The Black Palmetto (15 page)

“If he'd found it, he would’ve disposed of Benetti's body with the car.”

Nodding, J.T. said, “Yeah, I guess so, but what difference does it make? Nobody knows where it is. That's what you two came here for, and got all wrangled up with these murders. If we knew where to find the thing, we'd be gone. You could collect your fee.”

“That’s right,” Sam said, “but I have an idea where it is. I should’ve thought about it before now. If Benetti had it with him when he got to Iguana Key, and he didn't hide it in his car or the motel room, he had to stash it somewhere between the time he was at Chopin’s bar and when he left to meet with Knox.”

Simone smiled. “I’m following you, now.”

Chapter Seventeen

Sam drove the three
of them to Chopin's. Sitting in the drive next to the building, the engine idling, J.T. accessed the computer system inside.

“Buttoned up pretty tight. The wireless connection was easy enough, but the system security is more sophisticated than I expected. It took a few extra minutes to crack. Maybe I'll poke around a little and see what he's hiding.”

“Just get the address,” Sam said. “You can do that another time.”

“Okay, okay, give me a minute. Going into the administrative system now…and here it is. Only one woman on the payroll, so it has to be her.” He read the information from the screen and Simone wrote it down.

As Sam put the car in reverse to back out, Chopin rounded the corner of the building.

“Hey!” the wide man said, approaching the car. “What are you doing?”

Sam lowered his window. “We wondered if we could talk with your barmaid again,” he adlibbed.

Chopin folded his tattooed forearms against his chest. “She’s busy. Besides, she already told you everything she knows about that guy. All he did was drink beer and use his telephone, and then he left. End of story.”

“I thought we could go over it again, see if she remembered anything since we talked.”

The bar owner dropped his arms to his side, snorted a chuckle, and turned to walk away. Over his shoulder, he said, “She gets off at one in the morning. You can talk to her then.”

****

A few minutes after 10:00 p.m. Sam parked the car in a vacant lot behind a stand of volunteer mimosa trees. He, Simone, and J.T. got out and ambled down the dark street. Home air conditioners groaned against the heat. They didn't see anyone in the yards or sidewalks. Probably too late and too hot. A drop of perspiration slid down Sam's neck into his shirt.

At the house they eased around the left side to the back door, and Sam used his pick to open the lock. His pulse droned in his ears. If they found the flash card, did that mean the case would be over? Maybe, but he had to wonder what it contained, and if finding it could help find Marlon Knox or Richard Boozler, or whoever the killer might be.
And the two million dollars.
Inside, a light glowed above the stove, and they found their way to the small living room.

“The barmaid said they had drinks in here,” Sam said, “and Benetti kept trying to reach someone on the phone. When he finally got through, she said she left the room so he could talk privately. When she came back a few minutes later, he said he had to go but would be back later. She’s a pretty girl, and I believe he really planned to come back. So he must have stashed the flash card somewhere in this room to keep it safe.”

They searched the sofa and easy chair, under and inside the zippered cushions, and the upholstery folds. Even turned them over and checked underneath. Found a tear in the cloth on the sofa bottom, but no flash card. Simone checked around the large-screen television and the sound system in the corner. A couple of artificial plants sat on tables at each end of the sofa with pebbles at their base. Sam took one and J.T. took the other, digging their fingers into the pebbles. No luck.

“I'll check the bathroom,” Simone said, “in case he went in there.”

“We should check in the bedroom, too,” J.T. said. “They might have gotten in the sack, and she just didn't tell you about it.”

Two doors stood open down the hallway, the first one for the bathroom. Sam and J.T. moved on to the second. The room had clothes strewn on the floor by a closet, and the bed hadn't been made since she'd last slept in it, so they started there. They searched under the mattress and around the frame. In the bedside cabinet Sam found a couple of old magazines and a stack of papers, mostly receipts and utility bills.

The closet contained a lot of clothes and shoes, but nothing else of interest. Simone had come up empty searching the bathroom. They gave up about midnight and left.

When they got back to the car, Sam said, “I would've bet a thousand bucks we'd find it there.”

“What if she found it, or Benetti gave it to her to keep for him?” Simone asked.

Sam started the car, eased it out of its hiding place, and pulled into the street. “You're right. That has to be it.” His disappointment slid away, replaced by a renewed adrenalin rush.

****

The Toyota sat behind Chopin's bar where it had been before. Sam pulled in beside it. They’d already discussed how it’d play out, and Simone called the barmaid's phone.

“This is Simone. We talked to you about Sean Spanner a couple days ago. Yeah, well, we think this killer might be coming for you next, and we need to talk again, like right now. We're parked next to your car out back
.
Hey, I don't care what you tell him. If you want to stay alive, you better get out here.”

She closed the phone. “Piece of cake.”

A few minutes later, the blonde came out the door, spotted their car, and headed over. Simone got out and opened the back door on the passenger side. The woman saw J.T. in the back seat. “Who's that?”

“Nobody to worry about.”

They got in and Simone turned around, flipped on the dome light, and said to the woman, “We know Spanner gave you the computer flash card.”

Sam had turned in the seat so he could watch her face when she answered.

The barmaid's eyes widened, and she waited a beat too long before saying, “What are you talking about?”

“You lied to us. Just give it up, and we'll let that slide and be gone.”

“He didn't give me anything. I told you, we just sat on the sofa and had a few drinks. He kept making calls, and when he finally got through, he left.”

“We're not leaving until we get that flash card,” Simone said. “And if you think you can sell it, think again. It's valuable only to the guy who's killing all those people around here. You'll be next when he realizes you have it.”

“But I don't have it. I don't know how I can convince you.”

Simone remained silent for a few moments then said, “Okay, if you want to play it that way.” She glanced at the clock display on the dash. “It probably isn't too late. Sam will call his friend at the news office, and she'll write a nice little story for the front page of the morning paper with your name in it. You'll be glad to turn it over then.”

The barmaid gasped. “No, you can't do that.”

“Sure we can.”

She wrung her hands, and moments dragged by before she said, “All right. But I didn't lie to you. Like I said, he didn't give me the thing you’re looking for. I found it on the floor this morning under the edge of the sofa where he must have dropped it.”

Sam didn't think so. Benetti would have been more careful than that. Likely, he had stuck it under the edge of the cloth covering of the bottom of the sofa, and it had slid through the tear in the fabric.

“Do you have it with you?” Sam asked.

“Chopin has it. I told him the guy gave it to me at the bar and asked me to hold it for him, but it didn't look like he was coming back. Chopin said he’d check it out.”

“Didn't he plug it into a computer?” J.T. asked.

“I don’t think so. I just gave it to him tonight, and we’ve been really busy.”

“Where is it now?” Simone asked.

“In his office safe.”

The four of them left the car and eased to the back door of the building. Sam saw no security cameras anywhere. Upon entering Sam peered down a long, dimly lit hallway.

“First door on the left,” the barmaid whispered. “He might be in the office.”

It stood ajar about twenty feet away, light spilling out around the edges. They eased that way and Sam peeked around the jamb. There was a desk, but nobody sat behind it, so they stepped inside.

Several framed photographs hung from one wall. One pictured Chopin, sporting the long ponytail, sitting at a piano on a stage. He appeared to be in his twenties and much thinner, his hair a dark brown. The long sleeves of a tuxedo covered his elaborate ink, if he had any at that time. “At the Lincoln Center” had been handwritten across the top of the picture. The others displayed a more current and far heavier Chopin sitting on his Harley Davidson motorcycle, standing with biker friends, standing and pointing to the sign above his bar, behind the bar, drawing a mug of beer from the tap. Sam wondered if he belonged to a biker gang. That could cause them some trouble if things went badly.

“The safe is under the desk,” the blonde said.

Sam stepped over and watched as J.T. rolled a leather executive chair out of the way, got down on his hands and knees, and lifted a piece of carpet-covered wood. The safe rested in the hole underneath.

J.T. dropped the wood cover back into its spot and stood up. “It has a combination lock. You can probably open it.”

Sam shrugged. “Yeah, maybe, but it'd be easier just to get him to do it.” To the barmaid he said, “Go get him.”

She shook her head. “He'll fire me. I told him I was going for a smoke. Can't you leave me out of it? Maybe tell him a lie about how you know he has the thing?”

After a beat, Sam said, “Okay, go back to work. If you warn him, though, I'll make sure he knows everything.”

As she started to leave, Sam said, “Is there a phone extension behind the bar?”

“Yes,” she said and disappeared out the door.

He punched the number from the desk phone into his cell and handed it to J.T. Chopin hadn't heard his voice before.

“Press the call button and tell him you have a beer delivery at the back door.”

Nodding, J.T. took the phone and made the call.

After a pause, he said, “All I know is the order says Chopin's
.
Okay, but if you don't want the shipment, you got to sign the paper to refuse it. Just come to the back door. Won't take a minute. I'll be here.” He closed the phone.

Sam eased over to the door and listened. When he heard footsteps, he swung the door open and pointed his gun at the short round man. Chopin tried to retreat the other way, but Sam grabbed him by the collar and stopped him.

“Get in here,” Sam said, nodding toward the office.

Chopin eyed the barrel tip. “You going to rob me?”

“Just do as I say.”

The round man smirked. “Or what, you'll shoot me?”

Simone moved so he could see her through the doorway, her gun at the ready. “If he doesn't, I will. Just give me a reason.”

Chopin stared at her gun for a moment, then sighed and stepped into the office.

“Who's this?” Chopin asked, nodding toward J.T.

“None of your business, fat boy,” J.T. said. “We'll ask the questions.”

To Sam, Chopin said, “I don't think you know what you're doing. I've got connections in Miami. They'll track you down and kill you.”

“Yeah? I'll keep that in mind.”

“We want the flash card Spanner gave you,” Simone said.

“What are you talking about?” Chopin's eyelids fluttered.

“This is the only place he could have left it.”

“He didn't leave anything here. Can you put down the guns? Please?
I told you, he just had a few drinks and left. He kept making calls, but it didn't look like anybody answered.” He turned to Simone, probably hoping for some sympathy. Wrong place to look for that.

Sam pointed the gun at the round man's head. “Hey, we know you have it, and we already found your safe, so just open it up, and we'll be on our way.”

He glanced at the desk and frowned. “Okay, okay. Just cool it with the gun. I couldn't see what was on it, anyway.” He stepped behind the desk and knelt to lift the wood cover. Sam stood over him in case he had a gun stowed inside the safe. The lock snapped open after a few moments, and Chopin lifted the steel door and eased it back on its hinge to rest against the carpet.

J.T. pulled him from under the desk by the collar. “That's good, we'll take it from here.”

“Hey, I've got other stuff—”

“Just get out of the way.”

When Chopin stood up and moved aside, J.T. reached into the safe and pulled out a thin black item about the length and width of a postage stamp. “It's an SD memory card.”

Simone took it, studied it for a moment, and handed it to Sam.

****

On the way back to the cabin, J.T. plugged the card into his computer. “The files are encrypted. Might take me a while, but I think I can open them.”

“We don't have to do that,” Simone said. “All we have to do is take it back to Homestead, and we're finished.”

Sam glanced at her. “You sure? Once those guys have a look at it, they might find it's something they don't want anybody to know about. And maybe they wouldn't want us knowing about it, either. They could send somebody.”

“But it's encrypted. They should know we wouldn't be able to open it.”

Nodding, Sam said, “They might think that, but they might think we were able to take a peek. I don't want to take that chance. We need to know what's on it.”

The phone chirped and Sam looked at the display. Lora Diamond. He wondered what she would be calling about at this time of night.

“Charles Ford is in a hospital in Miami. Somebody stabbed him and left him for dead.”

“Was he robbed?”

“I don't know. He was in the parking lot of a place called Windhaven.”

The place where Knox spent some time before the Black Palmetto. Sam wondered how Ford would know about it. He did say he wanted to confirm his suspicion of someone.

“What's his condition?”

“They have him in the ICU. He lost a lot of blood before somebody discovered him.”

“I wonder if he's conscious.”