The Black Palmetto (4 page)

When Harpo awoke he was back in his seat next to Alton, the motor idling. They just sat there on the vast concrete expanse of the bridge, life leaking away, as if waiting for the Pearly Gates to open. He wondered if he would be on the list to get in. The radio preacher, still channeling through the earpiece, talked about redemption and how sinners should pray for forgiveness. Harpo wondered if he could be forgiven for the things he'd done.

The car in front of them had disappeared. Lights glared in the mirrors, and he tried to turn and see out of the back window. His chest felt as if it had a flare burning inside it. After a few moments of struggling, he managed to see the sedan behind them. The man reached inside it and came out with an object of some kind. In the dim light it resembled a can of beans. He stepped to the front of his car and held the object in the illumination of the headlight, as if reading the list of ingredients. Then he strode to the hearse, twisted something on the top of the can, and tossed it behind Alton next to the casket. In the next instant, he reached in the window, cut the wheel to the left, and punched the old Caddy into drive.

The vehicle lurched forward, headed to the other side of the bridge toward the rail. Although Alton seemed to be breathing, his eyes were closed, his face a jaundiced death mask. Harpo didn't know what might happen now, but he knew it’d be bad, and he willed his hand to move to the door handle. He also took the radio preacher's advice and prayed. As he felt the snap of the latch, everything turned a blinding white, and he wondered if this might be the crossing-over light he'd heard about. But then he felt the heat and a sense of flying, and the light went out.

Chapter Five

Chief Boozler arrived for work at 9:30 a.m. He hadn’t gotten to bed until after five. Lonnie Cates met him at the door.

“The mayor came by to see you, Chief. He wants you to stop in. And there's something I need to tell you when you have a chance.”

Chief Boozler knew the mayor would come around as soon as he heard about the murder. “Lonnie, will you get me a cup of coffee and bring it to me in his office? I might as well get this over with.”

The chief winked at him as he walked by and Lonnie broke into a big grin. Boozler sauntered into the mayor's outer office and told the secretary he needed to see her boss.

“Go on in. He's expecting you.”

Sighing, Boozler entered and sat down, rubbing his sleepy eyes, acknowledging the mayor only after he got completely situated.

“Morning, Rich. I understand you were busy last night. Have time to tell me about it?”

“That’s why I’m here. I guess you know it was Jake Bell who got murdered. His father was beside himself when I called him, but he seemed more angry than hurt. Course, people express their grief in different ways. Morton ranted and raved over the phone about how we'd better fry the animal that did it or he’ll do it himself.”

Lonnie Cates came through the open door and handed the cup of coffee to the chief. Boozler thanked him and took a sip.

Donald Meyer’s eyes narrowed. Probably jealous. Word was his secretary would never bring him coffee.

“It sounds like you have a good suspect. I heard about the guy from Miami.”

Boozler tried not to smile. “You must have been talking to Lonnie.”

Meyer nodded.

“You know,” the chief said, “there's no shortage of people around here who might kill Jake Bell.”

“Yes, well, that might be true, but we need to make sure Morton knows we're doing our jobs. Maybe you should arrest the man from Miami until you find more evidence.”

Bell had bought the mayor’s office with campaign funds, and satisfying him was Meyer’s number one priority. “Sorry, but it doesn't work that way.” Boozler took a sip of coffee and glanced at his watch. The mayor’s time was up.

Back in his office, Boozler turned on the computer and brought up his e-mail. He hated electronic systems and didn't use them often. There were a couple of messages from fraternal police organizations, probably wanting money from him, one from the Iguana Key Chamber of Commerce, one from the mayor, and one from a parole officer with the Florida Department of Corrections. The last message probably deserved his attention most because Boozler had already ignored it for a few days. The parole officer was searching for a man named Fletcher Spikes, who had been paroled a couple of months before and had disappeared. A report in the Tallahassee office mentioned a dead John Doe in Iguana Key. Doe had a tattoo on his arm, and the parole officer asked in the e-mail if any photos of it had been made.

Fletcher Spikes.

Lonnie entered his office. “I did some searches on Mackenzie, the dude from Miami. He looks pretty suspicious.”

Boozler leaned back and scratched his head, still thinking about the e-mail. “Yeah? How so?”

“I didn't find anything. No arrests, no credit rating, nothing. Not even a driver's license. It's like he doesn't exist.”

“Maybe you made a mistake. We saw his Florida license.”

Lonnie shook his head. “Could've been fake. I think we should bring him in.”

****

Sam sat at the table in the interrogation room and stared at Police Chief Boozler. A cruiser had shown up at the diner at 9:45 a.m. while he and Simone ate breakfast. They probably didn't have anything to link him to the murder of Jake Bell, but there was no telling what else they might dig up if they talked to the right people.

“What are you doing in Iguana Key, son?”

“I told you last night why I'm here. I'm searching for Sean Spanner. Surely you don't think I had anything to do with that murder.”

“Have you ever been here before this trip?”

“No, never, except driving through to Key West.”

“You sure about that?”

Sam wondered where this was going. He thought he could see something sinister crawling in the chief’s eyes, but wasn't sure what it might be. He shifted in the chair. “Yes, I'm sure. I think I'd remember.”

The chief nodded, took a sip from his coffee cup. “Sure you weren't here a couple of months ago?”

Sam recalled the murder Lora had mentioned.

Without waiting for an answer, the chief got up, stepped out of the office for a few seconds and returned. “We had another dead body turn up a couple of months ago. Stabbed, like Jake Bell.”

An officer entered the door and handed Boozler a file folder. He opened it on the table and studied its contents for a few moments.

“Can you verify your whereabouts on April 6th?”

Sam tried to remember. “I think I was refinishing my boat deck during that time. The dock master helped me. Give him a call and he'll tell you.”

He wrote down the man's name and telephone number for the chief, who didn't seem very convinced.

“Will he know where you were twenty-four hours a day?”

“Probably not, but he saw me during the day that whole week.”

The chief shrugged. “Okay, I'll call him.”

Sam hoped he was right about the dates, and if wrong, maybe his friend would catch the drift and give the right answer anyway.

Boozler made a copy of his driver's license and let him go after a few more minutes.

“We're not finished with you, so stay in town. I'm going to check out this license. My Lieutenant said it didn't show up when he researched it. You better hope that was some kind of mistake.”

Check all you want. That's one thing I have that is legitimate.

Sam left the room and called Simone to pick him up. She said she was in the parking lot, so he went outside and spotted the car, the engine running, the windows closed to keep in the cool air. When he reached to open the door, Lora Diamond pulled in beside them and lowered her window.

“I heard they rousted you again. You have a few minutes to talk about it?”

“I think I'm all talked out.”

The sun bore down on his neck, tingling his skin with ultraviolet wattage.

“You sure? I'll spring for a beer at Chopin’s.”

After a moment's hesitation, he said, “Hold on.”

He got inside the car with Simone and said, “You up for talking with the reporter?”

Her lips tightened into a smirk. “She's the reporter you mentioned last night?”

“Yeah, she's the reporter.”

“Sure, why not. Let's hear what Cleo has to say.”

Sam lowered the window and told Lora they'd meet her there.

Simone backed out and drove away. “So, you weren't going to tell me about her, huh?”

He grinned. “I didn't see any reason to go into it.”

“That's the only reason? 'Cause, you know, I'm cool.”

Glancing at her, he wondered if she really was cool, or just talking.

Chapter Six

Sam spotted Lora at a table in the corner. She stood and introduced herself to Simone, extending her hand.

“Let's get this over with,” Simone said, ignoring the outstretched hand.

Smiling, seeming a little embarrassed, Lora glanced at Sam and sat back down. A waiter arrived at the table and they ordered. Sam and Lora made small talk until the drinks arrived, while Simone sat pushed back from the table, her legs crossed, one foot moving up and down to a slow cadence.

“You seem to have gotten yourself into some trouble after you left my place,” Lora said. “I thought you might need my help.”

“What kind of help?” He took a long drink of the cold beer.

Chopin stood behind the bar a few feet behind Lora’s chair, wiping it with a towel, pretending not to listen to their conversation. The round man with the tattoos finally looked in their direction, and Sam gave him a nod. He cut his eyes away.

“I thought you might need a lawyer,” Lora said.

Sam gave her a quick smile. “What I need is information on Sean Spanner. You think you could help me with that?”

“I told you last night, I don't know anything about this Spanner man.”

“Jake must've said something about him,” Sam said. “Think hard.”

Lora shook her head. “But he didn't. Wait….” She peered down at the table for a couple of moments.

Simone's foot stopped moving, and she uncrossed her legs and eased up to the table. “What did he say?”

“He said something like, ‘the questions about the Marathon job make sense, now.’”

“What questions?”

“He wouldn't tell me. He just clammed up after that, with a serious expression on his face, as if he might be obsessing about something. Then he told me to wait at the table when he went to talk to you. I was pretty miffed by then, so I left and followed you two to the motel.”

Sam nodded. “What kind of job is it they're doing in Marathon?”

The reporter shrugged. “A new shopping center.”

“Does it involve any concrete?”

Lora raised an eyebrow. “Concrete? I guess it might. The Bell Company pours a lot of concrete. Why?”

Leaning back in his chair, Sam drank from his beer bottle and glanced at Simone. Her eyes widened.

“Nothing,” Sam said. “Just wondering what a construction job would have to do with Sean Spanner.”

He drained his beer. “We need to get going.”

“So that's it? That's all you're going to tell me?”

Simone stood and headed for the door.

“Sorry, that's all there is to tell.” He got up from his chair. “I still want to see the story before you run it in the paper. I'll drop by your office this afternoon about five.”

Lora stood and said, “Okay. In case you change your mind about the lawyer, Charles Ford is good, and I can talk to him for you. You might need him more than you think.”

Why did she keep bringing up the lawyer? “It sounds like you might know something I don't.”

“Well, I heard the police did some research and couldn't find any records on you, like you're off the grid. That's the kind of thing that gets their attention.”

“Who told you that?”

“Sorry, I have to protect my sources. What do you have to say about it?”

“The chief just brought me in for some more questions. He dragged out a file on the two-month-old murder you mentioned last night. Then he let me go. That's all there was to it.”

He turned and strode out the door.

When they got into the car Simone said, “You think somebody killed Spanner and put him under some poured concrete?”

“If he's dead, the killer might have planned on doing that, but I think he would’ve changed his mind when he saw me talking to Jake Bell.”

“Yeah, that makes sense. And you just mentioned it to keep the reporter busy for a while.”

He nodded as he started the car. “The guy couldn't have known whether or not Bell mentioned that to me when he asked about a meeting.”

“He was probably in the restaurant,” Simone said, “and saw you flash the photograph.”

Sam pulled out of the parking lot, drove down to the next block, and turned into a gas station. He got out and filled the car in the midday sun. A bead of perspiration ran down the side of his face. While the pump ticked away the gallons, he watched Lora Diamond's car exit Chopin's lot and turn toward the Overseas Highway.

When he got back in the car Simone said, “She's headed to Marathon. Let's go back and talk to Tattoo Boy.”

Smiling, Sam said, “We do think alike.”

****

Chief Boozler was about to go across the street for lunch when Officer Dudley Crew came into his office with a sheet of paper.

“I found the record of Mackenzie’s Florida driver's license. The lieutenant must have missed it. I also got this from a contact with the Department of Defense.” He handed the report to the chief.

The chief studied the profile, which said only that the man had been a Navy SEAL ten years or so before. There was nothing else. No duty locations, no assignments, nothing but blank space.

“SEALs are special forces, right?” the chief asked.

“Correct, sir. It stands for ‘Sea, Air, and Land.’ They're big into underwater demolition.”

“You mean explosives?”

“Yes, sir.”

“So the absence of information about this guy probably means what he did was classified.”

“That would be my interpretation. Or illegal.”

Boozler laid the report down and smiled. Dudley knew his computers.

“That all you needed?” the officer asked.

“Yeah, but I want you to do something on another case. How about checking the files for that John Doe murder and see if there are any photographs of the victim.”