Cracked to Death (13 page)

Chapter 19

 

Savannah poked through the piles of driftwood, shell, and bottles on the little entry patio, but came up with nothing of interest. She had just opened the door to Martin's trailer when Edward arrived back from the park office.

“What are you doing?” His voice was firm, and he lowered his chin.

Savannah stood very tall. “The neighbor told me where the key was hidden. He didn't see any harm in my looking around. Do you?”

Edward shook his head. “No. It's a good idea. Maybe we'll turn up a clue Detective Parker has missed.”

“Not likely, but maybe I can offer some expertise on some of the glass still here.”

“But wouldn't Parker have already given you that evidence?”

Savannah smiled and put her hand over her heart. “It's possible he might not recognize something vital to a craftsman. Besides, it won't hurt to look. Right?”

Edward glanced around uneasily and then nodded his head.

They walked into the tiny front room, where the dinette sat underneath a set of windows that wrapped around the end of the trailer.

“This is where he worked on his creations.” Savannah pointed to the side of the table with craft supplies and tools arranged neatly.

“And this looks like where his laptop was. The police must have taken it away for analysis.” Edward walked to the back end and poked his head into the bathroom. “He was pretty neat for a guy.”

“It also appears he didn't have much.” Savannah opened and closed the small kitchen cabinets and drawers. “That makes it easier. Oh, what did the park manager say about Martin?”

“He said Martin was a nice guy. Didn't cause trouble. Paid in cash right on time each month. The model of a perfect tenant.”

Savannah followed Edward back to the tiny bedroom. The bed was made. It looked like the bedspread and curtains were leftovers from a bankrupt motel chain, but everything was neat and tidy. Looking at Edward, she said, “This is not making sense to me. Where did he store all his marine cleaning material?” She moved back into the small hallway and looked under the bed. “Nothing. Is there a shed out back?”

Edward shrugged his shoulders.

They closed and locked the trailer and circled around the back, but there was nothing behind the trailer except the electrical hookup post. Savannah stood with her hands on her hips. “There must be a storage area somewhere. There would be a lot of work involved in cleaning up his salvage items. I'll bet the rules of the park would prevent that.”

“I don't think he could afford a storage unit, but it's something Amanda might know.”

“Well, Amanda doesn't seem to be telling us all she knows about Martin. Leroy, Martin's neighbor, told me she was here with Martin on Monday night.” Savannah started for the Mini.

“Why didn't she say so?” Edward opened the car door for Savannah.

“You don't have to do that. I'll get spoiled.” She smiled up at him. “It is nice, though.”

“I think we need to find this captain to get more answers.” Edward sat in the passenger's seat. “Buckle up.”

Savannah pressed her lips together to hold in a reply about not being a child, then relaxed and clipped the belt.
He's right. Sometimes I do forget to buckle up. That's observant and thoughtful.
She smiled
.

“Where was Captain Collins's business?” She pulled out from in front of Martin's trailer and headed down the dusty road. “Wasn't it in an industrial park near here?”

Edward reached into the side pocket of his trousers and pulled out his phone. “Let me punch in a search.” He tapped the smartphone. “Here it is. It's called Collins Salvage and Diving. The address is supposed to be near the trailer park.”

“Oh, that's up the street.”

“Grrrrr. I'm still not used to the number grid here. I can't tell you how many times I've gone to three places in a row that are
not
where I wanted to be.”

Savannah smiled. “It's the exact opposite of New York City in terms of the grid. St. Pete has streets that go north–south, while the avenues go east–west. Central Avenue is the dividing line between north and south, and Beach Drive downtown is the dividing line between east and west.” She looked over to see Edward rolling his eyes. “It's simple, really.”

“Grrrr. You were born here.”

“Choose one to memorize. Streets go north–south, divided by Beach Drive. Simple!”

“Okay, okay.” He peered at the road signs, matching them to the map on his cell. “I should have written this on a slip of paper.” He scowled at the screen. “We should be getting close now.” He looked back at her. “You were right. That north-south thing of yours does help.”

Savannah shrugged and turned into a small, run-down industrial park. There was a large sign at the entrance, which listed all the businesses within the park. She looked at the names of the businesses, and Collins Salvage and Diving was listed near the bottom. “This is it.”

The industrial park looked more like a junkyard than anything else, with three rows of low cement-block buildings running the length of the property. Each building had been built with large garage doors facing out. It looked a lot like a storage rental property, but instead, it was outfitted for small business rentals. Savannah pulled up to the far left side and began driving along that side of the long building, passing a vitamin discount store, an antique furniture refinisher . . . in other words, everything under the sun.

After searching the central bank of businesses, they found Captain Collins's business near the back. It was spread over the final three bays in the building, and all three garage doors were up. Inside the first bay were storage racks crammed with diving suits, belts, masks, flippers, and everything needed for renting dive equipment. The second bay held diving tanks and the compressors used to refill them.

Finally, they found a thin, deeply tanned, and scruffy man in the third bay, bent over a lump of something and scrubbing it with a small wire brush. He was barefoot and clad in cutoffs, a tattered T-shirt, and a grass-woven hat aged to a brittle beige. The bay appeared to be a sorting area, with large tables down the middle and floor-to-ceiling storage racks around the walls, which were filled with marine artifacts.

Savannah parked the Mini across from the open bays so as to not block the limited thruway for the other businesses. At the sound of the closing car doors, the man looked up from his work, wiped his hands on his shorts, and walked toward them.

“Can I help you?”

“We're trying to find Captain Collins.” Savannah offered her hand for shaking. “I'm Savannah Webb, and this is Edward Morris.”

“I'm Captain Collins.” He shook their hands, Edward's first. “Do you want to sign up for a salvage dive?”

Edward quickly looked at Savannah and gave a tiny nod. “Sure. That would be great.” He exaggerated his British accent. “We heard you offered a fantastic experience diving for treasure.”

“My specialty.” He led them over to the table. “Here's a few of the artifacts we salvaged on this morning's tour.” He picked up a heavily barnacle-crusted propeller blade. “A young woman from Montreal found this on her first dive. I'm cleaning it up a bit so it won't smell up her suitcase.”

Savannah leaned over the propeller. “Is it valuable?”

“Only in the sense that it will be a memento of an enjoyable dive. She said she'll keep this on her desk to remind her of her first trip to Florida.”

“Do we need to be certified divers?” Savannah asked.

“No. We can go to places you can explore by snorkeling. When would you like to schedule a trip? I still have a few openings for tomorrow morning.”

“Well, sweetie, do you think we might want to try our hand at this?”

Edward's eyes opened wide, but he recovered quickly. “If this is what you want to do, love, I'll play along.”

“We heard a local artist has been making fabulous creations by using items he found on salvage dives. Do you know him? His name is Martin Lane,” Savannah said.

“I have lots of customers who enjoy the sport of diving for artifacts, and many of them use their finds in lots of interesting ways. Would you like to sign up for the sunrise cruise in the morning? I still have a couple of seats available.”

“Well, no. We're not interested in diving, actually.” Savannah coughed into her hand and then looked the captain straight in the eye. “We're here to find out more about Martin Lane. I'm a consultant who is helping the St. Petersburg Police investigate his death, and we heard you frequently took him diving.”

Collins sucked in a quick breath. “You tried to trick me. I don't know anything about Martin's death. You need to leave.” He backed away and quickly pulled the garage door down over the salvage bay and locked it. “You need to leave now, before I call the police and report you for harassment.” He turned to face them and put his hands on his hips. “Leave. Right. Now.”

Chapter 20

 

Savannah dropped Edward off at Queen's Head and parked behind Webb's Glass Shop. She entered through the back door.

“Amanda, I'm back. Where are you?”

“I'm here in the supply room, loading the kiln.”

“Good job.” Savannah peered into the large, deep fusing kiln. “It looks great. You've got enough kiln paper. You've placed blocks against the pieces so that nothing rolls during the fuse. You've even got a two-layer deal going with some small pieces.” She raised her head to look at Amanda. “Perfect. You've graduated to journeyman—no longer an amateur.”

Amanda's face flushed. “Thanks. That means a lot to me. I love this job.”

“You're good at this. I'm grateful to have you.”

As Amanda lowered the large lid on the kiln, Savannah asked, “What did you find out about Martin's sister?”

After pressing the START button on the control panel, Amanda stood. “Oh, I wrote it all down in the office. Let's sit down for a minute. I'm bushed. I had no clue teaching could be so draining. Really, why didn't you warn me? Oh, wait . . .” She laughed. “You did warn me.”

When they arrived in the back office, Amanda picked up from the center of the desk a manila folder with “Martin's Sister” written on the tab. Savannah grinned at the childlike script, with hearts for dotting all the i's and curlicues for crossing the t's.

Savannah sank into the creaky oak office chair and opened the folder. On yellow ruled paper, Amanda had compiled the information she had gleaned from her research. Martin's sister lived in Tampa, near her job at the University of South Florida, where she was an associate professor of marine biology. A printout from USF's staff Web site included a picture of Tracy Patterson and a brief description of her teaching qualifications. The family resemblance to Martin was strong. Amanda had researched the course catalog and had noted that Tracy taught a lab on Thursday nights.

“Very thorough. I think we need to talk to her. Do you have any idea why Tracy and Martin didn't talk to each other?”

Amanda flushed at her pale neck. “I don't have a clue. I'm as surprised as anyone that he had any family at all. He always said he was alone in the world.”

Savannah stood up. “Well, anyway, we need to see her face-to-face. I'd like to pay her a visit right now. Are you able to come with me? If you need to see your mom instead, I'm good with that.”

“Mom's doing better physically, but she's in a phase where she doesn't know who I am. It helps me to stay away for a few days. I can go.”

* * *

It took about twenty minutes to close up Webb's and get on the road to Tampa. When they pulled onto I-275 to cross the bridge over Tampa Bay, Amanda looked over. “It looks like we've timed this perfectly to be stuck in the rush-hour traffic.”

The traffic inched along at about twenty miles an hour. Savannah moved over into the rightmost lane. “It's been a long time since I drove over to USF, but let's take North Dale Mabry to Fletcher and bypass all this. It will only get worse when we get to the I-Four turnoff. Agreed?”

“Yep.”

Nearly forty-five minutes later, Savannah pulled into a university parking spot clearly marked for visitors. They found the building that housed the biological sciences and the office number that was listed in the catalog. The door was closed, but there was a row of chairs in the hallway, with a student obviously waiting to talk to Professor Patterson.

As one, Savannah and Amanda sat down and tried to look like students. It was a failure. Compared to the waiting student, who was wearing shorts, sandals, and a tank top, they appeared to be modestly covered up like religious initiates.

Savannah whispered, “When did tiny, short shorts come back into style?”

“Forever ago. You've been buried in glassmaking.”

“I guess I have.”

They had barely settled when the office door opened to release a tall young man, who headed down the hallway at a fast clip. Without waiting to be called, the student waiting to see Professor Patterson slipped through the open door and closed it behind her. They got the briefest glimpse of the cluttered office, which had a couple of chairs ready for student counseling.

“This seems to be a practiced ritual,” Savannah whispered. “What time does class actually start?”

Amanda opened the manila folder and flipped through the research material. “We have about forty-five minutes.”

“Be ready when this student leaves.”

They sat quietly for a few minutes, and when the door opened, they barely let the student squeeze by before entering Professor Patterson's office. Amanda sat against the wall near the door, and Savannah sat in the chair in front of the piled-up desk. In fact, everything had piles of papers and stacks of books on it, and only a space large enough for a table was clear in front of Professor Patterson.

The professor wore a starched white lab coat over black polyester trousers and sensible black tie-up shoes. Her salt-and-pepper hair was cut in a short chop, and her reading glasses hung in a ring on a small chain around her thin neck.

The professor wrinkled her brows at them. “What are you doing here? You're not students.”

Savannah leaned forward. “We're not students. My name is Savannah Webb, and this is Amanda Blake. We're here to—”

“Sorry, ladies. I don't need any more interns or lab assistants. You're a bit too late for this semester, but I'll happily give you an application for this fall.” She turned in her chair toward the large table behind her and snatched two application forms from a neat stack next to the wall.

“No. We're not here for enrollment.” Savannah waved her hand to prevent Professor Patterson from handing the forms to her. “Let me explain. I'm a consultant for the St. Petersburg Police Department, and I need information about your brother, Martin Lane.”

“My brother? We don't see each other. I haven't seen him face-to-face in years. Not since our parents' funeral. What's this about?”

Amanda cleared her throat. “How long ago?”

Professor Patterson leaned back in her chair and looked at the ceiling. “Let me think. That was the year I was accepted as a doctoral candidate here at USF. I used my inheritance to pay off my student loans and buy a condo near the university. Why do you want to know this?”

Savannah hesitated. “Do you know where Martin is now?”

“No. I told you. We haven't seen each other in more than three years. Look, I need to know why you're here. What is your connection with the police?”

“Have you heard anything from the St. Petersburg Police Department?”

“No, but I was out of touch for the past few days at a yoga retreat, and I came straight to campus for my student consults an hour ago. I haven't even checked my messages yet. What are you trying to say?”

Realizing there was no way they could not tell her, Savannah cleared her throat and spoke in a low, soft tone. “Professor Patterson, I'm very sad to tell you that your brother, Martin, was found washed ashore Tuesday morning. It appears he was murdered.”

There was a long silence. Professor Patterson sat behind the desk with her eyes down, looking at the cleared spot on the surface before her. Finally, she lifted her head. “You're right. That is incredibly sad.”

Savannah waited for some sort of emotional reaction, but the professor sat quietly for a few more moments and then looked at both of them in turn. “Do you have any questions? I need to prepare for my class.”

Amanda and Savannah looked at each other with eyebrows raised at the complete lack of emotion.

Savannah recovered and replied, “Yes, please. Could you tell us if there are any other relations?”

“No close relations. Our parents were killed in a boating accident when we were living in Key West. That was about twenty years ago. My mother's aunt raised us, but she died last year, and she was a childless widow.” Professor Patterson recited these facts as a well-rehearsed spiel. “I left to study for my master's degree here in Tampa as soon as I graduated from college, and I've been here since.”

“So you're his only relation?” Savannah asked.

“I've been on my own for a long time now.”

“Did you know that he was a talented artist?” Amanda asked, piping up. “He made some amazing works out of found materials from the beaches and from salvage diving.”

“It doesn't sound lucrative to me. Did he have a house or property? I'll have to deal with it all again. I did my parents' place with my aunt. This time I'll be alone.”

“Um, not that we know of,” said Savannah. “But I'm sure the investigating detective will want to get in touch with you. His name is Detective Parker.”

Professor Patterson wrinkled her brow. “Oh, great. He should have been here already. This will cause more interruptions. I'll have to reschedule my Ph.D. dissertation defense. Well, anyway, I want to thank you for letting me know. We were not close, but it is sad to know I have no family now. I should have made an effort.” She stood up. “If you'll excuse me now. I have a class to teach in a few minutes, and I have to review the lecture before it starts.” She came out from behind her desk and gestured with her arm that they needed to leave.

As soon as Savannah and Amanda were out in the hallway, the door closed behind them with a sharp click, and then they heard the lock turn.

Amanda puffed out a pent-up breath. “That's the coldest woman I have ever met.”