton marina to check on our family’s boat.”

“Kane Riley?”

“No alibi, Sir. I attended the beginning of the parade, but after watching a few floats, a few marchers, I boarded my boat and remained there for the rest of the evening, keeping the lights on and making myself visible. Sometimes vandals hit on unoccupied boats and I didn’t want any bad stuff to happen to
The Buccaneer.
Saw few people around the Harbor Walk that could vouch for my presence.”

Chief Ramsey directed his next question to Brick. “Mr. Vexton, what were your feelings toward Diego Casterano?”

For an instant Brick looked startled and a muscle tightened along his left jaw. His reaction didn’t surprise me. I’d have tried to avoid such a question, too.

“What sort of feelings?” Brick asked. “Feelings relating to our business dealings? Feelings relating to our long-time friendship?”

“Any sort of feelings you care to share with me.”

Brick hesitated so long, I wondered if he was going to refuse to answer Ramsey’s question. But at last he spoke. “Diego and I were long-time friends. Diego had worked for me for many years and in casual conversations we learned that during our lifetimes we shared many common experiences. I grew up in a Miami orphanage, abandoned at birth by my parents for reasons unknown to me. Diego arrived in Key West during Castro’s 1980 Mariel Boatlift, also abandoned by his family. But he knew why. They hated to see him grab that once-in-a-lifetime chance to legally leave his homeland. The Casteranos raised sugar cane, and Diego played an important part in their operation.”

Brick hesitated and I didn’t blame him. Police officers can twist words—sometimes to their choosing. And once a person has said a thing, made any sort of a statement, it’s almost impossible for him to withdraw it. And I empathized with people who had been abandoned by their families.

However, I couldn’t blame my family for their reaction to my childish run-away-from-home act at age 13. The streets of Miami were no place for a young girl living on her own, especially a rich kid who took off after stuffing her purse with a couple hundred bucks in cash—a kid who thought she knew everything. Just thinking about it now still made me pull farther into the protective shell I’d built around myself while living in a luxury suite in a luxury hotel. Poor little rich girl. Sometime I’d have to tell Kane about my past. But not today—or tomorrow. I could only guess at his reaction, and good or bad, I hated the thought of facing it. When had I fallen in love with him? My story might send him out of my life forever. I couldn’t face that, either.

Suddenly Brick’s flushed face and harsh words about parents he never knew yanked my attention back to the here and now.

“If you’re going too expect me to answer more questions,” Brick said, “I’d prefer to have a lawyer present.” His right hand clenched into a fist. “Shouldn’t you have given all of us here this afternoon a Miranda warning?”

Chief Ramsey cleared his throat again, but before he could say more, Brick continued.

“Maybe other people in this room today also would like to summon legal protection and advice. I’m ready to call a lawyer. It may be Sunday, but Diego’s murder may evolve into a major court case. I’m guessing most lawyers would be interested in representing any of us, regardless of the day.”

“Nobody here is under arrest, Mr. Vexton. Authorities don’t Miriandize everyone during an informal questioning.”

“Then we’re free to leave the building?” Kane shifted forward in his chair as if about to stand and go immediately.

Detective Lyon dropped his notebook and pen into his coat pocket and stepped back, blocking the doorway.

“I’d like everyone to remain here until I finish asking a few more questions.” Ramsey glared at Kane.

“But anything we say can be held against us, right?” Brick rose and eased a few steps closer to the exit. Threnody and Jessie stood, ready to follow him.

“Are you ordering us to stay here?” Kane asked the question before Ramsey could reply to Brick’s question.

“I want to ask more questions,” Ramsey said. “You would be wise to remain here for a few more moments and answer them.”

“Then we’re not really free to leave, are we, Sir?” Jessie directed his question to Ramsey but he looked at Kane as if for confirmation.

“You’re all free to leave,” Ramsey said, “although I’m asking you to stay, no way am I forcing any of you to remain here against your will.”

“Then if we’re free to leave, we’re not in your custody,” Kane said.

“True,” Ramsey replied. “You aren’t in police custody.”

“You’re not giving anyone a Miranda warning at the moment because it’s against the law to give Miranda warnings to people not in your custody. I heard that on TV—“Law and Order”—and I’m leaving. Right now. And I’m asking Rafa Blue to leave with me.”

I wasn’t sure whether I should remain seated or rise and follow Kane from the chief’s office. Brick made the decision for me by standing beside his chair, easing toward Ramsey, and abruptly changing the subject.