The Black Palmetto (23 page)

“Never heard of her.”

“Yeah, me either, but if she is his mother, she might be in contact with him.”

Chopin headed inland toward the Iguana Key downtown area. Sam called J.T. and brought him up-to-date, including their visit to the second beach house and the conversation with Jack.

“You didn’t happen to go to Chopin’s house after we talked, did you?” Sam asked.

“Uh, you mean the beach house?” J.T. asked.

“Yeah. The reason I ask, somebody was there ahead of us and went out the window. I caught a glimpse of the guy, and he looked a little bit like you.”

“Oh, yeah? Was that you? Huh. Well, I went by there, but I didn’t get a chance to search the place. See, Harpo told me the same thing he told you, about maybe mistaking which house to go to. I checked it out and found a guy’s name I hadn’t heard of before. Turns out, it’s a rental, and I didn’t find a name for the renter. You saw the place. Whoever lived there had been there a long time. Probably not our guy. But I thought, what the heck, I’d take a look around.” He kept talking about the house without saying anything important, and Sam knew he was just trying to postpone dealing with why he had gone there and tried to conceal it from them.

“That’s okay,” Sam said, “just wondered if it was you. By the way, did you ever find out who owned the property up on Big Pine Key, where you followed Knox to the boat house?”

“Oh, yeah,” J.T. said, relief in his voice, “I was working on that a few minutes ago and got sidetracked. Hold on a minute and I’ll get it for you.” Keys clicked, and within seconds, he said, “Wow, you won’t believe this. It belongs to Ava Crowne.”

Too bad he hadn’t done that when Sam had first asked him about it. Maybe they would have been further along. Then again, they might not have known what to do with the information if they’d had it. Jack had only mentioned the affair a few minutes before, and that had been sheer luck.

“See what you can learn about her. Particularly if she had two sons, or was ever married to someone named Knox.”

“Already ahead of you, brother,” J.T. said, the bravado back. “It says here that she married a millionaire named Adam Crowne when she was twenty and had a child named Chopin. Made several movies, and the last couple bombed. Divorced a few years later, stayed single a couple of years and married her second husband, a struggling writer named David Knox. They had another son, Marlon, and that marriage lasted only a year. She’s been a recluse ever since.”

She’d probably gotten a fortune in a divorce settlement from Crowne, and stayed with Knox just long enough to give her new son a name other than Blaine.

“Okay, so now we know. How’s Benetti doing?”

“He’s doing a lot of whining. Says the ties hurt his wrists.”

“Well, let him whine. I’m hoping we’ll be back in an hour or so.”

When he hung up, Chopin slowed ahead and turned into the parking lot of an apartment complex. He got out of his car and went into the lobby. About ten minutes later, he came out rolling a large metal suitcase. He struggled getting it into the trunk and took off again.

“That case looks heavy,” Simone said. “Maybe weapons or cash.”

“Yeah, I’m guessing weapons. He probably took the Cigarette boat from Boozler, and I assume he got the money at the same time. I can’t see him bringing the cash back here, so he probably has that with him already.”

Sam followed the killer’s brother through downtown and onto the road leading to Ford’s cabin, but when Chopin reached the coastal highway, he turned south toward the marina where Sam and Simone had first seen the old cruiser.

“Knox is probably waiting at the marina with the Cigarette boat,” Sam said.

“He’s making his getaway, and like you said, he has the money with him. So we take him dead or alive.”

“Okay, but keep the collateral damage to a minimum.”

She huffed. “What? You’re worried about Chopin getting hit?”

Shrugging, Sam said, “Well, you do have a reputation.”

She grabbed his arm and squeezed in a playful tease. Her fingers lingered a moment or two longer than necessary. Or was that his imagination, maybe wishful thinking? Then she pulled her hand away and turned in the seat.

“What about him?” she asked, nodding toward Harpo in the back seat. “He might get hurt if he gets in the way.”

Sam had forgotten about him. In the rearview mirror, he saw the homeless man watching the car up ahead, seemingly oblivious to their conversation, maybe thinking about what he would do to Knox when they caught up with him.

“We should’ve left him back at the hearse.”

“Too late now.” Turning back to the front, she said, “The big boy’s slowing down.” She put the field glasses to her eyes. “He’s talking on the phone.”

“Maybe the plans changed, and Knox wants to meet him somewhere else.”

The speedometer read fifty-two mph. They kept getting closer to Chopin’s car, so Sam put his foot on the brake and lagged back.

Several minutes dragged by at the slow speed, and then they passed a side road where several men sat on motorcycles, their engines running. Sam watched the rearview mirror and saw them enter the highway.

“That’s the reason he slowed down,” Sam said. “He spotted us and called his friends.”

Simone turned to look.

“They’re right behind us. I think they’re going to pass.”

Engines thundered as the bikers cut around the rear of the car. There were six of them. When they got even with the car, the one next to Sam’s window yelled for him to pull over.

Chopin’s car picked up speed and began to put distance between them.

“I’m going to try to outrun them,” Sam said as he floored the accelerator. “If we get waylaid, we’ll lose Chopin.”

They sped ahead, but their lead lasted only a few seconds before the bikes caught up. As the men passed, the last one to go by pulled a sawed-off shotgun from a scabbard mounted under the handlebars. He swung it around and fired. Even with the window closed, it sounded like an explosion, and the steering jerked to the left as the car slowed, the front tire blown.

Sam wrestled with the wheel, steered to the side of the road and stopped. His face felt hot, and his pulse beat like a bass drum in his ears. A bead of perspiration tickled the side of his face. Chambering a round in his 9mm, he said, “Call J.T. and tell him to go to the marina. He should be able to get there before Chopin.”

“What are you going to do?”

“I don’t know, yet.”

The bikers had stopped in front of them and dismounted. None of them wore helmets. Half of them wore bandannas on their heads. All of them sported week-old beards and aviator shades, and looked as if they could stand a shower and a change of clothes.

Chains appeared in the hands of a couple of the men. One of them looked older than the others, and Sam thought he might be the leader. He stepped up to the car, the man holding the sawed-off right behind him.

“Get out,” the leader commanded.

Sam swung the door open and stuck the gun behind his back into the waistband of his pants as he got out. He eased around the corner of the car toward the men.

The leader held his hand up, palm facing Sam. “Hold it right there and tell us why you’re following that car.”

“He’s headed to meet with the man who killed all those people in Iguana Key. We’re after the killer, not your friend.”

The leader turned to one of the bikers to his side, a questioning expression on his face. The other guy shrugged. They probably didn’t know anything about it.

Sam gazed beyond the bikers up the highway. Chopin’s car seemed to melt into the horizon.

“Hey, pay attention!” the guy with the shotgun said. “We’re talking to you!” He stepped up close to Sam and stuck the muzzle to within inches of his head.

Sam’s face felt as if on fire. The decision about what to do crystalized in that moment. He smacked the barrel of the saw-off away with the heel of his left hand, drew the 9mm, and shot the biker.

The shotgun fired wild as the man screamed and fell backward. On the ground, he let go of the weapon and clutched what was left of his kneecap. Blood ran between his fingers. Sam stepped over and kicked the gun out of range.

“Who’s next?” Sam asked. He extended his arm and moved the sights of the 9mm over the faces of each of the five bikers still standing.

The men dropped their chains on the pavement. No one said anything.

“No takers, huh?” He pointed the gun at the leader. “Okay, I’ll make it easy for you guys. If I don’t have the spare tire on my car in five minutes, I’m shooting your friend here.”

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Sam called J.T. “Are you at the marina, yet?”

“Yeah, since about ten minutes after Simone called. Chopin came rolling in a little while later and wheeled a suitcase into the boathouse where the Cigarette is tied. Knox arrived on the speed bike right before you called, and I guess they’re powwowing in there now. What happened with the bikers?”

Sam told him about the tire and shooting the man with the sawed-off. “They changed my tire and I let them go.”

The wounded man had moaned and begged the whole time for somebody to take him to a hospital. As Sam drove away, they helped the guy onto the back of one of the bikes and sped off in the other direction.

“Did you get a look at Knox?” Sam asked.

“No. He wore the helmet into the boathouse.”

Pretty bold of Knox going back to the place Boozler had kept the boat, after the FBI and the local lawmen had showed up there. Of course, he might not have known that.

“You get a chance to search the Cigarette boat?”

“Yeah, I had a few minutes before Chopin got here. Didn’t find anything, though. Unless Chopin brought the money in that suitcase, Knox must have it stashed somewhere else.”

“I don’t think he would have entrusted it to Chopin. Could be back at that house on Big Pine that his mother owns, though.”

“Yeah, maybe. I stuck a GPS transmitter into the corner of one of the boat’s pockets so we can track him.”

“Where did you get that?”

“I carry one in my bag. Never know when you’ll need to follow somebody.”

“You can bring it up on your computer?”

“Sure, I already have it blinking on the screen.”

“Ah, man, you’re a genius.”

Simone huffed a laugh.

“I thought you’d like that. Listen, the fat boy is coming out of the boathouse, and the Cigarette engine just started up. Why don’t you call your pilot friend Randy and get the seaplane? We can let Knox go on his merry way and catch up with him later, after he’s had a chance to pick up the cash.”

“That sounds like a good plan. I’ll head back toward Ford’s place and try to touch base with Randy.”

Randy flew a seaplane for a wealthy businessman in Key Largo, and occasionally did favors for Sam, as long as Sam paid him well. They had met a few months before when Randy worked for a loan shark in Miami who was trying to kill Sam, and Randy got caught in the middle.

In the end, he landed the sweet deal in Key Largo.

“Okay, I’ll see you back there.”

****

When Sam reached the cabin, they found the door standing ajar and Benetti gone.

“That’s just great,” Simone said. “Back to square one.”

The wooden chair where their captive had been tied lay on the floor in pieces.

“Don’t worry about it. We have the computer card and most of the money he stole. If we get Knox, we’ll have it all.”

She sighed. “I guess you’re right. I wasn’t looking forward to riding back to Homestead with him droning on in the back seat.”

They had bought Harpo a burger and dropped him off at the hearse. Though he seemed disappointed, he got out of the car, pointed a finger at Simone, and smiled. “Be seeing you,” he said.

Something about his expression gave Sam a feeling of unease, like the guy still might know things about Knox that they didn’t.

J.T. arrived a few minutes later and looked down at the broken chair. “What happened to the whiner?”

“He got away.”

“Yeah, well, we can still follow him on the scope. Knox headed north when he left the boathouse. I’ll bring up the monitor and check his location as soon as I get a beer.” He asked if anyone else wanted one and got no takers.

Sam sat down on the sofa and called the pilot’s number. It rang several times before Randy answered.

“I hope you don’t want your money back,” Randy said. Sam had dropped a lot of cash on him a couple of weeks before when he’d flown Sam and J.T. to the Caribbean and back in a matter of hours.

“Nah, I’ve got another job for you. You still piloting for the guy in Key Largo?”

“Yeah, but I have to take the plane up to Miami in the morning for maintenance.” His voice sounded a little slurred.

“You drinking, Randy?”

A couple of seconds passed before he answered. “Just a few short ones after work.”

Sam glanced at Simone and J.T. and shook his head.

“Can you fly?”

“Course I can fly! What kind of question is that?”

“What’s wrong with the plane?”

“We’re getting an instrument error, and I need to get it checked out. It could cause a problem.”

So now the seaplane option didn’t sound so good, with a drunk pilot and a sick plane.

J.T. came back in with his drink and sat down at the computer.

Sam held his hand over the phone and said to J.T., “You think you could fix the electronics on a seaplane if you had to?”

J.T. shrugged. “I don’t know. Never tried.”

He could do it
, Sam thought. He put the phone back to his ear. “I’ve got ten thousand dollars for you if you can pick us up on Iguana Key in an hour.”

“Yeah, okay. What’ll I have to do for it?”

“Just pick us up and I’ll fill you in. Shouldn’t take more than two hours.” He gave him their coordinates and hung up.

“Is this guy a drunk?” Simone asked, her eyebrow askew.

“Yeah, a little bit. Should be okay, though.”

She frowned. “If you say so.”

Pointing at a blinking dot on the computer screen, J.T. said, “I figured Knox would be headed to the Caribbean, but he’s tooling up the coast. Maybe he needs to gas up. That boat has a big tank, but it guzzles the fuel.”